Virgin(20)

I raised my eyebrows at her and walked out of her room, trying to cover my underwear-clad body with her towel. She called out after me, “It’s the door on the right. My housemates have all gone back home for Easter, so don’t worry about anyone walking in on you showering. Feel free to enjoy that showerhead however you want, babe!”

I ignored her tip and had a very uneventful shower. We spent the entire day watching a new series about terrorists and the CIA whilst eating carrot sticks and hummus. After seeing Emma’s fridge, which looked like an aisle from Whole Foods, I now understood why she was still a size six and I wasn’t. The other day’s fish and chips had clearly been her day off weight-watching.

When the evening came round, Emma led me up to her room and forced me into trying on dresses that wouldn’t go up past my bum.

“Emma, this is getting embarrassing now. I’m a 36D with a sometimes-size-twelve bum, and I’m not going to fit into your clothes. Please, can we give up?”

“You’re only a couple of sizes bigger than me. We can definitely find you something. Ugh, I’m so jealous of your bum. I wish I had one; mine is just flat.”

“Stop trying to make me feel better, Emma.”

“No, I’m serious! Beyoncé is my hero and I dream of having curves like her. In fact, let me prove it to you,” she said, suddenly starting to rummage through her drawers. After a few minutes she triumphantly pulled out a pair of large knickers. “There!”

“Are those Spanx? Those suck in your fat, Em.”

“Nooo! Look, they’re padded pants! They have all this padding at the back to give you a structured bum,” she said, waggling her tiny posterior at me.

I burst out laughing as she pulled the pants on over her black thong and began dancing like her bum idol in the new music video everyone was talking about.

“Okay, point proven. I will squeeze myself into one of your insanely glam dresses if you go out wearing those pants.”

“Ellie, I already wear these as many times as I can before I have to do a whites wash. Oh my God, I’ve had a brain wave. I think I have a very, very cool chiffony dress lying around somewhere. It wouldn’t only fit you—it would look amazing!”

After a fifteen-minute search, which uncovered numerous other sparkly dresses instead, Emma found the one she meant and I put it on.

I looked critically at myself in her full-length mirror. I was expecting it to hang shapelessly from my boobs, which were hooked up in my most industrial, thick-strapped bra. Instead, it gave me a feminine shape. It was black chiffon, sleeveless and even made my legs look shapely. It was covered in a dark blue peacock print and Emma had persuaded me to wear it with her black, five-inch-heeled ankle boots. She had even cajoled me into putting on a pair of long silver earrings, to which I had agreed only as a compromise after refusing to wear two huge peacock feathers dangling from my ears. My long brown hair still looked a bit out of control and there was nothing that could be done about my prominent, straight nose, but the dress did detract attention from the center of my face.

“You look amazing, Ellie,” remarked Emma as she surveyed my body.

“I guess I look as good I’m ever going to,” I admitted, and she rolled her eyes.

“You need more self-confidence, babe. Embrace your hot bod and work those curves,” she said as she rummaged distractedly in her drawer.

I raised my eyebrows. She thought I had a hot bod? She was wearing black velvet platform heels with tiny colored gems all over the heels and a skintight cotton dress that she wore bra-less and tights-less with the peacock earrings I had rejected. Standing next to her, I felt like a nun, but when we walked into the party—at her friend Amelia’s house—I was relieved I’d gone for a more toned-down look. Most people there were the typical hipster types: the guys in checked shirts and skinny jeans, while the girls wore boots and oversized jumpers with tiny floral dresses underneath. I was grateful I had listened to my inner Greek mum and worn thick black tights.

Emma was the only one who looked like she had walked out of a Soho nightclub, but she seemed oblivious to this and ran towards Amelia, shrieking, “OH MY GOD, HI!” as we walked in.

Amelia had short dark hair that suited her elf-like face and piercings all up her ears, and she was wearing a man’s denim shirt with ripped tights. She and Emma looked like they were from different worlds—or opposite social scenes at the very least—but they hugged as though they had been friends for years and started sharing stories with each other so loudly the whole room turned to stare.

I smiled politely when Emma remembered to introduce me, and then decided to disappear for a while so they could catch up without the awkward friend hovering behind them. I mouthed something about coats and a loo to Emma before slipping off in search of company—or, if that was too optimistic, in search of somewhere to hide.