Tell Me When by Stina Lindenblatt Page B

Trent’s hoodie. “About which part?”
    “Both. I thought we could go dancing this weekend.”
    “Sure. Why not?” I force a smile on my face. I must have succeeded in making it look genuine because she grins back at me.
    “And we’ll look for something for you to wear. Something less, well, tomboyish.”
    A sinking feeling weighs inside me. What are the chances she’ll want me to model them in the store for her? It’s bad enough Marcus saw the scars. I can’t risk Jordan seeing them and the tattoo. Marcus may have shrugged them off. I won’t get so lucky with Jordan. While it might be nice to have someone to tell what I went through with Paul, other than the cops, the doctors and nurses, the D.A., I don’t need to give Jordan nightmares. I have enough for the both of us.
    As if pulled by an invisible force, my hand drifts to the spot where the tattoo lies, and my fingers caress the soft fabric hiding it. The tension that I didn’t realize was building in my muscles fades.
    “If your parents had you under such a tight rein,” I say, “how come you’re such a great dancer?”
    “I took dance lessons for years while growing up, and danced to music videos whenever my parents weren’t around. Which was a lot.”
    The mall parking lot is busy when we arrive, but it doesn’t take long before Jordan finds a spot. I guess we’re not the only ones needing a break from our studies.
    As we walk through the mall, Jordan hones in on a clothing store where the manikins reveal more plastic than the clothes cover. One is wearing a black midthigh-length halter dress.
    “You’d look great in that.” Jordan grabs my arm and drags me into the store.
    Panic shoots through me and I twist my arm free. “I can’t wear that.” Not unless I want to show off my scars and tattoo.
    “Yes you can. Trust me on this one, Amber.”
    “I can’t wear that. How about....” I scan the store. “How about that one?” I point to a manikin wearing a long-sleeved sweater dress in black, with narrow muted gold stripes running horizontally. It’s almost midthigh-length, but it will look great with black tights, unlike the halter dress.
    Jordan inspects it. “Won’t you get hot dancing in it?”
    Dancing? I’m going to have to dance, too? “It’ll be fine. The fabric isn’t thick.” Besides, while Jordan might not be so impressed, I love it. It’s not clingy, and with my black boots, it will look great without screaming “look at me.” And the dark color lets me remain invisible.
    She inspects it again before nodding her reluctant approval. “Well, it’s not quite what I had in mind, but it will look incredible on you.” What she’s really thinking is it’ll look better than my jeans and hoodies. I can’t argue with her there.
    I search through the rack for my size.
    “Which one do you like more?” Jordan holds up two dresses that I hope are for her, not me. One is purple and would give her parents a heart attack if they saw it.
    “These are for you, right?”
    She nods.
    “Both of them. They’re both great.”
    We try on the dresses. As expected, mine fits perfectly and keeps most of my scars hidden, except for the ones on my leg.
    “Okay, I’m ready,” Jordan says as I pull on my T-shirt.
    I touch the forget-me-not tattoo. “I’m almost ready.”
    I slip into my hoodie and step out of the changing room. Jordan is waiting for me in the purple dress.
    “Where’s your dress?” she asks, even though I’m holding it so it’s obvious where it is. “Aren’t you going to show me what it looks like?”
    “Sorry. I didn’t realize you wanted to see it now. But yours looks perfect. Turn around.”
    I was right. It does look perfect on her. When they see her long wild hair and slim body and golden brown coloring, guys will be all over her. Just as long as they pay attention to her , I’ll be fine.
    She changes into the other dress, and like the first one, it looks amazing on her. The low scooping back shows off