Not Just a Number: A Young Adult Contemporary Novel Read online

  Not Just a Number

  Sara Michaels

  Copyright 2020 by Sara Michaels

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without expressed written consent and permission by the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used ficticiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Sara Michaels

  Young Adult

  The Blood Books Series

  Avian Blood (Coming Soon…)

  Contemporary

  Not Just A Number

  Clean Contemporary Romance

  Marina & Dan

  Shayah & Aaron

  Ryan & Rachel

  Caitlin & James

  Emily & Chris

  Dirty Contemporary Romance

  The True Duology

  True Lust (Coming Soon...)

  True Love (Coming Soon...)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  About the Author

  Also by Sara Michaels

  1

  Looking into her face was like staring into a strange time-travel mirror. It was a surreal experience. Although it was not common for me to study Jen’s face, her slightly annoyed expression had me doing so now. It was disconcerting. I thought about the age progression images that police would put out when they circulated missing person posters, the ones you would see on missing person television programs or social media posts by family members yet to give up hope.

  If someone went missing at age twenty, for instance, they had computer programs that could figure out what they would look like in ten or fifteen years if, God forbid, they stayed missing that long. The sad reality was that many did. I figured that if I went missing right now, and they wanted to know what I would look like in four years, they could pretty much just take a picture of Jennifer. It was rather handy, to be honest. If they wanted to know what I would look like in twenty-four years, they could probably take a picture of my mom. It was that simple. The Hall genes were that strong.

  I was still focusing on Jen’s perfectly shaped eyebrows that were knitting themselves together on her forehead when the sales assistant’s voice broke through. “Are we ready to look at some more dresses?” It was a direction rather than a question.

  The woman was lovely, and I actually felt a bit bad for her. She had no idea what she was up against. She made me think of the “Avon ladies” you would see in sitcoms from the 70s and 80s. I was sure my mom would agree if she was here. She was dressed impeccably, but something about her screamed dated. Like a dated aura. It wasn’t something I would ordinarily notice, so it was weird that I did now. Perhaps it was the fact that she was offering me cool dresses to try on that made me wonder if her idea of cool was the same as mine. It was doubtful. She was sweet, though, and seemed kind enough. I guess she was used to dealing with indecisive women by now, and could probably spot them at ten paces too.

  Well, to be fair, it was actually just me that was being indecisive. Everyone else seemed to have a pretty good idea of what they wanted.

  Jen’s face cleared, and she tried too hard to sound upbeat. I knew her too well to be taken in by it, though. “Yes, thanks, I think we should get a few more to look at. Let’s open up our options.”

  She turned to Jasmine and Taylor, who were perched on the edge of their seats, unsure of how to handle the tension that was suddenly building.

  Their faces lit up on cue. They were certainly fulfilling the bridesmaid role to a tee, though they probably wouldn’t say the same about me. I was doing a very good job of portraying the antithesis of a good bridesmaid. In all fairness, I had no idea how to be a bridesmaid. This was my first time, but I was pretty sure that annoying the bride was not the best first step.

  I stared at my reflection in the mirror and wondered to myself. It could be a good first step if you intended to get kicked out of the wedding party.

  “Sounds great. This is a process. We are going to have to try on a few, I’m sure, before we find the right one. Kinda like boys, you know.” Jasmine winked. “You can’t just pick the first one you see.”

  It was an ironic joke considering the bride and groom had done exactly that. The joke slightly eased the tension, though, and even I managed a laugh.

  “Well, sometimes,” Jennifer joked in mock indignation, “the first one you see is all you need.” It hadn’t gone over her head. That was definitely true about her and Jacob.

  They had been high school sweethearts, and even though Mom had warned her to take things slow, it had been clear to see that they were deeply in love even in those early days. Sometimes you can tell the difference between puppy love and real love just by looking at it, regardless of the age of the partners, and Jen and Jacob were definitely the latter.

  Jen’s relationship with Jacob had been a progression for me too, taking me through several stages of life in a few years. At first, I had naturally felt a little jealous that suddenly Jen was spending so much time with this guy, but then I had started dating too, and it didn’t seem too bad anymore. Now Jacob was like a brother to me, and soon he would be my brother-in-law. I had to admit that I wouldn’t have it any other way. He was kind and funny, and I could see why Jen loved him. He treated her really well too, which was extremely important to both me and my mom. It was a bit strange having a man around the house.

  For all my life it had just been us three girls; our Mom had been all the parent we needed. There were struggles that came with that, though. I could see that my mom liked having someone else around who could take a bit of the DIY load off her. The poor woman had been figuring out how to change lightbulbs and replace washers on taps for what seemed like forever. She followed several DIY YouTubers just to learn how to take care of stuff around the house. I was glad that she would have some help as well. It hadn’t been decided where they would live yet, but Jennifer was applying to work at schools in Brooklyn, so it was likely they would stay in the area.

