“Trying to make this shirt cute,” she mumbled. “Leave me alone.”
Grace let out a long breath and began pulling her clothes out of her bag. At the very bottom she found something she hadn’t packed. Her senior prom dress was tucked neatly with an envelope on top. Curiosity prickled her as she picked up the envelope and opened it. She gasped as she found money inside and a note scrawled in her mother's hand.
Grace, I thought you might want this dress for something, and here's a little extra money I've been saving. You'll know when you need to use it. Have fun.
Love, Mom.
Chapter Two
Grace quickly counted the money in the envelope. Her eyes widened further when she realized her mom had hidden five thousand dollars inside her bag. She placed the envelope on the bed and re-read the note. Mom understands I'm growing up. Dad doesn't. Maybe this is a sign from God...I mean, does God send wild people to corrupt His flock?
A giggle bubbled from her lips and she picked up the beautiful dress she had bought for prom. She had found it on a site for plus sized clothing and purchased it without even trying it on. The dress was scarlet red and stretchy. The site had called it a bandage dress. Grace had held out hope on someone inviting her to prom. She would only go if someone asked her. That was her stipulation. As the days had drawn closer to the big night, her hopes fizzled on being asked. When the day of prom came, she still had no date. She’d been hopeful the entire day, her heart racing as she passed guys in the school’s hallway. Her hopes had bubbled up to enormous heights as the most popular guy in school had stopped at her table at lunch.
“Grace?” he had asked.
“Yes?” she whispered around the lump in her throat.
“Would you—”
“Yes!” she squealed, her breath coming fast. This is it! She had thought...
His brow furrowed as he finished his sentence. “Would you have the notes from chemistry? I totally bullshitted and didn't take any.”
Tears had filled her eyes as she passed off her notebook. “Sure, take what you need,” she had told him. As he scribbled down notes, she had fought back the sobs of pain. Finally she’d snatched up her notebook. “I have to go,” she’d choked out. She’d sobbed the whole drive home as she skipped class and had spent the whole night pigging out on Ben and Jerry's while her red dress mocked her in the closet.
She had thrown the dress away in the kitchen trash around midnight, as she realized her hopes and dreams had been dashed. Permanently. It seemed as though her mom had saved the crimson badge of her hopes and dreams and tucked it into her bag...giving her permission to let her dreams fly.
The old me ends now, she thought as she was pulled from her memories. I'm not going to be safe little Gracie anymore.
“Hey, Christina,” she started.
“Hmm?” the blonde queried as she focused on the sewing machine. “What do you think of this?” Grace held up the dress.
Christina turned and her eyes went wide. “Holy shit, hot mama! Where did that come from? That certainly didn't come from the granny section.”
Grace shrugged, sadness still prickling the edges of her mind. “It was going to be my prom dress.”
Christina shifted in the chair and crossed her arms. “Oh, I hear a huge but in that sentence. Tell the story.”
“Not much to tell, really. I bought it hoping someone would ask me to the prom, and when they did, I was going to put my contacts in and wear this dress. I saw it on a website and fell in love with it. So I spent two hundred dollars on it without even trying it on.”
“Okay...” Christina prodded. “So what happened?”
Grace smiled sadly. “Well, I got my hopes up and they were dashed. I tossed the dress. I never wanted to see it again. I felt like it was God telling me I shouldn't be dressing sexy anyway, you know?” She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “I know my Dad was really glad I didn't go out in public wearing it.”
“Oh, for heaven's sake! Of course he was. Who wants to see their little girl looking like a hot piece of real estate? So if you threw the dress away...what is it doing here?” Christina asked.
Grace ran the material through her hands. “I guess my mom saved it. She tucked it into the bottom of my bag with this.” She picked up the envelope.
“What's in the envelope?” Christina questioned.
