I showed Mom the worst news I'd ever received and leaned into the kitchen counters. "I don't understand."

She skimmed over the part praising my SAT and ACT being in the ninetieth percentile – good, but not the best – and my 4.7 GPA. Her eyebrows furrowed. Thankfully, she didn't read the letters aloud, because already the words were seared in my brain.

Ms. Harrison,

We appreciate your early interest in our prestigious university but regret to inform you that we are not accepting your application at this time and encourage you to apply again during the spring admissions.

"Sincerely..." She flipped through five almost identical senders. "Harvard...Cornell...Yale...Princeton, and Duke."

I was optimistic that my early college application process would be a breeze. The reality was like a tornado ripped me off my foundation and dropped me into another location. So, while my school buzzed about a stupid football game and dance, my world became a sour, stinking pile of disappointment and rejection.

"Oh," Mom said in a flat voice. "Not the news Jake got."

Jake's USC early admission letter had sealed his entrance. His grades were decent, and his athletic scholarship was contingent on no game-ending injuries this season. My brother was the most regimented guy I knew, annoyingly, but freak accidents and injuries happened and made Mom breathe into a bag whenever he hit the field.

Just another case of brawns winning over brains.

I wouldn't be accepted into every school I'd applied for, early admission was more restrictive, blah, blah, excuse after excuse. Regardless of why, rejection sucked. No one wanted to hear that they weren't good enough, and that's exactly how I felt.

Logan's acceptance into every one of those schools poured extra salt into my wounds. While I was thrilled for him, shards of jealousy pierced my heart. They weren't severe enough that I felt brokenhearted but splintered. Or maybe it was just my ego.

"I'm sorry." Mom didn't hide the relief in her sympathetic gaze. "It'll be okay. Now you can apply to some in-state schools," she offered an undesirable consolation. I scrunched my nose and stared at her as if she'd suggested I took one of my cousins to the Homecoming Dance.

"They're not as bad as you think. Until then, we'll get you an extra pretty dress."

Oh, yes. An extra pretty dress would make me feel tons better about the giant question mark of my life's future. I wasn't accepted into my choice schools, but let's celebrate by buying me a dress I didn't want for a dance I didn't care about.

I must've worn the sentiments on my face because she patted my cheek. "Let' s leave early and I'll get you some ice cream." Her eyes shifted down towards her watch. "We'll cook dinner after we return."

"Awesome." I rolled my eyes. With his ridiculous superstitions, Jake only ate chicken parmesan and steamed broccoli for dinner during football season. Done with that meal six weeks ago, I was surprised I hadn't turned into a chicken.

"Just a few more weeks." She bumped her fist on my shoulder. "Please let him know dinner will be later. Ask if he's inviting Chloe, he's been in the shower a while."

"Greaaaat." My voice was sarcastic and bitter, exactly how Jake and his girlfriend's nauseating googly-eyes as our dinner entertainment made me feel.

"Stop. You and Logan are just as sweet." Valid point, so I didn't respond. "You can invite him too, and I'll stare across the table at Dad so we're all even."

My parents making heart eyes was kinda gross. "Hilarious." I scoffed. "The last time Jake saw Logan, he gave him a black eye."

I'd forgiven him, solely because he was my brother but he needed to get his anger flares under control. If not for his own sake, then for those who cared about him.

"On your behalf." Mom inspected the birthday cake we'd made for sitting on the counter. "Did you invite Harper?"

"I wouldn't hold out hope for her coming."

My best friend – my only friend – in her special words, would rather pluck every fingernail and toenail off and dunk them in hand sanitizer than sit at dinner with Jake and his girlfriend.

Despite her always being welcome at our dinner table, Harper and Jake fought like two feral animals over the last scrap of food. Given they were each other's first crushes, I'd always hoped they'd be together, but they'd always had this unspoken tension.

Oddly, their animosity was magnified now that both were in relationships. Why couldn't they just be happy for each other?

"Because of Jake?" the captain of the Jake-Harper ship asked.

