Please shoot me the day I wear anything like this.”

Liz glanced over at the poofy pink princess gown I was holding and shrugged. “It’s not that bad.” Carrie met my eyes and pretended to gag.

I shook my head sadly. “Oh, Liz, it’s already too late for you.”

She narrowed her eyes at me and shoved a couple dresses into my arms. “Oh, shut up and try these on already.”

I was out shopping for my Homecoming dress that weekend with Carrie and Liz, and so far we had been to what seemed like a billion stores without any success. I could feel Carrie growing listless, but Liz promised this would be the last one. I hoped so. I was starting to get depressed.

In the fitting room, I looked with skepticism at the two dresses Liz had picked out. One was a short, sleeveless teal dress with a skinny belt looped around it. Cute, but everything looked cute before I wore it on my boobless frame. The other was a flowy, long, pale blue dress with a cool racer back and layers of fabric overlapping on the skirt part. Really pretty but, again …?

I pulled on the blue one first. It hung straight to the floor and made my skinny shoulders look like a hanger. “Ugh!”

Liz tapped the door. “Don’t ‘ugh’ yet! Let me see!”

I opened the door and made a face. She looked me up and down. “Not bad. You look like a young Kate Moss.”

“Ha! Nice try. That’s another way of saying I look emaciated and awkward.”

Liz didn’t argue. “Well, the color looks great on you, and it’s such a cool style. A lot of girls would kill to look as … willowy as you.”

I made a face. “Olive Oyl is not the look I’m going for. Next!”

The next dress fit me more snugly, and I had to say, with the little flare of the skirt, it was fun to twirl around in. When I opened the door Liz’s eyes lit up. “Oh, this is PERFECT.”

Carrie ran over. “Let me see!” She whistled appreciatively. “You look great! Like a right proper lady!” she said in a British accent.

I suddenly felt shy. “Really? It doesn’t look too girly?”

Liz threw up her hands in exasperation. “Holly! Sometimes ‘girly’ is not a dirty word. You look amazing in this!”

I eyed myself in the mirror again. The belt did help give the illusion of a figure. Now if only my legs could miraculously grow calf muscles.

I paid for the dress and we headed home in Liz’s car. “Wow, we’re actually going to a school dance,” Carrie mused from the backseat.

“Thanks for agreeing to be my date, Carrie,” Liz said from behind the wheel.

“No prob, dude. I’ll just go to prom with Scott,” she responded cheerfully.

“Keep dreaming!” I said.

Carrie kicked my seat from behind. “Dreams come true, you know. Hey, so how’s the covert mission going with your parents?”

“So far so good. They know I’ll be ‘working’ all weekend, and they didn’t bat an eye when I told them,” I said with satisfaction.

“Your parents are so trusting,” Liz said. “Mine interrogate me about everything. They’re always worried that I’ll become a prostitute at any moment.” It was true, Liz’s parents threw the word “prostitute” around about as often as my parents used the phrase “bad daughter.”

“They’re only letting me go to the dance because I’m nominated for Homecoming Queen,” she continued. “They think it’s a weird American tradition, but my mother loves any opportunity to take me to the spa.”

“Spa?!” Carrie sputtered. “I’m sorry, are you preparing for your royal wedding night? I thought you were just going to the Homecoming dance.”

“Persian women know how to take care of themselves, thank you very much.”

I was envious. “I wish my mom would let me wear makeup, let alone take me to get primped and preened.”

“Uh, guys? Must I remind you that my mom is making my dress? With her own hands? Enough said,” Carrie said with finality.

“I guess everyone’s parents are crazy,” I said. “But mine are still the worst.”

When Liz dropped me off I left the dress with her. She placed her hand solemnly over her heart and said, “I shall guard it with my life.”

I looked at it a little wistfully before she drove off. It was so ridiculous that I couldn’t keep my dress in my own house. But my mom was no stranger to rifling through my closet searching for something or another, so it was a sacrifice I had to make.

* * *

Sitting in bio the next day, I was completely ignoring the lesson that I, of course, didn’t really understand nor care to understand. (Mitosis? What? Good God, what is all this ABOUT? Do people really understand science? I suspect that all scientists pretend to understand what the heck they’re talking about because they’re too scared to look stupid in front of all the other scientists. Yes, that must be it.)

When the class was interrupted by someone stepping in and handing Mrs. Robinson a note, I felt a nervous sense of déjà vu. And wouldn’t you know, seconds after she read the note, Mrs. Robinson looked straight at me. Before she could say anything, I got up with a sigh and grabbed my things. I walked up to her with a weary, “Where should I go?”

She handed me the pass and said in a low voice, “The principal’s office.”

As if I didn’t already have a (wholly undeserved) messed-up reputation! The class broke into whispers and murmurs. Even I was a little shocked. What in God’s name could I have done to get called to the Mother of All Offices?

