We've been back to school for literally one week and Whitney and Bridgette are already obsessing over Homecoming. And when I say obsessing, I mean obsessing. Apparently, they have to make up for last year's subpar Hoco experience. According to them, it all went to hell in a handbasket when Ruthie chose Strawberry Fields as the theme. Everyone was on board except Abbie Lynn Quaker, who had a total meltdown because her boyfriend of three weeks was allergic to strawberries. Abbie Lynn was utterly furious that her co-captain didn't know this and could not fathom how Ruthie could be so insensitive to the plight of the strawberry averse. But, Abbie Lynn's boyfriend was from out of town, and no one had even met him, so how was Ruthie supposed to know he was allergic to strawberries?

It was such a disaster that no one knew about it except the five people on the Homecoming committee. At least, that's what I could gather from my second-hand knowledge. My dad didn't let me go last year, so I didn't really see it for myself. I wasn't sure at first if he'd even allow me to go this year, but after some fierce negotiation, my mom was able to wear him down. There are minor stipulations, but with my dad, there always are.

Since Homecoming is "right around the corner" and "we really want to top last year's showing," as Whitney and Bridgette put it, they decide to stage an emergency shopping session. Their parents are visiting their mom's sister for the weekend, and my mom doesn't like to drive long distances, so we're stuck trying to convince my dad to take us.

Knowing how he feels about Homecoming and dances in general, Whitney and Bridgette made sure to coach me on the art of "the eyelash bat and bait." A tried and true technique that Whitney and Bridgette had perfected that can guilt any man into giving you anything you want. It's all a little too Toddlers & Tiaras for me, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

So, I slap on my sweetest smile and go on the offensive.

"Hi, Daddy."

He looks up slowly and eyes me suspiciously. I don't play the "Hi Daddy," card often, so he knows something's up.

"Oh, man, what am I in for?"

I bite my lip, a little hesitant to spit it out. My eyes drift to Whitney and Bridgette and they both give me a nod of reassurance.

"We need dresses for Homecoming."

"Dresses. For Homecoming."

"Uh-huh," I nod.

My dad stares at me as I continue chewing on my lip nervously. I knew he wouldn't exactly be happy, but the suspense is killing me.

"Why?"

My heart sinks a little, but thankfully, my saint of a mother steps in.

"Well, they can't very well go naked."

His brow furrows and his jaw drops open, truly stunned at my mother's joke.

"I know that," my dad says. "I wasn't suggesting -"

"Sure sounded like it," my mom says and gives us girls a smile.

My dad turns his head to my mom who raises her eyebrows, challenging him. My dad rolls his eyes, slams the golf magazine he was reading onto the coffee table and pulls himself up off the couch.

"All right," he says, clearly exasperated. "Let's go."

After about an hour of traveling, we arrive at Whitney and Bridgette's go-to dress boutique, Rosie Red's. When I step inside, my senses are seriously overwhelmed. The pink fluorescent lights are so bright I feel like I need sunglasses. White victorian couches are placed strategically in front of 360-degree mirrors that look more like Broadway stages than a means to see how you look. Seriously, step one foot in front of that thing and I'm sure you can see every slightly enlarged pore in high definition.

And then there are the dresses! Racks and racks of dresses. So many that I feel like I'm going to have to Google Maps my way around. Whitney and Bridgette, of course, know exactly where they're going and immediately start grabbing dress after dress and tossing them into a pile on the nearest couch.

I wander around for a bit, but honestly, I'm unsure where to even start.

"You don't see anything you like, Kiers?" My mom says when she sees my hands are empty.

I shrug and run my fingers through the nearest rack of dresses.

"Not really."

"Here," Whitney says. She splits her pile in half and drops them in my hands. "Take some of mine."

"I'm not sure these are really my style," I say as I look down at the blob of pink and purple sparkly tulle.

"You have to try something," my mom says. "Here, how about this?"

She reaches over and plucks a two-piece white lacey dress from the rack. It's super cute, but I have to say, it's maybe a little more risque than I would normally go for. This is not lost on my dad, whose eyes nearly pop out of his head when he sees it.

"What is that?"

"It's a dress, dear."

"Why's it cut in half?"

"That's the style. It's like a little crop top and a mini skirt. It's cute."

"Absolutely not," my dad says.

He quickly snatches the dress and puts it right back where my mother found it.

"Honestly, Darren," she says. "You act like she's 10 years old."

"And you act like you want every boy within a 25-mile radius eyein' up our daughter."

My mom looks at us and shakes her head with a big sigh. I know that sigh. That's the sigh of a woman who's had to put up with a man's bs for far too long.

