Meg at Sixteen Read Online Free PDF Page A

spend writing thank-you notes for whatever gifts you may receive. You are not to wander off from the party with any of your friends. I want to know where you are at all times. If you need to excuse yourself, please inform me first.”
    â€œYes, Aunt Grace,” Meg said.
    â€œYou’re mumbling again,” Aunt Grace replied. “I trust you won’t spend the evening mumbling and stooping, Margaret. It is your birthday, and people will expect to see you proud and tall. In addition, they’ll want to hear you when you say your various pleasantries. Now, put on your dress, and meet me downstairs. I want you ready to greet your guests as they arrive.”
    â€œYes, Aunt Grace,” Meg said, and watched with relief as her aunt left the room. At least she hadn’t been forced to open the box while Grace was there.
    Maybe this time it’ll be all right, she thought, but one look at the dress killed that fantasy. It was pink, a color Meg hated, because she blushed so often, and wearing pink seemed to emphasize her embarrassment. Pink chiffon with endless ruffles. Meg was not one for looking at Vogue , but even she knew ruffles were all wrong. It was a dress for a little girl. It even had a ruffled collar. The black velvet dress she’d worn when she was eleven was more sophisticated than this.
    Meg put on the dress, and glanced at herself as best she could in the mirror over the bureau. Aunt Grace regarded full-length mirrors as an invitation to vanity, and refused to have one in her home. At that moment, Meg was just as glad. As awful as the dress was, it was comforting not to be able to see a complete view. Pink with a ruffled collar and puffed sleeves, and worst of all, even worse than all those ruffles, a bow to tie around her waist. The only thing you could do with a dress like that was burn it.
    Meg allowed herself one moment to dream about wearing a different dress to her party, not that the rest of her wardrobe was so much better. But even if it had been, she was stuck with the pink ruffles for the evening. Aunt Grace had allowed her no alternatives.
    She brushed her hair so hard she began to cry, then stopped, put on the white shoes that Aunt Grace had also insisted on, and the white gloves to complete the outfit, and went downstairs. No one had arrived yet, thank goodness.
    â€œVery pretty,” Aunt Grace said, checking Meg out. “You took such a long time, though, I thought you were putting on makeup.”
    â€œIt was hard to get to all the buttons,” Meg replied.
    â€œYou should have rung for Mary,” Aunt Grace said.
    â€œI figured she must be busy,” Meg said. “Preparing for the party.”
    â€œYou do not need to worry about what a maid is busy with,” Aunt Grace said. “They’re paid very well to do what we ask them to. I would have assumed that that, at least, your mother taught you.”
    Meg could feel herself blushing. “I’m sorry,” she said, although she was unsure what she was apologizing for.
    â€œDon’t mope,” Aunt Grace said. “This is your birthday. What will your guests think if they see you standing there looking so gloomy?”
    Meg trusted that was a rhetorical question, since she had no idea how to answer it.
    â€œGo outside now, and wait for the guests,” Aunt Grace said. “I’ll speak with Delman to make sure everything is in order.”
    â€œThank you, Aunt Grace,” Meg said. It seemed to her that was all she ever said, “Thank you” and “I’m sorry.” No wonder she mumbled, with such a restricted vocabulary.
    She stood in the garden, in front of the bar, and blushed when she felt the bartender’s eyes on her. He was a year-rounder, hired for these occasions, and Meg had seen him at parties she’d attended.
    â€œNice dress,” he said. “How old are you? Fourteen?”
    â€œSixteen,” she choked out.
    â€œOh,” he said.