Page 29 of Better Than the Movies
He grinned like I’d just complimented his outfit, and rubbed a hand over the lettering on his shirt. “Hear me out. I know what girls at our school wear. Girls like Laney Morgan—yeah, remember her?”
As if I could forget her. Good skin, good Instagram following, good dating history, and a doting mother. Enviable and unforgettable.
“Are you gritting your teeth, Liz?”
I released the clench and said, “No. Continue with your rambling.”
“If you want to land your man, you need to quit being stubborn and let me help you.”
“I just don’t think you’re capable.”
“Of coaching you to the win or picking out your clothes?”
“For sure the clothes.” I reached down and grabbed a stack of books off the bottom shelf of the cart. Doubt crept in as he spoke like we were officiallyplanningsomething. What was I even doing—trying to live-action my own personal version ofShe’s All That?
To be honest, though, the part of me that loved makeover rom-coms was a tiny bit intrigued.
But I liked myself. I liked my clothes.
I wasn’t a little weirdo, and I didn’t need Wes’s fashion assistance.
“Listen.” He grabbed a piece of paper off the counter and said, “What if we just stroll through the mall and I point out things that look cool? You’ll be with me, so you don’t have to get anything you don’t like. But it wouldn’t hurt you to look like an actual high schooler when you’re trying to charm your long-lost love, right? Nothing wild or trashy, just something that doesn’t make you look like a librarian.”
I was clearly losing my mind, because all of a sudden it seemed like maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to go with Wes and see what he thought I should be wearing. I wasn’t about to change my looks for a boy—screw that thought forever—but if he could point me to an outfit that I likedandhe thought made me look less uptight, that wouldn’t be a bad thing, would it?
“I’m pretty broke right now, so I can’t afford to go forrichhot girl. Is there a way to do a girl-on-a-budget, moderately-attractive look?”
He gave me a full-throttle grin then, the grin of someone who’d just beat someone else. “Trust me, Buxbaum—I got you.”
As soon as he left, I texted Joss.
Ugh—looks like I have to work a double. Can we dress shop tomorrow? SO SORRY.
I felt like a garbage friend. I knew I needed to stop putting her off and just do the dang dress thing already, but I was really having a hard time forcing myself to step up.
Perhaps tomorrow.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Just because she likes the same bizarro crap you do doesn’t mean she’s your soul mate.”
—500 Days of Summer
“Seriously, Wes?” I looked around the store and couldn’t shake the guilt. It was one thing to blow off shopping with your best friend to do another activity, but blowing off shopping with your best friend to shop with someone else? It felt like crossing a big old line. “You are ridiculous.”
He grabbed a red tunic from a display rack and threw it into the cart. “Ridiculously smart. Now you only have to go into the fitting room once.”
I looked at the heaping cart and wondered if he knew that you could only take in six items at a time. I didn’t say anything, though, because the man was on a mission. He’d picked me up from the bookstore when my shift was over, sped the two blocks to the mall, and nearly pulled my arm out of its socket every time I failed to keep up with his brisk pace.
Apparently Wes hated shopping.
We were in Devlish, the high-school-trendy-worldwide-franchise store that I usually avoided. I was all about buying vintage clothesonline or hunting through thrift stores for the perfect throwback pieces; Devlish wasn’t my game. Wes had asked me my size when we’d entered the three-level store, and since then he’d been hurling items into the cart like he was on some kind of speed-shopping game show.
We had finally taken a pause in the middle of an aisle, between the sequined and revealing formal dresses and the faux-business attire. Wes looked through the contents of our cart, holding up a few items to reconsider them, either nodding or shaking his head thoughtfully. Finally he said, “I think we probably have enough.”
I tried not to sound sarcastic when I said, “Probably.”
He pointed a finger at me and said, “But I know you well enough to know this is my only shot.”
