Bras & Broomsticks by Sarah Mlynowski

like pink doilies. That way she’s the only one who looks good.” And she will definitely look amazing. She spent ten thousand dollars on her wedding dress. I heard her bragging about it to one of her friends.
    Miri looks seriously fed up with being prodded. “I bet Prissy doesn’t have to wear this. Hers is probably adorable.”
    “Actually,” Judy says, taking a pin from her mouth and making us realize she is listening to our conversation, “her dress is a miniature version of yours. Your arms are so toned, Miri. You must be an athlete.”
    “She’s a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do,” I brag. “She’ll probably be a black belt within a year.” She could be one tomorrow if she wanted to. Wait a minute. With Miri’s help, I could be one tomorrow!
    Miri squirms. “Why are there rods in the material?”
    “It’s boning to shape the dress over your breasts.”
    “How can anything shape this getup? It’s so ugly.”
    The bells on the door chime and STB and mini-STB glide inside. STB normally stops to get her morning iced coffee en route, but because we were running late, STB dropped us off first and then doubled back to Starbucks. (I was trying to figure out how to use STB’s blue liquid eyeliner and ended up making squiggly lines all around my lids. The removal required multiple washings. Naturally, STB waited until we were in the car and out of my dad’s earshot before she yelled at me for ruining her schedule.)
    “How are we in here?” she asks now. She’s asking Judy, not us. She doesn’t care how Miri and I are doing. Since I’m still in my jeans, I’m enjoying myself. The more annoyed Miri gets at STB, the better chance I’ll have that she’ll go for my Making STB Disappear plan.
    “I look revolting,” Miri tells her.
    Yes!
    STB almost chokes on her coffee. “What kind of thing is that to say? How can you insult Judy like that? Judy, I apologize.”
    Personally, I think it was the material Miri was insulting, not the craftswoman, but hey, why defuse a situation that’s working in my favor?
    Prissy is sitting crossed-legged on the floor, caressing the bottom of Miri’s dress. “It’s so pretty and pink and pink is pretty and my friend Nora has a pink dress and a purple dress and . . .”
    STB motions for Prissy to be quiet and then turns to me. “Let me guess; you’re not happy either.”
    Actually, I’m in a terrific mood. “Hard to tell before it’s finished,” I say diplomatically.
    Miri gives me the evil eye in the full-length mirror. She’d better not retaliate and suggest I fall on my butt.
    “But,” I add, “I’m not sure if I’m crazy about the material.”
    Both Judy and STB gasp. “What do you mean?” STB asks. “It’s lace and raw silk. The material alone for each dress cost three hundred dollars.”
    Three hundred dollars? For doilies?
    “Money,” Miri says, “which could have been better used in Somalia to help feed starving children.”
    Or to purchase an Izzy Simpson dress.
    STB ignores her and fingers a swatch of the material. “Rachel’s right. You can’t judge the dress before it’s finished. You’ll both look adorable. Like dolls.”
    Does she realize that doesn’t help?
    “I have sixteen dolls,” Prissy pipes up, and then starts counting on her fingers. “Sandy, and Mandy, and Randy and Dandy and Princess.” When she runs out of fingers, she stops reciting and remains quiet, contemplating her dilemma.
    “Fantastic,” Miri snaps. “I’ve always dreamed of looking like Barbie.”
    I wouldn’t mind that. Barbie has excellent measurements.
    STB takes a long swig of her coffee, then places it down on a table. “Miri, how are your fingers?”
    Miri clamps her hands shut. “Fine.”
    STB picks up Miri’s right hand and pries it open. She does another one of her gasps. With all her heavy breathing, you’d think she was on the StairMaster. “What am I going to do with you?”
    Miri shakes her off. “They’re my nails, and I can bite them if I