Grace held the envelope open in her direction and thumbed through the greenbacks inside. “Money, and a letter telling me to use it and have fun.” She tossed the cash back on the bed. “I mean, my mom kind of knew I was growing up and was always really great about it, but my dad is so staunchly against sexuality...I don't know, I wonder if she went along with it just to keep him happy. I wasn't allowed to wear makeup till I was sixteen. Even then it was kind of frowned upon. And boys? Sigh...I could date with parents going along at fourteen. Who wants to go on a date with their parents?” Grace whined.
Christina shrugged. “Hell, at fourteen I had a pregnancy scare. Maybe my parents being as loose as they were wasn't a good thing either. But neither was yours suffocating you.”
Grace's mouth fell open. “A pregnancy scare?”
Christina smirked. “Did I shock you, nun?”
Grace shook her head. “No, no...okay, yes.”
“The world out there isn't always nice, and neither are people. But you pick yourself up and keep going. After that scare I decided I was going to make something of myself. So I studied hard and worked two jobs to get into Yale. They accepted me because I'm interesting. I got a full ride on my grades.” Christina turned back to the machine and cut the strings on the fabric, pulling it loose from the machine. “Here,” she tossed the shirt in Grace's direction, “check it out.”
Grace held up the pink top. What was once a loose, awkwardly fitting polo, was now a scoop neck top with little cap sleeves and ruching on the sides. “It's cute, you did a great job.” She paused and glanced back at the willowy blonde. “Why are you here at Yale?”
Christina smirked. “Because I want to prove to all the straight-laced people that I can do it. And I don't have to fit in. And frankly, you don't have to either, Grace. You can tell conventional life to kiss your ass.”
Grace shook her head. “I don't know if I can do that.”
Christina grinned. “It's easy for me because I grew up that way. It's not for you.” She stood from her sewing machine. “I'm gonna go get something to eat. I'll catch you later.”
Grace watched as Christina bopped out of the room and closed the door in her wake. She flopped back against the bed and held the newly designed pink top against her chest. Mom, thanks for trusting me, and I hope I don't disappoint you. She stood and peeled off her lemon yellow polo, then pulled the pink top down over her utilitarian bra. A full length mirror was on the back of the door and she peered in awe at the girl who stared back at her. The top fit her curves and flattered them. With her confidence boosted, she grabbed her purse and stuffed the envelope with the money into it. She left the room and rushed through the hallway and down the stairs.
She was at a near run by the time she made it to the doors of the dorm. Her breath came fast as she hustled to the bus stop at the end of the block. Her mind whirled as she waited. No more granny panties. But no thongs either. It's time for a new Grace. She fiddled with the strap of her purse as panic set in. Maybe I shouldn't do this. I should have waited for Christina...no I can do this on my own. Yeah. I can do this. I'm a grown up. I can shop for clothes. Christina had been eerily accurate on where she had gotten her clothes from before. She ordered multiples of the same thing from a catalog that came in the mail. The clothes were marketed to plus sized women of middle age, people like her mom. But it was easier to blend in and not go shopping for clothes that could draw attention to her at all. It's easier to be a wallflower instead of a wallbanger like Christina. She smirked. I can be a little adventurous. Just a little.
The bus rolled to a stop in front of her and she rummaged through her purse to find some change. W
hen she located it she dumped it in the machine and smiled at the bus driver, an elderly man who didn't return the smile. She stumbled down the aisle of the bus and found a seat. Sliding into it she clutched her purse tightly and grew even more nervous with each rotation of the tires away from her dorm. Opening her purse she pulled out the bus route map and discovered she would need to change to a red bus to get closer to the mall, the place she hated most growing up.
She leaned her head back against the slightly sticky pleather seat and sighed. I can do this. They have to have some clothes. Maybe I'll try Lane Bryant or something. I bet they have some cute stuff...
She watched out the window as they traveled through town, stopping periodically to let off passengers. Finally her stop came up and she stood quickly to depart. The driver rolled the bus to a stop and she hurried down the stairs as he began moving the bus again. Her foot missed the edge of the sidewalk and she fell on hands and knees with a pathetic squawk. The driver kept on rolling and she picked herself up slowly, wincing at the throb in her hands and knees.
