Page 91 of Tell Me I'm Enough

“I felt left out,” I tell her, strutting down the hallway.

“You look like you got dressed in the dark,” she laughs. “In 2005.”

I twirl. “Is it giving…Holiday Gala?”

“It’s giving ‘please escort him off the premises,’” she says. “Take that off before I pee myself.”

I take it off, and she keeps trying on more dresses. Some of them are genuinely pretty on her, but wrong for the vibe—too simple, too tight, too bridal, too nightclubby.

Then she steps out in one that shuts me up. It’s this champagne-colored dress, fitted at the top with a deep V-neckline. The fabric catches the light with a subtle shimmer—not aggressive glitter, just enough. Her hair’s a little messy from changing, and her cheeks are still flushed from all the laughing we’ve been doing. She looks…perfect.

“Is it…bad?” she asks, tugging at the sides like she’s ready to go change again. “It’s bad, I know—”

I stand up without thinking and walk over, turning her toward the full-length mirror.

“There is no way you can look at yourself in that and think any part of you looks bad,” I tell her quietly. “It’s perfect.”

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and for a second, everything feels weirdly still.

Then she smiles, bright and a little shy. “Yeah,” she says. “I think this is the one.”

She disappears to change back into her regular clothes and comes out with the dress draped over her arm, heading toward the registers, and I follow.

“Wait,” I say as we walk out of the store, “who are you going with?”

She shrugs as she walks up to my car and waits for me to open her door before getting in.

“I don’t know. No one has asked me. If anything, Madison will just pair me up with one of the guys.”

I close her door once she’s all the way in and walk around to the driver’s side, thinking.

When I get in, I look over at her. “Go with me.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Go to the gala with me,” I repeat. “We all have to be paired up anyway. Might as well make it someone you actually like. I mean, would you rather go with a friend or some random creepy frat guy?”

She laughs. “Youareone of those frat guys. Does that make you a creep too?”

“No,” I say, starting the car. “I actually respect women. But I live with those guys…and trust me, most of them don’t share that sentiment.”

She bites her lip, thinking about it for a second. “You’re serious?”

“Yes,” I say. “Come with me. We’ll make it fun. We’re always the life of the party anyway.”

Her smile grows slowly. “Okay,” she says. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

“It’s a date.”

Her brows jump a little, then she laughs it off.

It’s quiet for a while, and then she perks back up. “Wait, can I dress you?”

I groan. “I don’t know why I didn’t see that coming.”

26

Simone