— Emily Dickinson I sat at my vanity and stuck my tongue out at the mirror. I look like a madman. I pulled my tongue back in and tried to form an honest impression of myself. A pale, fluttery creature stared back at me, clad in airy green chiffon with deep brown waves and cherry lips. She was far too fine to be Allie Everly. I sighed and stood, grabbing a pair of pumps from the closet. I glanced in the mirror one last time and adjusted my sash. A small smile threatened to escape my mouth. “Allie!” Beatrice called. “The party started ten minutes ago!” I pulled on the shoes and shut the bedroom door behind me. Beatrice looked up from across the hall and halted, her chin dropping. She put a hand up to her mouth leaned against the stairwell. “Oh, Allie,” she whispered, “you look lovely.” I let the smile escape. “Thank you.” I pranced down the stairs. “I suppose we should get going.” “Russell will like that dress,” Beatrice commented as she opened the car door.
