Trapped Read Online Free PDF Page B

Mary Beth reminds me that we planned to do some shopping today … for the Winter Ball. Although I was enthusiastic before, I couldn’t care less now. As a result of my dismal test grades, my heart is just not in it. However, I see the hopeful look in her eyes, and I don’t want to let her down. So we bid the guys adieu and I brace myself for shopping.
    â€œYou’ll bring your grades back up,” Mary Beth assures me as I silently drive us toward the mall. “You always do.”
    â€œI don’t know …”
    â€œI know. You’re such an academic, GraceAnn. No way will you let these past couple of weeks bring you down. By winter break your grades will be stellar.”
    â€œI hope you’re right.” But as I’m turning into the mall parking lot, I’m not so sure. For some reason I feel like I’m standing on the edge of that “slippery slope” that our youth pastor warns us about from time to time. Not that I’ve done anything wrong exactly — well, besides not studying enough. And really, that wasn’t intentional. But even so, it feels like my feet are unsteady beneath me … like one misstep and I could tumble downward.
    However, as we go inside the formal wear store, I figure that I’m just obsessing. As usual. Lighten up , I tell myself as we start looking at dresses. Mary Beth is right. I’ll work hard and pull my grades out of the toilet, and by Christmas this grim scenario will be nothing more than an unpleasant memory.
    â€œI have a feeling I’ll need to do my shopping at Déjà Vu,” Mary Beth tells me after we’ve perused several dress racks. “Most of these are out of my price range.”
    â€œWhat do you think of this one?” I hold up a red satin dress. “It’s kind of like what I imagined I’d wear if I went with Clayton.” I frown, wishing I could get that boy out of my brain.
    She frowns and shakes her head. “No offense, GraceAnn, but it looks kind of trampy.”
    â€œTrampy?” I walk over to where I can hold it up in front of the mirror and see it more clearly. It’s not that I don’t trust Mary Beth’s taste, but she leans way toward the conservative side. I study the fitted red dress carefully, imagining how it would look. “I think it looks quite festive. And Christmassy. And this color reminds me of cranberry sauce.” I turn to look at her. “You really think it looks trampy?”
    â€œGo ahead and try it on if you want,” she tells me. But her expression says this is a waste of time. Even so, I pick out several sizes of the same style and carry them back to the dressing room. After a couple of tries, I find the one that fits best and step out of the changing room to show her. “What do you think now?” I twirl around in front of the three-way mirror.
    â€œWell, it does fit you nicely.” But she still looks unsure.
    I stop and look more closely, gather up my hair in an upsweep do, and strike a pose. I imagine myself in a great pair of shoes and some sparkly faux diamonds and think I’ll look like a million bucks — and I might even turn Clayton’s head. “Well, I love it!”
    â€œBut I thought we were going to wear long dresses,” she says in a disappointed tone.
    I shrug. “From what I’ve heard around school, most of the girls are going with cocktail dresses for this dance.”
    â€œDoes that mean you plan to drink cocktails too?” She scowls at me.
    â€œNo, of course not.” I laugh. “And don’t worry, you can wear a long dress if you want to — it’s not like there are rules about this stuff.”
    â€œNo … if you’re getting that, I’ll try to find something that works with it.”
    â€œYou should just get what you like,” I tell her. “What you feel comfortable in.”
    â€œWell, you know I don’t like showing my legs