“It’s red.” Libby stared into the three-way mirror in the dressing room. At sixteen she was beginning to like what she saw in the mirror. Her hair was stil a plain dark brown, but Mel had spent the last summer experimenting with home hair dyes, and Libby reaped al the benefits with her almost expertly done low lights. Also over the last year her figure had certainly blossomed. Mel’s tal wilowy frame was more stylish, but Libby secretly preferred her own curves. The red dress that hugged her ful breasts, and draped just so over the swel of her hips would have hung awkwardly on her friend. “Red is not appropriate for a wedding.” Libby twisted slightly admiring how the steep slit winked open displaying one long leg.
“It’s a Christmas wedding Lib. I don’t think those rules apply. Besides it isn’t realy red—it’s more of a wine.” Mel sighed dramaticaly and flounced into a chair. “You can’t realy be considering putting it back. This dress was made for you, if anyone else were to wear it you could sue!”
“It’s not exactly a one of a kind; there is a rack ful of identical dresses waiting to drain other walets of other girls.” Libby was used to Mel’s dramatics. But she stil felt it was her duty to bring her friend’s brain out of fashion magazines and back to earth every now and then. “And while it isn’t haute couture it also isn’t exactly priced to move.” Grimacing at the price tag Libby mentaly calculated how many batches of cookie dough she would need to slave over to cover the price of the dress. Not that working at her mom’s eat your heart out café and bakery was ever realy slaving. She loved baking and it sure beat the retail job Mel was stuck with. That reminded her that Mel’s lunch break was almost over and a decision must be made if she was going to take shameless advantage of her friend’s employee discount. “Maybe I should try the pink one again?” She reached for the cocktail length dress chosen from the clearance rack.
“Absolutely not. This is a grown up event, and that is a little girl’s party dress!” Mel took a deep breath and started again in what she obviously thought was a casual tone. “Tony is flying in tonight, did I mention that? He decided he could use a break after his finals after al. And he didn’t realy want to miss Olivia’s wedding anyway.” Libby’s stomach turned over. “I thought he got a job for the winter break.”
“He did. Some newspaper— something gazette or herald or … whatever. He doesn’t start until Monday and mom and dad paid for his plane tickets so he’l be here tonight, go to the wedding tomorrow, and fly back Sunday afternoon.”
Actualy it was The Examiner in Trenton. He had rented a cheap apartment in New Jersey for the next two months and his salary would only just cover the rent, but he was so excited about the job he didn’t care if he ended up losing money. That was why he hadn’t originaly planned on making it to his cousin’s wedding. He was worried he would run out of cash and was hesitant to buy the tickets home. Of course Libby couldn’t exactly correct Mel.
Because Melanie didn’t exactly know that Libby had been talking to her brother lately. Wel not talking realy, but they had been trading short emails, and there had been a few late night online chats.
It was mostly just sily stuff. It must be hard for him to be away from home and it wouldn’t be very macho of him to be talking to his baby sister al the time, so Libby figured this was just his way of staying plugged into Lindstown. It was such a smal town they didn’t even have their own Examiner. So it was hardly like he could get his home-sick-fix any other way.
Anyway, there realy wasn’t that much to say. A couple times a week she would get a thril when she checked her email and saw firstname.lastname@example.org pop up in her inbox. It was never more than 3 or 4 lines.
Usualy about something sily in his day or lately about how much more stressful exams were as a sophomore as opposed to last year. Sometimes he would ask her about her schoolwork, or about the bakery. Once, he had sent her text message with a picture of a guy using an electric razor on the subway and the caption ‘only in NY, gotta love it’. It was the only time he had ever texted her, and she shamelessly looked at that stupid photo approximately 12
times a day. It made her grin so uncontrolably that she was careful not to sneak any peaks when Mel was around.
Twice, when she’d been online later than was normal for her TMarchetti: had popped up in a chat window over her email account. Both times they chatted for over an hour.
Talking to him was so easy; especialy online because if she wasn’t fighting the urge to swoon every time he smiled the conversation didn’t have any awkward pauses.