“I don’t even know why I’m here.” I say, looking at the dresses on the racks. “I mean, I’m not getting married. I don’t even wear dresses that often!” I say, turning to Ly.
“You’re here because you’re going to be Zara’s maid of honor.” She said softly.
“Whatever.” I mutter.
“You know, she could have chosen Julie instead.”
I whip my head around at that. “Aw hell no! I did not put up with Zara’s wrestling, fighting, drinking, family issues ass for six years, helped with all her homework and tutoring, stopped her from getting into fights, and offered my home, my home, to her whenever her family life got too rough to not be made her maid of honor.”
Ly chuckles. “Then stop complaining.”
“Fiiiiiine. But I choose where we get lunch.” I say.
We sit there for three hours.
Eventually, we end up at our current locations:
Julie left halfway through after getting her own dress (Really pretty, BTW.)
Ly was sitting crosslegged on the ground, playing on her phone (Finally, rationality got to her.)
Zar was judging how she looked in her, hang on, I was writing it down, ah. Her 126th dress.
And I’m pretty sure I was sitting upside on the couch, half unconscious, with the employees giving me dirty looks.
“Are we almost done?” I ask as my eyelids drooped.
“Would this be easier if you were getting a dress, too?” Ly asks.
“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you. I. Don’t. Wear. Dresses.”
“Well, I’m still gonna be a little while, so you might as well.” Zar said, very obviously trying to be subtle as she check her butt in the mirror.
“A while? You’re going to make us endure more of this?! Fine, just to pass the time.” I say, getting up. I walk to the back of the store in a section labeled, ‘Casual Dresses.’ I see a lot of dresses, supposedly “casual”. Casual in what context? Casually meeting the queen? Then I see something I would actually wear on a somewhat regular basis. It was plaid red and black, with lace surrounding the middle. I take it back to a dressing room and put it on. I step out and show Ly and Zar.
“Ooo! That’s cute!” Zar says, gushing over me, wearing yet another dress.
“Yeah, that’s really pretty.” Ly says, but goes directly back to her phone.
“Who ya texting?” I ask her.
“Matthew and Alfred. I asked them to come here and save us from our misery.”
“Hey, did you and Canny ever actually hook up?”
“W-What?!” She says, tomato red.
“Ya know, get together? Because, if so, I owe Al ten bucks. I really don’t wanna owe him money.”
“Well... um...sorry.” She says.
“Sorry aboot what?” Canada says walking in.
“The bet she made earlier this week... about me and you.”
“HEY MICH! Prussia and I were going to do a daring motorcycle stunt, wanna -” America starts shouting, running in with Prussia close behind. They both stop though, America dead in his tracks, and Prussia because he was walking behind Al and he ran into him.
“Sure.” I say. I go back into the dressing room, change back into my Beatles t-shirt and jeans, buy the dress and hurry out after them.
“Check zis out, puny America.” Prussia says, getting on the bike and putting his helmet on. He rives the engine, and goes on the track. He goes one lap then gets off.
“My high speed vas 90 miles per hour. Vhat do you zink about zhat?”
“I think I can do better.” He says, stealing the keys and helmet from Prussia. He tries and comes back ‘victorious’.
“95 mph at my highest. Suck it.” He says.
“Can I try driving?” I ask.
“Sure!” Al says. I hand him my bag and he helps me on the bike. “Alright, this is where the keys go in. You pull this towards yourself, and it makes it go. That’s the gas pedal. You wanna try it out slow?”
“Sure! Like this?” I say, pulling the helmet visor down, lifting my foot up and flooring it. I take off around the track. I zig-zag in between cones, and pop a wheelie. I veer off track and go up a ramp. I do a front flip in mid air, and then I pull the bike back to the two countries, now staring slack jaw at me.
“What?” I ask, after shaking my hair out of the helmet. “Didn’t I ever tell you I work in motorcycle races? It’s good money!” I say, then hop off the bike.
“I think I’m in love.” America says, still staring.
“Me too.” Prussia says.
“I know.” I say, looking back at the bike. “I’m in love with me, too.”