“You don’t have to show skin to look sexy, for god’s sake. What if you wore tights and a skirt? You could even keep the turtleneck.”

Layne hesitated.

Kara grabbed Layne’s hand and started dragging her toward the stairs. “At least try.”

Kara fished through Layne’s closet with abandon. Most of the clothes were older, grade-school stuff.

“Here!” She yanked out a pleated black and red plaid skirt.

Layne made a face. “Please. I used to wear that in fifth grade. To church.”

She had. With her parents. They’d gone as a family, sitting together. Then they’d all go out for brunch. Everyone would smile and look happy.

What a joke.

“That means it’s perfect now,” said Kara. “Do you have black tights?”

Layne did. She wore them under her riding breeches in the winter.

She took a breath. “I don’t think—”

“Just try it. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it.” So she tried it, in the bathroom, where Kara couldn’t see her change. The black tights were opaque; not even a hint of flesh peeking through. The skirt was short, almost indecently so. The pleats barely covered her backside. But the black tights made it less hooker and more . . . playful.

Even so, the black turtleneck made her look like she was going to a funeral.

A slutty funeral.

She could never wear this.

A knock at the door shocked her out of her thoughts. “Layne! Look what I found!”

Layne pulled the door open, and Kara gasped. “Oh, you are so wearing that.”

“No way.”

“Did you see what those other girls were wearing? For once in your life would you try to fit in?”

She remembered that feeling from the library. It would probably be dark at the party, right? Layne swallowed. “Maybe.”

“With these.” Kara held up black boots. Matte leather, a stacked two-inch heel, and laces that went all the way up.

Layne remembered those boots. She knew kids whose whole outfits didn’t cost as much as those boots. Her mom had bought them for her right before high school started. “Please, Laynie,” she’d said. “Wear something that doesn’t look like it came from the Goodwill.”

Layne had buried them in the back of her closet.

She reached out and touched the leather. Smooth as butter.

“All right,” she whispered.

The boots, when combined with the tights and skirt, made her legs look twenty miles long.

Kara started digging through her dresser. “Too much black. You need something—here!”

She was holding out a red turtleneck. Layne rarely wore it; the fabric was thin and it clung to her body.

Not to mention, it screamed with color and demanded attention.

“Wear it,” snapped Kara.

Layne heard her father’s keys in the door.

“Now,” said Kara. She backed out the door, pulling it closed behind her. “It’s almost time to go.”