"Who knows." Jake was the instigator and, never one to back down, Harper retaliated. If he went dirty, she went dirtier. I'd never understood their dynamic, and as the third wheel in their hate-hate relationship, probably never would.

My thoughts were interrupted as I stumbled going upstairs, catching myself just before I face-planted into the top step.

Mental note, keep practicing walking in heels before the dance.

"Jacob Isaac." I pounded on our shared bathroom door, which was as disgusting as one could imagine. Words couldn't describe the smells that sometimes wafted from this door like dirty laundry with sweat and body odor fermented into hazmat-level toxicity. That was just his clothes after football practice, but, fortunately, this time, muffled running water sounded behind the door.

"Not now," was his grunted response.

"Jake, Mom wanted—oh, gross." Jake taking so long wasn't from getting clean. More...cleaning out a specific part of him. "Never mind."

I turned and headed downstairs. The lack of running water noises behind me meant Jake had finished. A plume of steam escaped the open door, and my brother's tall, muscular frame was on full display as he stepped out in only a towel hanging low off his hips.

"I'm done." He winked, ran a hand towel over his wet hair, and added in a smug tone, "Much better."

"Ugh." While I was obsessed with my boyfriend's muscular body, my brother's pecs and six-pack made me almost as nauseating as what he'd just done in his extended shower time.

Almost. I wish I could wipe that insight from my memory.

Jake rubbed his hair dry. "Don't hate, Ellie."

Eleven months, fourteen inches, and polar opposite personalities separated us. Jake's charisma lit up a room upon entrance, and his cocky smile and direct, forward nature won people over while I slunk into an empty corner. On the surface, he was a gross, smelly, horny teen. And I didn't want to give another thought about why he... pleasured himself before a date with his girlfriend.

"I don't want to hear about your special alone time, Jake," I muttered while my eyes were still shielded. "Mom says dinner will be later, and Harper might come."

"Reynolds?" Jake's surprised face popped out from his towel. "Why is she coming?"

"We're going shopping for Homecoming dresses." Giving a scoff, he cared as much as I did. "And it's her birthday, so be nice to her."

Harper's birthday, and Christmas, were the worst days of the year for her. Mine would if my mom had left when I'd turned thirteen.

"I'm always nice." He disappeared into his room, half-closing the door and making shuffling sounds like he was getting dressed. "She's the one constantly busting my balls."

"Because you provoke her," I pointed through the door crack at where I assumed he stood. "And nobody wants to talk about your balls."

"Hightower's not coming, right." Based on the distance of his voice, he'd paused in his closet – my sense of smell's nemesis.

"No," I warned. "And don't you or anyone else on the team pull any shit with him at the dance."

Preferring that I didn't date anyone, my brother's attitude toward Logan was frozen cold. Rather than argue, I'd chosen the silent treatment and avoidance approach, waiting for him to get over himself.

"Fuck dinner. I'll take Chloe out." His moody response increased my mountain of evidence that male PMS existed.

"Have fun at Lilly's." I smirked. While our Italian mother found eating out sacrilegious, Lilly's Italian Kitchen was good, leaps and bounds better than where I worked. With a game on Friday, Jake wouldn't deviate from his beloved chicken parm. At least Chloe could order something else.

My teasing earned me a "Fuck off," and a middle finger stuck in the door crack.

***

"Oh, Ellie..." Mom cooed and palmed her heart.

I ran my fingers over silky, wine-red folds of chenille fabric. The skirt's layers fanned out like flower petals from my waist, which for once was hugged tightly by an article of clothing.

"Holy fucknuts." Harper's blonde eyebrows raised at my bare feet. "I can see your legs... Woah, shave those before the dance, Sasquatch."

"Harper." My throat tensed with an incoming whine, but I checked and she was right. Despite having a smattering of short stubble, the dark hairs didn't do me any favors.

At least I didn't have the same on my forearms...or face.

"Not done." Her eyes sparkled like a bright, sunny day despite the store's dim lighting. "I also see your shoulders, but keep your arms down because I'll throw up in my mouth if I see your unshaved pits."

