The Boyfriend Dilemma by Fiona Foden Read Free Book Online Page A

suggests.
    â€œWhat here ?”
    â€œNo, love, in the changing room.” She points to a pop-up tent that’s been put up on the grassy area beside the car park.
    I check the price tag on the dress. I can afford it, just. “OK,” I say, hurrying off with the dress and switching the hand-painted sign hanging outside the tent from “Empty – please enter” to “Busy – don’t come in!”
    Even though I’ve zipped up the door firmly behind me, stripping down to my undies in the middle of town feels a bit weird. The tent is rippling in the breeze, and as there’s no fitted groundsheet – just a zigzag-patterned rug laid out on the grass. I can see people’s feet through the gap as they wander by. I pull off my shoes, jeans and T-shirt as quickly as I can and slip on the dress, wishing Zoe was here to help with the zip at the back as I practically have to dislocate my arm to get it done up.
    It’s worth the effort, though. As I turn towards the tall, oval-shaped mirror, I can hardly believe it’s me. With its scooped neck and fitted waist, the dress fits me perfectly – but more than that, the colour’s amazing … I can’t help grinning at my reflection and keep twisting and turning, checking myself from all angles just to make sure. The dress would look great with some flat ballet pumps… Maybe I could dye my scruffy old pink ones blue to match the dress? And jewellery – it definitely needs something around the neck. Perhaps Amber could spare some silver wire and those little glass beads that she leaves scattered all over our bedroom floor … they’d be perfect.
    I take one last glance in the mirror, knowing Zoe would say, “You have to have it.” As for Mum, she’d probably smile and remark, “It’s lovely, Layla – but when would you wear it?” “Never” is the answer, but who cares. I’ll invent a reason, like a party. That’s it – I can put it away until my birthday… My mind is whirling with ideas as, without bothering to undo the fiddly zip, I start to pull it off over my head.
    Straight away, I realize this’ll be trickier than I thought. In fact, the dress is stuck now, covering my face. I try in vain to ease it gently upwards, terrified of ripping a seam. I stop for a moment, wondering if I should pull it back down and unzip it – but now it won’t come down either. Something else is wrong too. There’s a flapping noise, and it suddenly seems colder in the tent, and I can feel the chilly wind whipping around my bare legs. In fact, it feels as if there isn’t any tent at all! Voices are louder and clearer, and there are bursts of laughter as someone shouts, “Oh my God – look at that poor girl!”
    What poor girl? I freeze, still trapped in the dress with the thick blue material tight across my face. Has the tent door blown open, or what?
    â€œCute knickers!” someone yells.
    â€œAnd a vest ?” sniggers someone else as my blood turns to ice. “A vest! Who still wears one of them?”
    â€œShe does, haha!” I know at least one of those voices – it’s CJ, honking with laughter now. Riiiip! goes the dress as I tear it off over my head, throw it down on the floor and stare, horrified, at the faces all turned towards me. The tent has gone. It must have blown away. Maybe it wasn’t pegged down properly. Some people are pointing and laughing, while others look so sympathetic I just want to melt away into the zigzag rug. I look frantically around to see the tent blowing away across the grass, and a couple of women chasing after it. My face is on fire as I pull on my jeans, then my raspberry top, not caring that it’s inside out and back to front, the label sticking up into my chin. Shoes on next, and I’m blinking back tears as two women and a man manage to wrestle the tent back to its proper position