Page 27 of The Tattered Gloves
She seemed to recompose herself as the idea settled between us. Picking up her ruined piece of felt, she twisted it between her fingers, starting in the center and slowly reworking the fabric into a flower.
“And the dress? What were you thinking?” she asked casually.
I could sense the way she’d approached the question with hesitance.
“Um, I don’t know since…” I looked down at my gloves.
Addy took her time with gluing the flower so that it wouldn’t fall apart this time when it left her hands. Setting it down on the table, it stood upright, a beautiful, tiny piece of art.
With her hands free and her mind focused on me, she met my eyes. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by beating around the bush when it comes to me.”
I let out a heavy sigh.
“I know you’re not used to trusting people, especially those close to you, but believe me when I say, you need to address whatever you’re avoiding in your head. Whether that’s talking it out with me, writing to yourself in a journal, or finding a friend to confide in. But something has got to give, Willow.”
I instantly wanted to rebut, to refuse to believe her. But I’d been doing a lot of that lately — arguing with Sam, fighting off friendships because I didn’t believe I was worthy of one, and refusing help from the one person who continued to offer it.
It hadn’t gotten me anywhere.
I was still miserable, still scared of the dark, and still fighting a past I couldn’t forget.
An internal war I was sorely losing.
Addy was right. Something had to give.
Maybe it could start with this.
“I need a dress that will cover me — all of me,” I said, nervousness and fear bubbling up in my stomach like burning acid.
“See? That wasn’t too hard.” She smiled warmly. “I’ll take you shopping on Saturday. I’m sure we can find you something.”
I let out a breath of relief. I hoped she was right.
DESPITE MY BEST efforts to will it away, the day of the dance came anyway.
And a crapload of anxiety with it.
By the time Allison arrived at the house, armed with enough stuff to supply a small boutique, I was nearly climbing the walls with apprehension, terror, and every other disastrous word I could think of.
“Whoa, you look like you’re about to explode,” Allison said as she entered my room, taking a quick glance around before plopping down on the bed.
“Why did I agree to this?” I asked, pacing back and forth between the closet and the cute little bookshelf Addy had installed the week before.
“Because you didn’t want me to go alone,” Allison said, smiling just enough to ease some of the tension in my shoulders.
“Like that would ever happen. Everyone loves you.”
“And everyone would love you if you gave them a chance,” she added.
Over the last week, I’d given in to my friendship with Allison. I’d stopped trying to hide during lunch or avoid running into her in the halls. I’d accepted her for what she was — a decent, profoundly nice person. Once I’d stopped trying to label her, to put her in a box like everyone else, it was actually quite easy to get along with her.
To onlookers, her and I might be as different as two young adults could be. She was outgoing and vivacious while I was shy and frumpy.
But, together, we worked.
I didn’t know why, but we just did.
And, slowly, she was starting to bring me out of the impenetrable hard shell I’d created for myself, despite my best efforts to stay buried deep inside.