I'd shaved three days ago... Okay, at worst five. She made a mountain out of a molehill. A stubbly molehill, but still, a molehill. "Harper."

She continued her visual assault. "And there's your boobs. Bigger than the mosquito bites they look like under your muffin-topped sweatshirts."

This was why I didn't dress up. I frowned at her compliment, palmed the fitted waistline, and brushed the delicate embroidered pattern. "I think it's pretty."

"Lack of ladyscaping aside, you look amazing." Her red lips pulled into her signature cocky smirk. Part satisfaction, part indignance, all confident Harper. "I'm just not used to seeing... well, you."

"You look amazing too." I sighed at her tall, slender figure in a yellow dress with spaghetti straps and a high slit. The shine of the silk looked like it dripped off her curvy hips. With our height difference, her braless, large breasts almost spilled out of her bustline into my face.

Especially when she leaned over and whispered, "I love yours. It's short, good for easy access."

"Harper." My cheeks burned, and a glance at my reflection showed my face was almost the color of my dress.

I still couldn't believe we were here at Bridal Jewels on Pacific. Of all the places to get Homecoming dresses, Mom picked a bridal store. Rack after rack of white dresses covered the sand-colored hardwood floors. Three days before the dance, Harper and I had dumpster-dived through the sales racks of bridesmaid dresses. Finding something that'd fit me without alterations was a challenge, but now I'd hit a home run on the first swing.

Harper pinched the tag under my for-the-record-not-hairy armpit. "It's a flower girl's dress. Extra-extra-large, but still..."

I scanned the price tag before studying Mom's reaction. "I feel pretty and it's comfortable. And forty percent off, so I'll take it."

"Take it?" Mom's smile faded as if I'd popped her dress shopping balloon. "This the first option."

I grinned at my reflection. Cute, sweet, boobs covered, dance-wiggle test passed. "This is the dress."

"You don't... want to try on anything else?" Her eyes rounded and lips pursed into a pout. I'd ruined her osmosis excitement. "Please?"

"Nope. I'm good."

"I'm not done." Harper squinted at her reflection. "Strap a giant condom on me, I look like a walking banana. Plus, I think Leftie just popped out."

I sat beside Mom and smiled when the dress felt just as comfortable when seated. Sold.

"Can't wait to see your reaction on this one." Harper stepped out of the changing room in a fire-engine red bombshell with a thigh slit. The cutout on her hip showed her underwear.

If she planned to wear any at all.

She gave it two thumbs-downs and a "plbbb" sound from her tongue. "Plenty more left."

As she whirled around in option after option, from short to long and fitted to flowy princess dresses, my shoulders slumped and my spine rounded.

"You're sure you don't want to try something else?" Mom murmured at one point.

"Nope."

"Don't forget shoes." She palmed her thighs, stood, and returned to the clothes rack. "With Logan's height, I suggest heels."

"With Logan's height?" I leaned back and braced the seat. "I might as well stand on a chair."

Assuming heels were given, I'd practiced walking around the house in three-inch wedges. During the first attempt, my ankles wobbled, and I'd face-planted into my bedroom carpet.

Harper frowned. "What do you think, Elle?"

"Pretty." With her long, shapely legs on her tall frame, naturally sun-bleached blonde hair, and sinful curves, she was the envy of many girls and attention-grabber of most guys at school. Today, her nails were chipped with black polish, her seven ear piercings were empty, and her usual black eyeliner and dyed hair tips were missing.

I would've looked like a child who had gotten into food coloring, but she always looked polished and edgy.

"I definitely shouldn't wear heels with Ryan," she said.

Normally, she avoided relationships like the plague but enjoyed her longest relationship with Ryan. He was on the school's cross-country team, an inch taller than Harper, lanky, introverted, studious, and soft-spoken.

So, except for running skills, Harper dated the male equivalent of me. But she was happy, so I was happy for her... Even if half of my lunches were spent alone while they made out under the football stadium's bleachers.

Mom's hands tore through more racks. Sometimes, I felt bad not sharing her love of shopping, pedicures, and gossip. Other than our physical traits, the only thing we shared was cooking.