I fled the classroom as fast as I could. As I walked across the empty Quad, I grew more nervous. Could this be about me talking to Mrs. Richards? No way … I mean, what’s the big deal? I didn’t think Mrs. Richards would have told on me to the principal. I racked my brain for other nefarious activities I may have been involved in without knowing it.

By the time I reached the office, I was sweating with all the minor evil deeds I had done recently. Never had I felt more wicked. I absentmindedly carved my name into my math class desk once. But who the heck hasn’t? Also, I’ve hid under the bleachers on more than one PE occasion. Oh, God, I’m dead. I approached Principal Mendel’s office with a knot in my stomach. The principal’s secretary nodded me in.

The instant I saw who else was in the office, I knew why I was called in there. Sitting at his desk was Principal Mendel, and standing in opposite corners of the room were Mr. Williams and the student government advisor, Mr. Green.

“Holly. Sit down.” Principal Mendel pointed at a chair sternly. Principal Mendel is one of those men that you know are supposed to scare you, but they never quite do it. He has the mustache and everything. But David recently pointed to why his authoritativeness fails: “He’s really, really not smart.”

However, I admit it. I was terrified.

I sat down. Before anyone could open their mouth, someone else came through the door behind me. I turned my head.

“LIZ?”

Liz walked in, looking equally confused. “Holly?”

I was now completely thrown off guard. “What’s all this about?” I asked.

At that, Mr. Green marched over to me, stopped two inches away from my face, and spat out, “Nice try, Holly. I spoke to Mrs. Richards and she told me all about your little ploy.”

I’m not too embarrassed to say that tears started pricking my eyes. I mean, I was being chastised by a huge man who looked like a celebrity bodyguard. Who drove a Mazda Miata but was still scary. I felt the dread in my stomach growing, creeping its way throughout my entire body.

“Ploy? I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said in a small shaky voice, without as much conviction as I’d hoped. Oh, Lord. Was I going to get suspended? Would I be able to go to college? Would my mom beat me with a rolled-up newspaper like that time I came home late from the movies? I truly felt scared, and at that moment regretted being born.

But it was so unfair. They were the ones rigging the election! Weren’t they?

Mr. Green sat down but kept talking. “The Weasel Times is always pulling this underhanded crap. You have to follow the rules like everyone else.”

“I wasn’t trying to pull anything!” I sputtered. “I just … we needed to know who the Queen and King were for our deadline.”

Mr. Green gave a short bark of a laugh and I jumped a little in my seat. “How could anyone know that when no one has voted yet? You basically implied to Mrs. Richards that it was rigged.”

Liz’s head whipped toward me with a questioning look.

I was surrounded by adults who were in charge, and I had no power in this situation. I felt like there was nothing I could say to make this go any other way than they had already decided it would go. This was so WRONG. I tried to summon up some courage. “Well, that’s the rumor.”

Mr. Green’s face turned dangerously red. “A rumor started by The Weasel Times, no doubt!”

Mr. Williams finally spoke up. “Oh come off it, Jeff. We all know it’s true.”

Liz finally reacted. “Wait, WHAT?”

Principal Mendel stood up in a huff. “Settle down, Mr. Williams. This is not the time to be making unfounded accusations. Anyway, we brought Miss Rezapour here for a reason. Miss Kim, we know you did this because your little friend here was nominated for Homecoming Queen.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Liz asked frostily. It was very queenlike, actually.

Mr. Green raised his eyebrow and dismissively replied, “We know you put her up to this.”

“EXCUSE me?!” Liz said incredulously, raising her voice.

I, on the other hand, am usually very polite to authority figures. Almost to a fault. I blame it on my Korean upbringing, which upholds the idea that one needs to show utmost respect to anyone who is even one month older (and therefore wiser) than you. To act any other way would be an embarrassment to your parents and your country.

But at that moment, authority figures be damned, I was pissed. Liz and I were being majorly and unfairly dissed.

“She did NOT put me up to this! She didn’t even know until this moment that the election might be fixed. I decided to find out if it was,” I said angrily.

“You wanted to sway Mrs. Richards’s decision. You thought she would treat you specially because you’re her student,” Mr. Green said accusingly.

I tried to remain calm. “You are twisting my words. Why would I even think that? Mrs. Richards wasn’t really making a decision, was she? She’s just supposed to count votes like you say!”

Principal Mendel and Mr. Green both exchanged strange glances. Crossing his arms over his chest, Mr. Williams asked, “Well, isn’t she?”

Principal Mendel waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever the case, what Holly did was highly unethical, accusing the student government of such things based on nothing but speculation. And to use her position at the paper to try and sway the decision in favor of her friend.”

“But … I DIDN’T!” I said in a super loud voice that startled even me.

“I know you have to lie to cover this up, Holly, but it’s really not a good idea,” Mr. Green said. The condescension in his voice triggered daydreams of dropkicking his shaved head across the room.

