“This is so boring," Noah muttered as he sat at the opposite end of the couch. We were seated outside of the changing room and Marissa was trying on her eighth dress, all different shades of orange. They were party dresses, not gowns, but dresses, most of which could be used for a fancier school dance.
“What about this one?” she questioned curiously, twirling and spinning girlishly, showing off the dark orange dress.
I nodded. “It’s cute, but I don’t like the top.”
“Ugly," Noah shrugged carelessly. His comments were all similar to this one; ugly, stupid and ugly, why would you even pick that?
She groaned. “I have two dresses left, so start making up your minds.”
She disappeared into the changing rooms one last time and I felt my stomach clench. I was going next, and with the cruel com
