“Oh, flamingo,” I hiss, glowering at her in the full-length mirror. She looks up and pins me with a glare of her own. “You need to stop with all the candy,” she snaps, bending down to tug on my hemline. It’s pointless; the dress still barely covers the curve of my ass. “You think I don’t see all those wrappers in the garbage? Stuffed inside your purses? Cut them out and your waistline will thank you.” “Or you could stop buying me dresses meant for a twelve-year-old,” I snap back. Of course, with its plunging neckline, it’d be very inappropriate for a twelve-year-old. It’s also incredibly
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