Principal Mendel sighed. “Well, it looks like it’s your word against ours. Therefore, as punishment, Miss Rezapour, you are disqualified from the competition and will step down from the Homecoming Court. As for you, Miss Kim, consider yourself lucky that all I’m going to do is ban you from the dance. The Weasel Times will not get to cover the Homecoming dance this year.”

I was shocked. I looked over at Liz, who was strangely stone-faced.

Once we were in the hallway I looked at Liz apprehensively. “Sorry about that, Liz. I had no idea this would happen. I should have told you about the whole election thing.”

She took a deep breath. “You don’t have to be sorry. I can’t believe they can just get away with accusing us of stuff we didn’t do!”

“I know! I mean, yes, I did maybe overstep my boundaries. But, I still think the election is rigged! Mr. Williams said as much.”

Just then Mr. Williams walked out of the office and patted my back. “Tough break, Holly. But sometimes it’s easier to humor these guys.”

GREAT ADVICE. More inspiration from the people that were supposedly grown-ups. If being a grown-up meant being a compromising chump, then no thanks.

Liz shrugged her shoulders. “Oh well.”

I felt really bad. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I’m so sorry, Liz. I know you wanted to be Homecoming Queen.”

“Maybe I did. But honestly, it’s not worth all this trouble. I’m kind of sick of it already.”

“Are you sure? Maybe I can still —”

“Dude. For reals, no worries. I’m sorry you can’t go to the dance either. That dress!”

Hm. Strange, I had forgotten until that moment that I was being punished, too. I should have been relieved.

Right?

* * *

“Rewind that! Please rewind that!”

The DVD player blipped and showed Sissy Spacek getting drenched by pig’s blood again.

Carrie, David, and I squealed with glee and horror. Liz groaned and shoved her head farther into a pillow.

“You guys can be so sick sometimes,” Liz said once it was safe to open her eyes again. “I mean, what kind of freaks sit at home and watch Carrie the night of the Homecoming dance?”

“Us,” David said through a mouthful of Doritos that he had snuck into Carrie’s basement. “But the more pressing question is, what kind of freak sits with her freak friends watching Carrie on Homecoming night in a Homecoming gown?”

Patting her silky chiffon skirt, Liz happily replied, “Homecoming Queen Elizabeth.”

“You lucked out, huh, Holly?” Carrie asked while shoving some chips into her mouth. Even Carrie caved to junk food when we watched movies.

I smiled. “Yup, lucked out.” The thing was, I had actually been looking forward to the dance. It would have been fun to go with my friends, to get to wear a dress that didn’t look ugly on me for once. But I wasn’t ready to admit that yet. Instead I looked at Liz regretfully. “Sorry, again, to take you down with me. There goes your revenge.”

She shrugged. “You were right. It was a lot of work for something that wasn’t worth it in the end. Would have been great, though,” she said with an exaggerated wink. I was also wearing my dress. Over jeans.

“I think the fury of Holly’s mom could have been amazing if she was caught,” David said.

Carrie groaned. “IF she was caught. But seriously, Holls, your mom needs to chill!”

Liz looked at me sympathetically. “If it makes you feel better, my dad said he would have sent one of my male cousins as a chaperone if I went with a date. That’s why I wanted to take Carrie.”

Carrie let out a peal of laughter. “What? Both of your parents are nuts.”

“Sorry, not all our parents can be hippies that encourage talking about your feelings and boundaries all the time!”

Carrie sighed dramatically. “That can get annoying, too, you know.”

“You’ll never understand our pain,” David said while kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“Oh, please, David. Your parents are more American than mine,” Carrie retorted defensively. “Except that your dad wants you to be a doctor with an almost psychotic drive.”

“You can take the boy out of China, but you can’t take China out of the boy,” David said with a shrug.

“Well, just because my parents aren’t old-fashionedy immigrants doesn’t mean my life is all easy,” said Carrie.

“No one said it was. But at least you’re allowed to wear nail polish.” I pointed to her hands.

Carrie looked at her neon-green nails and nodded. “That’s true. But at least you can buy new jeans.”

I looked down at my crisp jeans and sighed happily. Carrie’s parents had strong feelings about fair labor and living sustainably — all her clothes were either thrifted, made by her mom (hence, her Homecoming dress that never was), or made by some eco-designer from Etsy.com. Luckily, Carrie could pull it off. If it were me, I would have looked like some seriously misguided hobo off the streets.

Liz shrugged her shoulders and patted down her four-hundred-dollar dress. “Nobody has the perfect family.”

And at those words, we heard Carrie’s mom yell from upstairs, “Do you kids want some whole-grain acai berry muffins? I can also make kale smoothies.”

David almost choked on his M&M’S as Carrie yelled out, “MOOOM!”