Oh yeah. Dinner.

"Harper? Mom wants you to come over for dinner tonight."

"And breathe the same air space with Jake?" She scrunched her nose at my reflection behind her. "No thanks. I'm avoiding brain pollution."

"You know you're always welcome."

"With Jake, I'm as welcome as a silent fart in an elevator." She frowned at her seafoam green dress' layered skirt. "After eating Taco Bell. With diablo sauce."

Deflecting aside, I wasn't giving up. She shouldn't be alone on her birthday. "Diablo sauce farts aside, please come."

"Thanks, but no thanks," was the irritated response. "There's only one thing, maybe two, things, that I want to do for my birthday, and eating chicken parmesan dinner with your knuckle-dragging, dickhead brother isn't one of them."

"Jake won't be there." I sighed.

After her mom left and moved out of state with another man, she mailed Harper cards for her birthday and Christmas. And, Harper burned them sealed shut. Anyone could see my best friend's emotional detachment.

"Ryan was oddly fascinated with the card-burning ceremony." She turned away from the mirror, and her gaze dipped between my legs. "Are you ready for Homecoming? Because from what I saw earlier, you're not."

Thankfully, Mom shoved a large pile of dresses into her arms. Being more of a fan of shopping than me, she indulged Mom's choices, one after another, but I slumped in my seat lower with each 'fuck no' she mouthed to me.

And I'd taken off work for this.

Normally, I would've worked after school, while Logan visited me after his practice. Despite the forty-five-minute drive, our goodbyes had gotten longer and more drawn out.

Perils of dating an amazing kisser.

Logan was more experienced. Other than informing me he was an asshole during his freshman and sophomore years and apologized for it, I still didn't know his history. Despite his ridiculously cocky approach when we first met, he was sensitive towards my past. Whenever we did anything, even kissing, he asked permission and checked in on what was and wasn't okay.

Unlike the raging ball of male teenage hormones that I shared a bathroom with, Logan had more restraint than a nun. While my knees were left weak, my insides burning with desire, and my brain wiped during every scorching round of kisses, he wanted to 'do things right' and go slow.

Easier said than done when he was the most attractive guy I'd ever seen. Tall, broad, muscled but not to where his shoulders swallowed his neck, sun-kissed blonde hair, blue eyes – my boyfriend was drop-dead gorgeous.

While I waited for Harper's next dress option, I snapped a quick picture of my skirt and texted the big goof of a boyfriend.

Boyfriend... sometimes I still didn't believe it.

Me: Can you get a vest in this color?

Me: [ image attached ]

I inspected the blurry red picture. Oddly close to Salesian's scarlet uniforms.

Logan: Is that all you want me to wear? 😉

"Never short of inappropriate comments." I smiled at my screen. "Guess that's just part of your charm."

Still, there was no fun in making things easy for him, so I didn't.

Me: No comment.

My phone rang, and he spoke before me, "Hi, baby."

His voice sent tingles through me. Unlike most of the boys in my school, whose voices would crack or jump up, Logan's was deep and low.

"Hey," I took a deep breath, wishing I was anywhere but here. "I'm still at the store. Harper and Mom are here."

"I'll take whatever comments I can get."

Logan, like usual, was direct and to the point, which I'd come to appreciate. Not that I'd had any expectations since he was my first boyfriend, but he was pretty freaking good at it. His extroverted nature made our conversations easy.

"What did you want me to say?" I smiled. "I find the mental image of you in both anything and nothing attractive?"

"That's a start." Muffled sounds in the background joined his teasing. "We need to work on your lack of flirting, Miss No Comment."

"You do enough for the both of us." After Mom pointed at Harper's next option, I added, "Sorry, I've gotta go but I'll see you Friday?"

"You'd better."

The certainty in his voice made me shiver. A set of three particular words caught in the back of my throat instead of goodbye. We hadn't said "I love you" yet, but there was no doubt I felt that way. At the risk of being cliche, maybe Homecoming was the right chance to tell him.

Me: If you win tomorrow, we'll celebrate on Saturday.

Logan: What did you have in mind?

