Girls in White Dresses

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I sabela’s sister, Moly, was married with ten bridesmaids in matching tea-length, blue floral Laura Ashley dresses. It was, Isabela believed, the most beautiful wedding anyone would ever have. She was twelve.

“More beautiful than Princess Diana,” her mother told Mol y that morning as she helped her get dressed.

“I need more bobby pins,” her sister replied.

Isabel a sat on the bed with her hair in a tight French braid. Early that morning, the hairdresser had teased and twisted her hair back, stuck baby’s breath in it, and sprayed it with an entire can of hairspray. From the side, it looked like a plant was growing out of her head. She kept touching it lightly to make sure the braid was stil there, and every time she did, she was surprised at the crispiness of her hair.

“Isabel a,” Mol y said. “If you keep touching your hair, you’re going to ruin it.” Isabel a put her hand in her lap and watched Mol y fluff her own crispy hair. Mol y stared at herself in the mirror until her face got white. “I feel funny,” she said. “A little sick.”

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