The Beginning of After

caught wearing the same thing as someone else—unless you wanted to, of course. Meg had desperately wanted to try Macy’s or even go down to the city, but her mother insisted.
    “It’s a tradition,” she said. “I bought my prom dress here.”
    “Further evidence as to why I should skip it,” snorted Meg as we walked up the store’s brick steps.
    The boutique was now owned by Bettina’s daughter, whose name we could never remember, so we called her Bettina 2.0. She greeted us as we walked in and smiled wide at me and Meg.
    “Hello, girls!” she chirped. “All the prom stuff is over there; I call it the ‘Prom Parade of Prettiness.’ See the banner?”
    She doesn’t know who I am , I thought, and felt disappointed, and then felt bad about feeling disappointed.
    Nana hurried toward the prom racks, which were organized by color, and in seconds was holding up something pink and fluffy.
    “Oh, I like this,” she said, as if she were going to wear it herself to the next Hospital Auxiliary luncheon. I shook my head and frowned, then followed Meg toward the dark dresses at the far end of the racks.
    “Black all the way,” Meg said. “Don’t you think?”
    “Not for me,” I said. “Too obvious.”
    Meg froze for a second and looked at me sadly. “Right.”
    As she plunged her arms into the rows, I scanned the whole rainbow of the Prom Parade of Prettiness, not sure what I was even looking for. Bettina 2.0 had put up extra banners that said FUN & FLIRTY! and FOREVER YOUNG! but nothing jumped out at me. I let my eyes wander past the prom racks, into the rest of the store. There was a mannequin near the front, and all I could see was that she had her arms up in a sort of “Oh, to hell with it” pose. I went over to get a closer look.
    The dress did not make the mannequin look Fun & Flirty or Forever Young. It made this mannequin look like she was at the Oscars and owned the red carpet, even though she was made of plastic and had no face. It was a color blue I’d never seen before, and a material I didn’t even know what to call. It caught the light in dazzling ways and begged me to touch it.
    Somewhere in the corner of my gaze, I saw Bettina 2.0 and Mrs. Dill talking in low voices. I made out the words remarkably well .
    Now I felt their eyes on me as I found the dress in my size on the rack next to the mannequin. I paused, then took a moment to notice the feeling of my jeans loose around my waist, saggy in the butt. It was a feeling I’d been ignoring, because it felt so unfamiliar. I let my fingers find the dress in the next size smaller, and headed to the fitting room. Meg noticed my beeline and motioned for the others to follow.
    Minutes later I stepped out, toward the scary three-way mirror where everyone was waiting.
    The dress wasn’t perfect; at least, not the “It’s so me!” kind of perfect. Instead, it looked like it was worn by someone else. This not-Laurel person’s skin glowed pale against the blue fabric, and the overhead fluorescent light deepened the shadows under her eyes. She was older, and came from somewhere foreign like Europe or Vermont. And it hung on her just right, with a long flared skirt, beaded bodice, and gauzy sleeves.
    “This is it,” I said to Meg. She nodded. I raised my head to look at Nana’s reflection over my shoulder. I said it again: “This is it.”
    “It’s not really a prom dress, and the color . . . ,” Nana said weakly, but I just twirled, letting the fabric caress my legs. Finally, she just said, “You’ve lost weight.” In the past, coming from her this would have been praise. Now she said it with worry, like she wasn’t doing her job of getting me to eat.
    I shrugged as casually as I could. I’d been trying halfheartedly for a year to drop a size, and now it had just happened and all I could feel was sad about it. I mean, could I afford to lose anything else?
    Not the time or place to be sad , I told myself. These were pounds you didn’t want. Push it, push it, push it away.
    “Nana,” I said as solidly as I could. “I love this dress. Don’t you love it?” And Nana had no choice but to nod.
    At the register, Bettina 2.0 looked wide-eyed at me as I handed her the dress, as if I were a celebrity she’d just now recognized.
    “This is one of my favorites,” she said. She fumbled for the tag and looked at the price. I’d already checked it and knew it was more expensive than any of the prom dresses. It was probably more