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((Okay so this is a COMPLETELY new story I'm hoping to carry on. Please tell me what you think!))
She held the phone tightly up against her ear with her right hand. She was standing in her closet, looking at everything she had in it. Mostly everything was either jeans or black or something she would wear only once in a blue moon. She tossed her flowing crimson hair from the front of her pale face with her free hand as her silver eyes continued to study her clothing. She was wearing what resembled her closet greatly, a black teeshirt with a neon green insignia from a video game, and worn denim jeans. Her wrists each held a black arm-sock and wristband, just for looks. Her feet were bare.
"Yeah, I don't know if I want to go to the prom any more," she spoke into the phone lazily. "Well I know it'll be fun but I don't wanna wear the dress!" Her free hand started skimming the contents of her messy closet until they reached a long black dress. It was shiny and silky, void of sleeves and hemmed so the fabric was tied into a bow in the back. Two long fingerless gloves were pinned to it for safe keeping. She sighed at the sight of such a pretty dress that she wanted to wear badly but at the same time, she didn't.
On the other end of the phone, a boy sighed as well, knowing exactly she would tell him this sooner or later. He had dusty brown hair that fell on his face where ever it pleased but some how avoided his piercing icy eyes that appeared to glow. He put his free hand on his forehead in a face-palm sort of way.
"Well aren't dresses... Gothic and Victorian?" he inquired to the girl on the other line. He himself was wearing a white tank top undershirt and black tuxedo pants. He was in the middle of getting dressed for the same occasion the girl decided she didn't want to go to. "I know you aren't going Goth but still, I know you like that kind of-- ...So you ended up getting the modern dress, I knew I was right!" He smiled triumphantly at his ability to read his girlfriend so well as he struggled to button up the white shirt he was going to wear. One hand didn't exactly work for an uncoordinated person such as he. He sighed again and sat down on his bed, deciding he'd get to it later.
"I know Cale, you were right you always are," she replied with a smile slipping onto her round face. "But I still don't wanna wear a dress. I don't care how fun it is, Cale. I just... It's got a bow, Cale. A BOW." When the word 'bow' passed her lips, she said it with utter disdain. She hated that bow yet at the same time loved it. She was now confusing herself with her indecisiveness. Yet even against her wishes, she pulled the hanger out of the closet and laid the dress gently on her bed.
"Bows are pretty, Will," Cale replied, "just like you." The statement he added not only added color to her cheeks, but to a bit on his own, as well. He sighed contently at the stubbornness of the girl but knew it was coming. He was now standing in front of the mirror in his personal bathroom, trying to get his unruly hair to flatten and look groomed. This was to little avail, as he could only comb with one hand and couldn't run hair gel in it with his other hand. He often found himself in an awkward position in which one of Willow's friends would accuse her boyfriend of being secretly gay due to his amazing hair and tips. That was his personal secret, that he actually listened to his mom when she told him that girls will like him if he appears to be gay. He then reminded himself never to take his mother's advice again.
Willow's face, on the other line, was almost as red as her hair and she decided to say quickly and inaudibly, "Alrighttalktoyoulaterseeyouatsevenbringchocolate." With that she simply poked the 'End' button on the phone and sighed as she turned to the dress. She glared at it. It seemed to taunt her, to be persuading her into doing it. Even while she wanted to wear the dress, wanted to wear the gloves, wanted to pin her hair up and stick a corsage on her wrist. Even while she wanted to wear makeup. She didn't. She wouldn't. And she really couldn't. She had built up an image for herself. She was the girl that didn't wear makeup, didn't read magazines, didn't carry a purse, never bothered with fashion. She was... Willow. Or rather, she was Wilhelmina. But she wasn't called that. She made up her own name, and her own face. And that wasn't about to change one bit. She'd wear the dress alright, but she wouldn't let it win. She wouldn't be thrown headfirst into the vicious cycle and moshpit known as adolescence. She was going to win. Even if it only made her more of an outcast than she was already, even if it further isolated herself from her friends. She was going to win.