Calm Before the Storm

I made a face. “Get ready? What's there to do?” I asked.

Molly looked back at me, dead eyed. “I'm going to put on something fun and short,” she said. “And so are you.”

“Oh, do you have to?” Joan moaned, pressing her hands together. The girl had never given up her Sunday school morality.

“For once, she's right,” I said. “It's pouring outside. What are we getting dressed up for?”

Molly looked ready to kill. “No. No no no. After the week I've had, after the week you've had, we need this. Come on! I feel like I haven't seen the light of day in ages and now I won't for another–well, who knows how long?”

I dithered. That was enough. My friend knew she'd won.

“Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!!” Molly gushed, running over and wrapping me in a hug. She squeezed tight. Let her have this, I thought. I only knew the broad outline of the demons that Molly read about every day in her psychology textbooks, but I knew I wouldn't stand a chance with them.

After a while Molly put me back down and spun toward the mirror set into her chest of drawers. In an instant she stripped down to her panties, forcing Joan to make a sound and retreat back to her bed. I didn't understand the big deal. Molly and I had seen each other naked plenty of times and there was nothing sinful about it. Though, she does have a great butt, I thought. Molly had a natural slightness that made every other girl furious. She weighed one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet and stood at five foot seven. She only worked out twice a week. It was infuriating.

“Okay, I was thinking of, like, a semi sheer black blouse and a skirt. And then knee highs,” she said, mostly to herself. It sounded like too much to me, but clearly this was important to my friend. She spun, only covering her chest with the vaguest of effort. “So the question is really just what I wear under it.”

I nodded. “Because of the sheer top.”

“Because of the sheer top.”

I joined her beside the mirror and opened up her underwear drawer. “Wow. You have a problem,” I said.

The color (not that there was much of it) drained from Molly's face. “Oh no. What's wrong?” she said.

“No, like, an addiction. There are so many bras here.”

“Oh,” Molly laughed.

A sound came from Joan's end of the room. Humming. She was trying not to hear all this. As if she wouldn't be seeing the end result like everyone else. Joan wasn't such a wet blanket that she refused to join social occasions, and she was even a moderate drinker. She just covered her eyes when people started “being silly,” as she described it.

I caught a flash of myself in the mirror. In the previous version of the evening plan, one where Jack hadn’t barged his way into something that could’ve been fun, I had actually been excited about dressing up, doing my makeup. My brown curls looked more like a rat’s nest. I tied it back with the hairband around my wrist. The freckles dotting my face seemed somehow embarrassing. You’re just finding things to nitpick so you can bail, I thought. That wouldn’t do. Molly’s query gave me a way to distract myself. “I guess… something black?” I thumbed through the rainbow of lingerie in my friend's drawer.

“You don't think it's too much black?” asked Molly, unearthing the sheer black blouse.

“There's no such thing,” I assured her.

Molly thought for a second. “Okay. Pass me that high neck thing in the second row.” I obliged, and Molly slipped into it quickly. The cutout gave her the illusion of cleavage.

“It's cute,” I said.

“So what are you wearing tonight?” Molly asked.

I froze. I felt like I was on the verge of revealing a secret I didn't intend to. “I don't know, just this,” I said, indicating my jeans and tee shirt. A bead of sweat formed on the back of my neck.

“No. C'mon, I've got some shorts you can–” Molly began, trying to drag me back to the chest of drawers. The drop of sweat swelled.

“I'll get something from my room,” I promised, looking for a way out.

Molly paused. Maybe she sensed that something was going wrong inside her friend's skull, or maybe not. Either way she made up her mind. She pointed one finger at me like the witch from Snow White. “I better see you here, wearing something at least somewhat slutty, in twenty minutes at the latest. We need to put our game faces on,” she said.