  “Oh, Jen!” Taylor shrieked across the shop, drawing attention from other shoppers, “Look at this!” She was reaching for a dainty tiara that balanced on a nearby shelf. “This would look amazing on you.” She slid the delicate bejeweled piece into Jen’s thick dark hair, and she was right. It made her look like a princess. I could just see Jacob's face if he saw her in that. Jennifer looked into the mirror and gently touched her hand to the tiara. She seemed to be briefly stuck in a dream world, and I wondered what she saw there. A small smile formed on her lips. I was relieved that she seemed upbeat again, I really had felt that I was ruining the day.

  “It is beautiful,” she said. “I still don’t know how I’m going to wear my hair, though.” She gathered up her shoulder-length hair and twisted it into a makeshift chignon. “Would it still look cute if my hair was up?” she asked, looking at the three of us in the mirror.

  I wanted to tell her that she would look cute even if she shaved he
r head, but I wasn’t sure she was too interested in my opinion at that point. Jen’s heart-shaped face looked great with most hairstyles.

  She was still gazing into the mirror, imagining hairstyles, when the shop assistant came back with an armful of silk, organza, and taffeta in a multitude of pastels. That was the one thing we could agree on. A pastel color would look good on all of us, and it wouldn’t overshadow the most important person of the day—Jennifer. For her part, she had said she didn’t care about that. She just wanted us to be happy too.

  I watched as the shop assistant unhooked dress after dress from her arm and hung them onto a nearby clothes rail on wheels. When she wheeled it, I noticed that one wheel was wonky, pulling to the side while the rest all went straight.

  Jennifer looked through the dresses hopefully, giving each one the attention it deserved before moving on to the next, as Jasmine sat next to me.

  The dress that had sparked my initial outburst was spirited away by another assistant, taken away to do its penance. It had been pretty perfect, in all honesty. The dusty pink halter neck had swept the floor with its delicate silk overlay, and we had all gasped when we had seen it. Taylor had looked amazing in it, and I thought that Jasmine had too, but when I had walked out of the fitting room and caught sight of myself in the mirror, my heart sank. I looked like a pink marshmallow on legs.

  The sleek material had clung to every bump and bulge that I could see on my body instead of gracefully sweeping down in a slope like it did with the others. Taylor had fallen in love, twirling around in glee, and even saying that she wished she had found something as beautiful for her prom. Now that dress was hanging dejectedly on a rail somewhere in the “Abigail looks like a marshmallow” section of the store.

  Maybe Jen should just have her two friends as bridesmaids, I thought. That would be much easier for her, and for them. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about her sister that didn’t fit into anything and made even the most beautiful dress look like a dollar-store wreck.

  “We will find something that suits all of us, Abby.” Jasmine was next to me now, her hand on my shoulder. I wanted to scream. “I mean, it didn’t look great on me either. We are all really different.” I gave her a wan smile instead of ripping her head off. I appreciated her trying to comfort me. She could have been annoyed at me instead. Both Jasmine and Taylor had been a part of my life ever since they had become friends with Jen, which felt like a lifetime ago. In many ways it had been. But back then I had always been the “little sister” and now I was becoming the “not-so little” sister, in more ways than one.

  “Okay, beautiful ladies.” The shop assistant tried to get our attention with what I felt to be an ironic statement. “I have brought a wide range of dresses out, but we must keep in mind that these are designed to suit different body shapes.” She stood by the clothes rail like she was introducing a group of her friends and not all of them were socialized.

  Is marshmallow-shaped one of the official body shapes?

  The shop assistant continued. “Jennifer and Abigail are pear shapes. That is why Jen’s wedding dress with the strapless top and A-line skirt looks so amazing on her.”

  Jen beamed, her head likely filled with thoughts of her gorgeous gown, which I knew was all packaged up in her closet at home. It had only been the second dress she had tried on when we went dress shopping for her, but she had fallen in love with it. The fact that we had found her wedding dress in this shop was the reason that we had gone there for bridesmaid dresses.

  Mom had been with us when we found Jen’s dress, and her eyes had misted over as she saw her oldest daughter all in white. I thought for a moment that she would probably cry now too, seeing me in the pink dress and how ridiculous I looked.

  “Taylor is an athletic shape.”

  Taylor laughed out loud at that. “Athletic? I only run if someone is chasing me!” she explained, and the shop assistant laughed along with the rest of us.

  “Well, thankfully, you don’t need to be an actual athlete to have an athletic body shape, some people are just born that way.” She winked at Taylor, who smiled sweetly at her.

  Yeah, lucky Taylor, I thought. She had never so much as broken a sweat unless there was a heatwave, and she still looked amazing.

  “And Jasmine has an hourglass figure that Marilyn Monroe would have envied.” She winked at Jasmine, who reddened, and she smiled.

