The Skirt

I will be the first to say that I am not materialistic. My friends label me as a goody-goody; my parents say I am conservative and modest when it comes to clothes. I don’t wear bikinis, and none of my skirts or shorts end above my knees. That is my choice.

So why, why did I feel so tempted? My family and I were in Target, and there it was, waiting. A skirt, specifically designed not to cover anything. It was tan and looked like something one of those anime schoolgirls would wear.

I checked my purse. The skirt cost $10. I had the money. I could buy it. I imagined walking into school and my pals’ jaws dropping. Guys would ask me out, and I would be happy. I could buy it – no, I should buy it.

I showed my mother. She was surprised but said it was my decision. My sister looked on enviously.

I went into the dressing room to try it on. So sure was I that this skirt would change me, somehow make me not what I am but what I wished to be. I slid my jeans off and put it on. Now for the decisive moment. I looked in the mirror. There I was – a geeky girl in a Superman T-shirt and sneakers. My glasses fogged up as I started to cry.

The skirt did not change me. Though it fit well and might make me look good in the eyes of ­today’s world, it was not me. I am not a girl who flirts or wears cool clothes to fit in.

I took the thing off and slid back into the ­comfort of modesty. My mom knocked on the door. “Emily, are you okay?”

I wiped away my tears. “I’m fine.” I looked in the ­mirror again and saw a blond skinny girl with dorky ­glasses and a ponytail. I saw myself.