At least ten people stared at her as she pulled herself to standing. For once in her life, Grace wanted to scream, “What are you looking at?” But she didn't. Instead, she hobbled to the end of the bench and nursed her wounds. Her palms were scratched and red, and her knees protested with each movement she made. The leg of her khakis was stained and she grimaced as she felt a trickle of blood run down the front of her shin. “Crap,” she mumbled.
Opening her purse she found a bandage in a pocket, right next to her pads, and turning away from the probing eyes of the people in the little shed, she rolled up her pants’ leg. A little cut marred the pale, doughy flesh of her knee and she casually removed one of her pads from her purse to sop up the trickle of blood flowing from the cut. She glanced over her shoulder and then back to her leg. Once the blood was wiped up, she stuck a bandage on the cut and carefully tucked the pad back into the little plastic sleeve to hide her mess.
She shoved the now bloody pad into her purse and yanked the leg of her pants back down. Then she turned on the bench to stoically watch for the bus. No one asked if she was okay or even seemed to care. Is this what humanity is like? She sighed to herself. The bus came to a stop and she filed inside behind the other passengers. Only two more stops before she would be at the mall. She huddled up on a seat by herself, feeling quite out of place and lonely. This was a total mistake. I shouldn't be doing this. I should be in my room putting my clothes away and getting ready for class, not out buying slutty panties. Tears filled her eyes and she wiped at them absentmindedly with the back of her grubby hand. I just want to drown in a pint of Ben and Jerry's right now. I am so embarrassed.
She sniffled and sighed. This is ridiculous. You're such a wimp, Grace! So what that you fell. Get it together and stop feeling sorry for yourself! She pulled herself up and wiped at her eyes again. I'll just clean myself up when I get to the mall and no one will know I ever fell. Who cares? No one knows me here anyway, no one but Christina, and it's not like she saw me fall out. So there.
Grace watched the scenery pass and she stood as the bus came to a stop. This time she moved quicker to step to the sidewalk and made it without accident. The mall stood in front of her and she blew out a suddenly nervous breath, wiping her sweaty hands against her pants. The saltiness stung the tiny scrapes on her palms. Grace frowned down at them for a moment, then hurried into the mall before she changed her mind.
Chapter Three
The hubbub of the mall was a welcome reprieve from her self-loathing and Grace was grateful to lose herself in the crowd. She meandered through the lower level of the mall and found a directory listing the stores. Lane Bryant was on the upper level, so she rushed to the escalator to ride to the top. She tucked her hair behind her ear, fumbling with her purse strap as she stepped off onto the smooth tiled floor.
It had been a couple years since she had really gone shopping in a store. The last debacle had been at a large retail store when she couldn't fit into any of the shirts they carried. Oh, sure, the sizes had been “big enough,” but they were cut wrong and she felt like the Michelin man instead of a teenage girl. That's when the catalog purchasing began. She shook off the sad memory like a wet blanket and purposefully strode into the store. A sales associate greeted her warmly, pointing out the new arrivals and sale racks.
Grace kept sneaking peeks at the lingerie section. Eventually her curiosity got the best of her and she eased toward the pretty pieces. The sales associate who’d greeted her at the door popped up behind her. “Can I help you?” she asked cheerfully.
Grace jumped. “Oh, you scared me!”
The girl smiled. “I'm so sorry about that. What are you looking for today?”
“Um, underwear and bras.” Grace sighed.
“Okay, do you know your size?”
“No, I just kind of buy stuff and hope it fits,” Grace admitted, her face coloring with shame.
“Oh well, we can't have that. Go into the fitting room and I'll be in there in just a second to measure you.” The salesgirl pushed her gently toward the small fitting rooms in the corner.
Grace walked into one and sat quickly on the bench. What if nothing fits? She panicked.
The girl tapped on the door. “You ready?”
“Sure,” Grace replied.
The girl came into the dressing room and measured her quickly. “Okay, you're a forty triple D. That's easy. Let me go get you some things. What are you looking for?”
Grace grinned, thinking of Christina. “No granny panties.”
