Page 103 of What Goes Around

Apple had been at school with me all day. So there was only one other person who snooped with that particular brand of entitlement.

Marissa.

I didn’t react. I closed the drawer. Straightened the papers. Shut the laptop.

I let the irritation pass, letting it settle into something colder. Something useful.

A minute later, soft footsteps approached and Marissa appeared in my doorway, a large white garment bag draped over her arm.

“Ashley,” she said. “I looked through your closet today and realized you don’t have anything appropriate for the graduation party. And since it’s only few days away, I went out and found you the perfect dress.”

She smiled, pleased with herself, and unzipped the bag.

“I searched everywhere,” she continued proudly. “This designer is really gaining attention. Everyone’s scrambling to get a piece. You’ll be wearing a one-of-a-kind.”

The green dress slid into view, and I recognized it instantly.

The same awful, unforgiving thing I had worn in my last life.

A no-name designer trying very hard to become someone. Too bright. Too loud. Too “look at me.”

“This shade brings out your eyes,” she continued, holding it up against me. “And the structure. So elegant. So memorable. This is a very special night, Ashley. You should look… good.”

Apple drifted in behind her, peering over Marissa’s shoulder.

“Oh my God, Ash, it’s gorgeous,” she said. “So elegant. Everyone will be obsessed.”

Of course she would help sell it.

Marissa clapped her hands. “Go on, sweetheart. Try it on.”

I could have said no.

I could have rolled my eyes, shut the garment bag, or simply walked away.

But no.

Let them think they were winning.

I took the dress and slipped into the bathroom. The fabric felt exactly as I remembered, heavy in the wrong places, stiff where it should have flowed. The zipper rasped up my spine.

When I stepped back out, Marissa was already waiting by the mirror.

She inhaled sharply, pleased.

The dress made me look wider, shorter, heavier.

Exactly as before.

“Beautiful,” she sighed, moving behind me as though adjusting a mannequin. She tilted my shoulders, smoothed the fabric, nudged my chin.

“Stand like this. Softer. Relax. Yes… there. Perfect.”

In my last life, I wore this dress. Uncomfortable. Self-conscious. Ignoring the whispers that followed me all night. Pretending not to notice the way people stared, not with admiration, but curiosity. Amusement.

And when I sat down, the seam near my ass split with a tear, exposing me, humiliating me, making Apple the center of attention with her “Oh no, poor Ashley!” routine.

I remembered all of it.