  Jasmine had been Jen’s friend before Taylor had been. I had known her the longest out of the two for that reason, and she really was the sweetest person. She had gone through a rough patch in college where her self-image had plummeted and she had struggled with everything from grades to her weight. She seemed to have recovered now, though, and was looking happy and content. I was glad for her; she deserved to be happy.

  I thought about how the shop assistant had classified me as the same body shape as Jennifer. It was a confusing notion. A year ago, I would have agreed. We had always fit into each other's clothes, and sometimes that even caused fights because it wasn’t strange for me to just go into her closet and borrow a cute sweater, or a pair of jeans if mine were all in the wash. I would always know when Jen had discovered that I had taken an item of clothing from her closet. I would hear her holler my name with annoyance from her room, then her closet door would slam, her bedroom door open, and I would hear her trudging down the hall. We both usually knocked on each other’s bedroom doors before entering, but if I was guilty of being a clothes thief, all bets were off. She would charge into my room, and if I had been quick enough, I would already be holding the offending piece out at arm’s length with my best kid-sister smile on my face.

  Now, I felt like we could not be any more different. Jen was as beautiful as always, perhaps even more as she matured. She was the big sister I looked up to in so many ways, but I had changed for the worse, at least in my opinion. I was convinced it was everyone else’s opinion too; they just weren’t brave enough to say it.

  “So what other types of dresses look good on pear shapes?” Jennifer asked, and embarrassment heated my face. She already had a dress, and now she seemed desperate to find me one that didn’t make me look like I was going to waddle or roll down the aisle in front of her.

  “Scoop necks look fantastic on pears,” the shop assistant responded encouragingly, “and sweetheart necklines too. Banded waists always flatter pear shapes.”

  “Oh!” Jennifer exclaimed. “That is exactly like my prom dress, Abby.”

  I knew the dress she meant, of course. The maroon scoop-neck dress was still hanging in her closet, awaiting its next night on the town. I remembered the night she had worn it, and the look on Jacob’s face when he had seen her come down the stairs. I had helped her curl her thick, glossy hair into loose tendrils, and they cascaded around her shoulders as she walked. When I thought about it, that dress actually did have a banded waist. It was dotted with tiny diamantes, a perfect embellishment to an otherwise classic dress.

  “And that dress looks amazing on both of us,” Jen continued, clearly trying to make a point.

  It had, I agreed silently, but that was then and this was now. The last time I had tried the dress on, the previous summer, Jen and I had both been home and bored, sitting on her bed chatting about nothing in particular, when the subject of prom had come up. At the time, I was getting ready to head into my senior year. I had been excited at the prospect of all that meant—finally finishing high school, starting to think about colleges, and, of course, prom. That was when Jen had offered me the dress that she had worn to her prom. It wasn’t just that we were always conscious of expenses with our Mom being the sole breadwinner in the house, although it was a consideration. She had always done an amazing job of providing for us on her own, and I knew that if I wanted my own prom dress, she would buy me one without question. On the contrary, I actually liked the idea of wearing Jen’s dress, and when I put it on, I had felt amazing.

  I wouldn’t call myself a tomboy. I mean, I wore skirts and dresses, but I
usually opted for clothes that were comfortable, usually jeans or shorts. I wanted to be able to get things done without restriction, and skirts and dresses didn’t often serve that purpose. Sliding into that dress, though, had made me feel like a million bucks. It also made me feel really close to Jen as I stood admiring myself in the mirror and looking like a younger duplicate of her.

  That was then, though, and I cringed at the thought of putting on that dress now. In fact, looking at the rail full of dresses that awaited fitting, I felt sick to my stomach. The multiple pastels all seemed to merge into one mush of color. The neon lights in the store flickered overhead and seemed to increase the temperature in the small space quite a bit. I wanted to take my track top off, but didn’t feel comfortable enough to do so.

  Hopefully we would be finished soon.

  Jen continued on about her prom dress. “Now, that dress looks amazing on both of us, but it probably would not look great on Taylor, for instance. We need to find something that has elements of that, I think, that suits all of us.”

  Any other miracles you would like to perform today, Ms. Hall, I thought. There’s a bottle of water over there, and we could do with some wine.

  She had turned away from us, and with that dress in mind, was wading through the mass of material on the clothes rail in front of us. “Oh!” she exclaimed, pulling out a light blue sweetheart neck dress that cinched in at the waist and then cascaded down. “This is gorgeous!”

  I had to agree that the color would look great with my dark hair, but that was probably about it. Maybe I could wrap it around my head and wear it as a turban. Jasmine and Taylor voiced their agreement that it was beautiful, and quite suddenly the dress was being thrust into my hands and I was being steered by the shoulders toward the fitting rooms again. I felt like a human mannequin and really wished this day would just end. I knew that this was supposed to be a happy and exciting occasion, but it really didn't feel that way for me. It felt like some special kind of material-based torture. I wondered if the CIA could use this to get information out of spies.