Truth or Dare by Barbara Dee Read Free Book Online

innocently. “What’s a mo?”
    Aunt Shelby gave me a warning eyebrow.
    I went into the fitting room, a small curtained closet that smelled like leftover perfume. Why was it suddenly so important to Aunt Shelby that I get a bra? Had something happened this summer? I mean, to me?
    I took off all my clothes, examining myself in the full-length mirror.
    The answer was: No.
    I was still as flat as a board. No waist. No hips. I was a straight line from my head to my toes. You could use me as a yardstick. Or a flagpole.
    Also, I was still completely hairless on my legs. Under my navel. Under my arms. I guess you could call me bald, except for my head.
    As long as I was taking inventory, I checked for symptoms. No zits on my face. No oil in my hair. No bloat in my belly. No cramps.
    And mood swings? Irritability?
    Nah.
    I was still The Nice One. Nice to everyone, all the time. Even though my aunt made me want to kick something. Especially right at this mo.
    Suddenly, the curtain swished.
    I yelped.
    But it was just Mothball, who sniffed my ankles (which probably smelled like cats), and ran out.
    I put my shorts back on.
    â€œAll set there, Princess Lia?” Winnie called.
    I wrapped my T-shirt around my chest. “Yep.”
    â€œThen open up,” Winnie said cheerfully. “I’ve brought you some beautiful bras in all different styles, to give us an idea of what you’re looking for.”
    â€œI’m not looking for anything.” I opened the curtain just enough for her to shove an armload at me. Maybe twenty-five bras on these doll-size plastic hangers.
    Whoa. They expected me to try on all of these?
    Obviously, I wouldn’t. There was just no way! And besides, most of these bras I could reject right away. For having rhinestones, fancy lace, polka dots, tropical flowers, padding.
    Padding! I couldn’t believe it. Aunt Shelby had saidbooblessness was “no big deal.” We were “late bloomers.” It was all “genetics.” So I totally did not get why she’d give me bras to fake looking bigger.
    Plus, she was supposed to be all Natural Botanicals, Centuries of Wisdom, blah, blah, blah. So did she think in ancient Peru, Inca women put on fake boobholders every morning? What did they pad their bras with—dandelion fluff? Herbs and spices?
    Also, some of these padded bras had underwire. Like to push your boobs upward. Correction: to push the padding upward, toward your chin.
    Mom never would have bought me bras with chin cushions. She was all into sports bras for jogging. She cared about health and fitness, not about fake upward-pointing boobs and rhinestones. And if she were here with me right now, helping me find a bra that made any sense—
    â€œWhat do you think, muffin? Aren’t they pretty?” Winnie cooed.
    â€œMm-hmm,” I said.
    â€œLet me know if you need any help trying on.”
    â€œOkay, thanks.”
    Well, if I subtract all the rejects, that leaves me five I should probably try on, just to get out of here, I told myself. I grabbed one of the five finalists—a plain pink unpadded one with a little bow in the center, the sort of thing I wouldhave liked if I was six years old and playing Underwear Dress-up.
    I put my arms through the straps. Then I tried to fasten it in the back.
    It didn’t work.
    Wait. Seriously?
    I took a deep breath and tried again.
    And again.
    Nope. Still couldn’t do it.
    I craned my neck to look behind myself in the mirror, but even with this backward view, I still couldn’t get both hooks to catch on both of the hook thingies. If they caught on one of the hook thingies, it was the wrong one. Once I got Hook A to catch on Hook Thingy A, but it came out just as I started working on Hook B. No matter how many times I tried, it was like I was playing with a sadistic crane machine at an arcade, the kind that took your quarter and refused to give you a prize.
    â€œNeed some help in there?”