The salesgirl grinned back. “We can handle that. Let me get you a few things.”
Grace tried on each bra as they were brought to her and she found a couple that were pretty but functional, and an array of lacy, satiny panties that definitely put her old cotton ones to shame. Then she browsed the racks and found some new tops and jeans to fill out a simple wardrobe. A significant amount of her mother's money later, she left the store wearing dark wash trouser jeans and a flowing tunic top in shades of yellow and blue. The only thing she kept were her favorite sneakers, low top Converse in black.
She found herself walking differently in the clothes, the silky touch of the satin panties on her skin strangely arousing and confidence boosting. As she walked she was still lost in her thoughts, not noticing the appreciative glances from a few guys her own age. The clothes definitely showed off her best assets. She passed by a salon and paused for a moment before going in. Why not?
She wrote her name on the clipboard at the desk and took in the upscale atmosphere. Stylists worked on hair and chatter flowed freely among them all, while Grace sat down in a chair to wait her turn. She picked up a hairstyle magazine and flipped through it slowly, hoping to find something that would fit the new image she wanted to project.
Her fingers caught the end of her dark hair. I should just get a trim, nothing huge, she told herself. Swallowing the nervousness that hit her throat, she flipped the page and a shoulder length caramel and chocolate hairstyle caught her eye. Shaggy bangs framed the model's brilliant blue eyes and set off her features. That's the one. Grace smiled. The last time she had sported bangs had been in the third grade when she’d cut her own and they had been about an inch and a half long. Her grin grew wider at the memory. Kids had been so insanely cruel, teasing her about the shaggy bits, that she had begged her mom to cut them completely off. Annie had been patient and kind, explaining that if she did so, it would take even longer to grow out. They had invested in lots of cute barrettes and Grace had been grateful when the awkward grow out phase passed.
She had only gone for routine trims four times a year at her mother's salon after that. Her hair had continued to grow, and was now brushing her lower back. Shoulder length would be a major change. Maybe a good one. A stylist came to the desk with a smile and called her name.
“Grace?”
She stood and held the magazine in her sweat dampened hands. “Yes?”
“You read
y?”
Grace nodded. “I think so.”
She followed the crimson haired stylist back to a chair and swallowed nervously as she sat down. “I want this hairstyle,” she mumbled, finding the picture on page one hundred three.
The stylist raised a drawn on eyebrow. “You want to go that short? I mean, that's at least a foot of hair.”
“How much hair do you need to donate to Locks of Love?” Grace asked.
“Ten inches,” she replied.
“Then cut it off. I'll donate it.” Grace insisted.
“Okay,” the stylist finally agreed. “As long as you're sure...”
Grace grinned. “I am.” She pulled her glasses off and held them in her lap. Instead of watching the mirror, she closed her eyes and imagined how nice the style would look. Maybe I could have done something like this sooner. Maybe I would have felt better about myself. Maybe I could have found a boyfriend and found out what being kissed was like. Maybe I can now! A secret smile tugged at her mouth again and she flinched only a little bit at the snip snip of the scissors trimming off the dead weight of her hair. She’d hid behind it too often, leaning forward and hunching over to make a curtain of darkness that no one could penetrate. Something no one could get into and find out she wasn't really as sure of herself as she imagined she was. I thought I was okay with being Grace Evans, the smart, chubby girl. But what if I could be a little bit more? Maybe Christina is right. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? I get some new clothes and a hairstyle and nothing happens? So be it. But if she can pull herself out of a bad situation and end up at Yale, I can get clothes and a haircut.
The scissors moved quickly through her hair and she sighed at the lightness she felt at losing over a foot of hair. “Okay,” the stylist commented, “we're going to mix your color up now. When I rinse I'll finish shaping it up.”
Grace opened her eyes and stared at herself while the stylist began mixing color. She kept her eyes open as highlights were applied with a deft hand and colors were woven through her tresses. “I've never had my hair colored,” Grace whispered.
Saving Grace (Wild Rose Book 1) Page 2
