Page 11 of Little Did You Know

I figured the worst part was over, and I had to admit I liked the outcome of the makeover; how bad could this be? I looked through all the clothes and found the stack of bras and panties. They were matching sets, lacy, and not something I would ever wear, but I knew it would be a losing battle to fight with Hannah, so I put on the first one.

"Um, I think it's too small," I yelled to Hannah, who I was pretty sure was standing right outside the door.

"How do you know?" Hannah asked. I looked down at myself. The panties looked like very, very short shorts, except for a portion of my butt hanging out; they fit okay, but the bra I was practically spilling out of. "Come out and show me." Hannah's voice bounced off the dressing room walls, bright with enthusiasm.

My heart slammed against my ribs. "What?" The word came out strangled. The mirror showed too much skin, too much of everything I'd spent years hiding. "I'm in my underwear."

"I know!" Her laugh trickled under the door like water. "Don't you ever shop with your other girlfriends? It's what you do."

The question hung in the air between us. Other girlfriends. Years of online classes and homeschool flashed through my mind. The dressing room suddenly felt smaller, its walls pressing in with memories of all the normal things I'd never done.

"Come out," Hannah sing-songed, closer now. My fingers found the door latch, trembling. One push and I'd cross a line I couldn't uncross.

"You know what?" My voice cracked. "I think it's fine." The words tumbled out too fast, desperation wrapped in fake casualness. Please let it go. Please don't make me explain.

"Come on, Olivia." Hannah’s fingertips appearing under the door gap, wiggling impatiently. "If it fits, you have to show me."

My hand hovered over the door handle, heart thundering in my chest. The mirror reflected a stranger back at me—someone wearing confidence like lingerie, someone who maybe could step outside this dressing room and into a different life.

The door creaked open before I could change my mind. Hannah stumbled back, nearly tripping over her own feet as her jaw literally dropped. She recovered with a theatrical gasp, clutching at her heart. I forced myself to walk to the full-length mirror, my knees threatening to buckle with each step, feeling like a tightrope walk between who I was and who I could be.

"Holy hot tamales," she breathed, her hands flying to her mouth in exaggerated shock. "If I were a lesbian, I would fuck you!"

I assumed that was a compliment. "Uh, thanks." I looked at my reflection self-consciously, arms instinctively crossing over my exposed skin. "I don't wear stuff like this." My gaze lifted to meet Hannah’s through the mirror, who was practically bouncing on her toes behind me.

"Well, you totally should." She reached out, gently uncrossing my arms and positioning them at my sides. "If I had a body like that, I would never wear clothes, like ever," she declared, sweeping her hand through the air with dramatic flair. I laughed, the sound surprising me with its authenticity.

"What do you do to get a body like that? And please don't say you were born with it because I'll have to kill you!"

I thought about the question for a long moment realizing the only exercising I really did was running. "I run." Running wasn't just exercise—it was an escape, therapy, punishment all rolled into one. Each footfall on pavement meant one less second spent remembering, one less moment trapped in my head. My reflection stared back at me, a stranger in expensive lingerie. Sure, I had curves, but they were just the shell housing all my sharp edges and dark corners. Hannah saw something worth admiring. All I saw was someone who'd learned to run away really, really well.

On the other hand, Hannah was stunning; I didn't know what she was complaining about. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was thick, her skin deeply tanned, and her eyes bright blue. She was several inches taller than me, with a curvy feminine figure and legs that went on forever.

"What?" Hannah's nose wrinkled in confusion. She tilted her head like a puzzled puppy. "Like for fun?"

I shifted my weight from one bare foot to the other, eyes dropping to the plush carpet. I wasn't quite sure how to answer that. I didn't exactly run for fun; most of the time, it wasn't fun at all. I ran for miles, hard and fast, until my lungs started burning with the threat of exploding. I ran until I couldn't feel anything emotional because the physical pain was overpowering. Physical pain was easier to deal with. I ran to escape my nightmares, but that wasn't a conversation I wanted to have.

My shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug as I nodded.

Hannah circled me, examining my body with the calculating eye of someone appraising a racehorse. "If that's what running does to a body," she murmured, tapping a finger against her chin, "then I might be taking it up soon."

I liked Hannah. She made me feel comfortable without trying, and she was funny.

"Another reason you should wear stuff like that is you never know when sparks will fly, and you don't want to get caught in your granny panties." She gave an exaggerated wink. Again, I nodded in agreement to another topic I didn't want to discuss. "Speaking of which, I was surprised to see you with Mr. Pearson this morning. You're not exactly his type. What's the deal between you two?"

"Nick and me?" My reflection stared back at me, cheeks flushing pink against the dressing room mirror. My fingers fidgeted with the lace edge of the bra. "Nothing, we're friends."

Hannah leaned against the doorframe, a knowing smile playing at her lips. She crossed her arms, one eyebrow arching with perfect skepticism. "He is smoking hot," she counted on one finger, "and you're smoking hot," another finger, "and when two smoking hot people get together," she clapped her hands together with a decisive smack, "they have smoking hot sex."

My head snapped up so quickly I nearly gave myself whiplash, eyes widening as they locked on hers. The unfamiliar underwear suddenly felt like it was burning against my skin. "Oh my god." The words emerged as a strangled whisper.

Nick's face flickered through my mind—not the polished man version from this morning, but the teenage boy who'd taught me to ride a bike, who'd bandaged my scraped knees, who'd disappeared when I needed him most.

Hannah waggled her eyebrows in the mirror. "What? It's the truth.”

A laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. She was so far off base. Like she’d said before; I wasn’t Nick’s type.

Hannah had been right; this was fun. The makeover was brutal, but everything else was "fun."

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