Flying

The brass zipper of the pink, semiformal dress rounds my butt and closes against the small of my back. Chubby girls like me don’ t get a second chance. The sweet, vague smell of plastic bags permeates David’s Bridal. I think about the five folded, twenty-dollar bills in my fringed purse.

“Terrible?” I ask.

“You can do better,” Pam says. “Everyone will wear pink. They’ll try to look princessy and pure.”

“My mom would like this one.”

Pure?

“Thank God, she’s working. I’ll meet you back at...