“WELL, THINK ABOUT IT!” Rhonda cried. “YOU’LL BE UP ONSTAGE!”

“And it’s your first school dance,” Mom agreed. “Rhonda’s right. I’m taking you to Smythe and Smythe.”

“The fancy department store?” I asked. I’d actually set foot in there only once before. A very tall, very scary-looking woman with no eyebrows squirted me with a bottle of stinky perfume. It took two days to get the smell off.

So that’s how I forgot to mention my detention and instead ended up going shopping with Rhonda and my mom.

I headed straight for the sale rack, where fashions come to die of humiliation.

“None of these really seem like me,” I said.

“WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE?” Rhonda asked.

From Rhonda’s excited tone, I could only imagine what she had just picked up.

Fortunately, my imagination was way off.

“Oh, I love it!” Mom said, taking the hanger from Rhonda and grabbing my arm. “Georgia, you have to try it on.”

So I did.

I knew it was the perfect dress even before I stepped out of the dressing room. But when I came out, Rhonda let out a screech and tackled my mom in a huge hug. Mom said, “You look beautiful, Georgia.”

I turned and gazed at myself in the three-way mirror. Beautiful? Well, she’s my mom. But I definitely looked pretty good.

“IN YOUR FACE, MISSY TRILLIN!” Rhonda squealed.

I smiled. Yeah, I thought. I look kinda princessy. In a good way.

This could really work.

The Strange Truth

I was still wondering how to bring up the detention thing when Mom and I got home from shopping. But Mom made a beeline for her room and started digging around in the bottom of her closet. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“You’ll see.” Mom grunted. Then she pulled out a battered old shoe box. She flashed me a triumphant grin and said, “Come sit by me.”

It was actually kind of cozy there in my mom’s closet. She lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a pile of old photos.

“Um, you can burn this one,” I said, picking up a picture of me dressed as a chicken for Halloween when I was three.

“Are you kidding?” Mom chuckled. “That’s adorable!”

“Here it is!” Mom held out a photo.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“It’s me!” Mom actually laughed. “At the sixth-grade dance.”

“You?” I stared at the photo. “Wow. It’s kinda weird how I really don’t look anything like you did in sixth grade.”

Grandma Dotty appeared in the doorway. “Why would you two look alike?” she asked.

“Mother, do you mind?” My mom pushed the closet door shut. For a minute it was dark, and I couldn’t see anything. Then Mom reached up and pulled the light chain. Maybe it was the overhead lighting, but my mother’s face looked weird.