“You left the curtain slightly open,” she replied in her signature deadpan way. She grabbed the curtain, and to my horror, pulled it aside, revealing more and more of me as I stood there feeling so uncomfortable in my skin. And even though I was wearing a dress, I felt more naked now than I had when Jake had seen my photo.

Thembi seemed totally unfazed, though. She looked me up and down and I wanted to melt into the ground. Vanish. I struggled to fight back the tears as she walked around me, scrutinizing every angle. “Is it for the dance?” she asked.

“No!” I said as quickly as I could. I didn’t want her thinking I was expecting to go to the dance and then wondering who was going to ask me.

“My father’s wedding!” It was the only thing I could think of.

“You’re too short to wear a long dress like this, you definitely need something that hangs just under your knee, it will be more flattering.” Her tone was still deadpan, and it gave nothing away of what she was thinking and feeling.

“What . . . what are you doing here?” I finally managed to ask.

“I work here, on the weekend. I’m going to be a designer,” she stated matter of factly.

“Cool,” I said. Even though this wasn’t cool. There was nothing cool about the most gorgeous girl at school seeing me like this.

“I’m trying to get into the Paris School of Fashion Design,” she continued. “They only accept a few people each year. You have to be outstanding, so . . .” She shrugged, and suddenly looked slightly vulnerable. Her voice had taken on a tone I hadn’t heard before. “I want it so badly, you know?”

I nodded at her, but didn’t speak. I couldn’t. My mouth felt like it would no longer work, what with my tongue feeling ten times bigger than it usually was. I feared that if I opened my mouth and tried to form words that they would just come out slurred.

“The color doesn’t suit your complexion either,” she stated, her flat tone back. “You need a much more vibrant color. I would even go as far as saying you should wear red. Bright red, like your lips last night. Or maybe emerald green, complements your red hair.”

“Uh . . .” I took a step backward. I wanted to get out of here so badly. I wanted to run.

“A 1950s cut, maybe. Capped sleeves, cinched waist, very @fullerfigurefullerbust, that kind of thing. You’ve got a similar vibe to her,” she said, putting her hand on her hip.

Who the hell was @fullerfigurefullerbust?

I felt myself flush, and the prickle of self-consciousness made me sweat. I had to get out of this dress.