It wasn't that Max hated wearing dresses. It was more that she detested it. But nonetheless, Max Remy found herself slipping on a not long enough, much too pink and far too girly dress thanks to, of course, her mother. She stood at the doorway, tugging at the dress, wondering if that maybe she pulled it enough maybe it would tear or perhaps just stretch enough so that her mother would deem it imperfect and therefore not appropriate to wear.
"Mum!" she screeched, coming to the sudden realization that there was, in fact, no way to shred the dress to pieces without using scissors that she didn't have.
"What is it, Ma- Oh!" Max's mother cut off with a high pitched squeal and excited clap of her hands. "Don't you look absolutely marvelous in that dress?"
Max frowned, her eyes darting down and catching a horrified glimpse at the pink fabric and strappy heels that went with it. "At least let me get rid of the shoes, Mum. Please," she pleaded. "I'm going to break my ankle."
"Nothing you haven't done before," her mother sang cheerfully. "Now come on, Linden will be waiting for you."
If Max had been frowning before, the look on her face now was the look of pure agony. "You can't keep trying to bribe me with Linden. And anyway, look at me! All the more reason not to leave the house."
"Max! You promised that you'd come to this party. And if you don't, I won't drop you off at Mindawarra."
Not for the first time, Max found herself cursing the fact that she was one, far too busy (or clumsy, as Toby had so crudely put it) to get her license and two, didn't have a car of her own so that she could drive up anyway.
"Mum, I have to go though. There is no reason that I should have to wear these," Max exclaimed, not bothering to hide the disgust in her voice as she attempted a somewhat elegant stamping of her foot. "Just the shoes. I'll wear this... ugh, lovely, dress."
Max's mother smiled, but Max wasn't fooled by the sweet grin. Her mother was the devil in disguise, she was sure of it. Nonetheless, she held her head high as she stumbled into the car, silently cursing those damn straps as the rubbed against her ankle in that sure fire way that she knew would give her blisters.
She stared out the window as the street lamps flew past, her hands subconsciously patting down the ruffles on her frock.
"Mum," she started, just a bit hesitantly. "You aren't really going to make me go to this party are you?"
At her mother's disapproving mutter and sharp nod, Max smirks, her hand falling from her lap to the backpack beside her. Oh, the joys of bringing a change of shoes (and clothes too, fancy that!). The party would be unbearable, she knew that. But maybe, with tattered jeans, a baggy shirt and good old Converse All Stars, she would make it alive - just maybe.