Undeclared(11)

“Lana, I can’t wear this. I feel like a small breeze will reveal all my worldly goods.”

“You’ll wear it and stop complaining about it,” Lana instructed, handing me some silicone rubbery things that connected in the middle.

“Is this supposed to be a bra? It looks like two uninflated balloons connected by plastic.”

She reached out to grab it back from me. “Works for me. I’ll be sure to stare at your tits to see if I need to bring a sweater.”

I hugged the balloons to my chest. “No, I’m all for hiding defective birthday favors under my shirt.”

“Well?” she asked after I had attached the sticky silicone to my skin.

“It fits.”

“I’m mentally translating that into ‘my God, Lana, your taste is exquisite.’”

“My God, Lana, your taste is exquisite,” I repeated dutifully.

Lana quickly tied the knot around my neck and spun me around. “I bought the shirt for you last weekend.”

I could feel the ends of my hair tickle against my bare back. “I still don’t feel comfortable about the back.”

“We can tape it just in case,” Lana brought out some double-stick tape and adhered the folded seam of the blouse to my back. Double-stick tape was Lana’s answer to every fashion emergency. She carried strips of it in her purse and her messenger bag. If I was ever looking for reasons to join a sorority, learning how to avoid visible panty lines, exposed bra straps, and wardrobe malfunctions would be as good as any.

“There,” she said slapping my back lightly. “Ready to go.”

I went to slip on my tennis shoes, but stopped when Lana gave me the stink eye and held up a pair of low-heeled strappy sandals in the same sky blue as my blouse. “No way,” I said.

“They match,” Lana replied.

“ I won’t wear heels, but I’ll wear my ballet flats.” I would be the only one. Lana’s feet were shod with pencil-slim stilettos, and Amy had on cork wedges. Thankfully, I was slightly taller than average and didn’t feel like I was standing amongst a tribe of Amazonians.

Without allowing Lana more time to launch a shoe offensive, I scurried to my bedroom and pulled out a pair of silver flats. The parts of my body that I had always liked, no matter how much I weighed, were my calves, ankles, and feet. They were so nice that even strangers noticed, and I tried to focus on them now, when so much of me was feeling exposed.

One time Lana and I drove down into Chicago to shop, we stopped at a shoe store a classmate had raved about. A shoe clerk had stroked my instep and stuck his phone number in the shoebox. I was creeped out and never returned to that store, but I always remembered that event with confused pride. Hey, some stranger thought my feet were a turn on. Yay! Quickly followed by, Eww.

I saw my reflection in the full-length mirror that hung over the back of my door. Lana was right. The color of the blue top looked perfect with my late-summer tan and brown hair. It brought out the green in my hazel eyes. The blousiness at the bottom of the shirt meant I could stand without worrying that my pooch of a belly would be hanging out.

And my skirt was long enough that it hid the worst part of my legs—my thunderous thighs—while showing off the best part. If Noah was there, I definitely wasn’t going to be embarrassed by what I was wearing. All my fantasies and the letters I had sent, yes. My clothing, no.

“You look great,” Lana’s voice shook me out of my reverie. I saw her leaning against the doorjamb.

“Thanks for buying this for me.”

She shrugged. “I can’t keep buying clothes for myself. Don’t have enough room.”

I wanted to ask her if I could borrow some of her confidence along with the shirt. Maybe they sold that at the Gap next to the jeans and T-shirts. Instead, I returned her compliment. “You look awesome too.”

She did. Her hair was extra shiny tonight, like a Pantene commercial. She wore Capri leggings and a sheer peasant blouse than hung below her waist. It was a look only a thin girl could carry off. At one time, Lana’s thinness was a cause of great concern and worry, but she was healthy now.

“Too much cleavage?” I asked, noticing that the front of the blouse hung rather low.

“No, in fact, you should wear a necklace to draw attention to your girls,” Lana pointed to my bare neck. I was already as far out of my comfort zone as possible. The girls would have to go unadorned.

“Are you coming home or staying with Peter tonight?”

Lana made a face. “The frat house? No thanks. Plus I’m kind of mad at Peter.”

“Why?” I tried to inject some disappointment in my voice, knowing I was probably failing miserably.