"Look, honey, there's a Home Depot in the next plaza. Why don't you and I wander around in there for a bit? You can look at all the light fixtures you want and the girls will give us a call when they're ready to be picked up."

My dad grumbles, but eventually gives in and leaves us alone. The second the door closes behind my dad, Whitney grabs the dress he put back and shoves it in my arms.

"Okay, so you're definitely trying that on," she says.

I turn the dress over in my hands and take a second look. I run my hands over the sparkly lace appliques overlaid the beige mesh sleeves and think it over. I mean, it is cute. Whether or not I can pull it off is a completely different story. It kind of has a playboy bunny runaway bride vibe to it, and I don't know, I'm not sure. As I'm thinking it over, a strange thought pops into my head. I wonder what Matty would think of it.

"What are you waiting for, girl," Bridgette says, interrupting my thoughts. I jump a little, suddenly paranoid that she can read my mind. "Try it on."

I'm too flustered to argue, so I nod my head and retreat into the dressing room. I start shimmying my way into the dress, and honestly, it is a struggle. This dress is tight. Like tight-tight. Like I'm thinking Sandy's leather pants in Grease had more breathing room than this skirt. The lyrics you better shape up in that finale song are really starting to feel like a personal attack.

Finally, I get it zipped up and manage to squeeze into the top. I look at myself in the mirror and it's different from what I'm used to seeing. It's much more form-fitting than the loose and flowing sundresses I normally wear. It reminds me of how I felt wearing that yellow swimsuit that Whitney and Bridgette convinced me to get. Much like this dress, I did think it was super cute and I did really like it. I just wasn't sure about it. They gave me that little push of confidence I needed to actually go after what I wanted. I was feeling great about it until I saw the way Matty was looking at me, and then I started second-guessing myself. It wasn't that he made me feel bad or self-conscious or anything. It was just, I don't know. Different. Like I was an actual girl to him and not the next-door-neighbor he grew up with.

God, I need to stop thinking so much.

I try to shake the thoughts away and am thankful when I hear my phone buzz. I check my messages, hoping for a distraction, but of course, it's the one person I was trying not to think about.

Matt: Hey Kiersten 😏

Me: Hi Matty

Matt: Wyd

Me: Dress shopping with the girls

Matt: Oh

Matt: ...

Matt: I wanted to hang out 🥺

Me: I'll be back later today. We can hang out then 😊

Matt: Promise?

Me: Cross my heart

Matt: Okay. I better be the first person you see when you get back. I haven't seen you all day. I miss my Kiers 😥

I find myself reading and rereading his last message and smiling like an idiot without even realizing it. It isn't until I'm startled by a banging on my dressing room door that it occurs to me how lost in our conversation I'd gotten.

"Are you gonna come out or what?" Bridgette shouts.

I quickly tuck my phone in my bag and reach for the door. But right as I turn the handle, it gets slammed shut on me.

"Wait!" Whitney stops me. "Put these on first."

A pair of beige strappy heels are chucked over the top of the door, nearly knocking me on the head. I pick them off the floor and shake my head. I'm not really a high heel kind of girl, so I'm not sure what Whitney and Bridgette are thinking. But they've never steered me wrong before, so I put aside my inhibitions and throw 'em on.

I wobble over to the judging platform and step up carefully into the fluorescent light. Whitney and Bridgette sit on the couch examining me like two reality show judges.

"Turn around," Whitney says coolly.

I teeter around slowly in a circle. To my surprise, I only almost fall on my butt once.

"That's it," she says with a definitive clap of her hands. "That's the one."

"You think?"

"Are you freaking kidding? You look amazing," Bridgette adds.

A small smile forms on my lips as I tuck my hair shyly behind my ear. I take another look in the mirror and this time, I'm happy with what I see. Sure, it's different, but that's not always a bad thing.

"So, you're getting that right?" Whitney asks.

I bite my lip and turn to them with a sheepish grin and nod my head excitedly. They both jump up and rush to give me a hug as I'd just won the lottery. But with friends like them, I feel like I have.

We try on dresses for about another half an hour before we start to hit a wall. Bridgette gets an a-line mint green dress and Whitney buys two different dresses with the intention of choosing at home and returning the one she doesn't want. If you ask me I'm sure she's going to end up keeping both, but she swears she's going to return one so I don't push it.

As we're all piling back into my dad's truck, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I know before even looking that it's Matt since I never texted him back earlier. I get a little excited to see what sweet thing he has to say next but am quickly reminded that Matt's sensitive side is a sometimes fleeting phenomenon.

Matt: Yo, are you near a Chick-fil-A?

I have to laugh to myself as I type out my reply. Boys never cease to amaze me.