Me: I'd say use your imagination, but that's too dirty so we'll use mine.

Logan: Do I get a hint?

No way was I making things easy.

Me: No comment.

"Having phone sex over there, Elle?" Harper called.

Fortunately, Mom was buried in the dress racks again, pawing like the raccoons that ransacked our garbage cans. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if she tried one on.

"No." I blushed.

"You're so vanilla." She smirked. "And like ice cream flavors, no one likes vanilla."

"I like vanilla. It's simple, smooth, and classic, Miss Rocky Road. Marshmallows and peanuts do not belong in ice cream together."

"And I like a mix of sweet, sinful, and nuts in mymouth," was her response. "Maybe you should other flavors in your life, dear, plain vanilla, Elle."

"Are we still talking about ice cream?"

"If I need to clarify—"

"Found more." Mom appeared with more options in hand, ushered her into the fitting room, and left for another search.

"This is a no," Harper grumbled from behind the curtain. She stood in the dressing room entrance in a light pink dress with a fitted corset and fluffy, layered skirt. She fisted her hips and frowned. "I look like cotton candy vomited on me."

"It's..." I searched for the right word. Innocent. Feminine. Princess-y. "Not you."

"Are you ready for the dance," she repeated and dropped her gaze to my lap. "Not the staring attention part, the after-dance part with Logan. Just curious how your ladyscaping situation is."

"My... what?" My cheeks burned.

"Ladyscaping." She spoke as casually as if she'd asked what shoes I planned to wear. "Whack the bush, trim the hedges, rip out the shag carpet, machete the jungle—"

"If you must know." I cringed at this conversation topic, and my entire face flamed like I'd gotten sunburned. "I'm clean-shaven enough around my, umm... bikini area."

"Around it?" She frowned and paused in shrugging off the dress. "This isn't nineteen-seventies Hustler."

How the hell did she... never mind. I didn't want to know.

"Not sure why you're asking, but I also trim." I scoffed, my face and neck feeling like I'd stuck them into an oven. "Why are you asking?"

"I got my Brazilian done two days," she confessed with a sigh. "Unless you want to hide your bacon strip or suffer through crotch fire at the dance, you'd better get that taken care of tonight."

Bacon strip? "I'm completely fine going somewhat natural," I assured. "Enough of my body already resembles a ten-year-old. I don't want to be a naked mole rat."

"Please." She rolled her eyes. "Bare skin is mainstream in porn."

Her frankness lodged my response in the back of my throat. When I finally spoke, my voice sounded strangled and forced. "What makes you think I care about that?"

"Not you, dear Elle. Boys—"

"Ahem."

Mom coughed, handed over a few dresses to Harper, and looked at the dressing room. My unfiltered best friend winked and disappeared behind the curtain.

"Thank you," I mumbled as Mom sat beside me.

Her dark eyes flickered like she contemplated what she wanted to ask. "Do I have any reasons to assume that conversation was anything other than Harper being...Harper?"

"No." I looked down and picked at my skirt fabric. "Just her special way of expressing herself freely and unfiltered."

"Hmm. Part of her...charm is never worrying what she's thinking." Mom smiled as she stated the obvious. "Reminds me of Jake. But if you and Logan are having se—"

"Mom!" I wanted to bury my face in my hands. "We're not. Trust me... we're not."

Fortunately, she seemed to accept my response, although her attention lingered on me.

Eventually, Harper chose a classy, fitted light blue, long, strapless dress matching her eyes. One smile from her, and we all knew that was her choice.

"Ryan will love it." I grinned and snapped her picture, then handed my phone to Mom for some of us together.

"Fuck his opinion," she mumbled. "It'll just end up a crumpled pile on the floor."

"It'll be a pretty floor pile then." I smiled at her and tucked my arm around her.

Her bluntness radiated a confidence I could only hope to have a sliver of. She couldn't care less about what anyone else's opinion was. Ever since middle school, us against the school, she was fiercely loyal and protective.

Truly a once in a lifetime friend, unfiltered comments aside, everyone needed a Harper in their life.