She expected me to break. She expected me to collapse onto the floor in a puddle of tears, to call off the wedding out of sheer humiliation, to run away and prove her right: that I was weak, that I was low-class, that I didn’t belong in her world.
Sarah grabbed my shoulders, her fingers digging into my collarbones. “Emma, breathe. Just breathe. I am calling the boutique right now. We will get a sample dress. We will push the ceremony back three hours. We will fix this.”
I reached into the bag and pulled out the scratchy, polka-dot pants. The neon suspenders dangled from my fingertips. I looked at the mirror, then at Sarah. The chaotic, manic laugh settled into a cold, diamond-hard resolve.
“No,” I said, my voice shockingly steady.
Sarah blinked. “What do you mean, no? I’ll call Daniel—”
“You will not call Daniel,” I commanded, turning to face my terrified friends. “We are not pushing the ceremony back. We are not calling the boutique.”
“Emma, your dress is gone!” Sarah yelled, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. “What are you going to get married in?”
I held up the rainbow wig and the bright red nose. I felt a dangerous, electric thrill shoot down my spine.
“I’m wearing exactly what Patricia brought me.”
Chapter 2: The Transformation
