“Suck your belly in and stand up straight.” “Why, Mom?” “Because that’s how you put on dresses. Come on. Stand taller.” Once she was all zipped up I stood behind her and looked in the dressing room mirror. She was looking straight into my eyes, with the betrayal and wounding of someone who was just slapped in the face. I paused, but then chalked up her sourness to tween melodrama. I looked her up and down in the form-fitting black dress. “Wow. You look beautiful, honey! Like a woman!” She shrugged. “What? You don’t want it? You look fantastic!” “I don’t know, Mom! Okay? I don’t know what I like, or what I’m supposed to like, or what I’m supposed to look like. Just get the dress if you think that’s what I’m supposed to get. I don’t care. Can we be done?” She pulled her school uniform back on and left the dressing room. I held the black dress up over my tired outfit and turned side-to-side. I wished my body was as good …