So that dread I hadn't been feeling the night before...well, now I was feeling it...in full force. I opened up my closet and stared helplessly. After a few minutes I pulled out a plain pair of jeans. I didn't really have a lot to go on as a model for what my mother considered "normal", so I was sort of using Paige as my example. Just sort of though. Anyways, the jeans were good. Paige wears jeans all the time. After flipping through a couple of things, and immediately eliminating anything with short sleeves, I was left with slim pickings. But then I came up with an idea. I ran to my dad's closet, grabbed a white dress shirt and put that on. Then I got a black long sleeved shirt from my closet, and put it on over. I pulled the collar and the cuffs out from under the black shirt, and had something that was preppie enough.

I took on look at myself in the mirror, and almost died. My reflection actually disgusted me. But I carried on, putting my hair into a pony tail and then I reached for my black eyeliner. Thinking about it a little more, I put that away, and took out a makeup kit I had gotten in, like, third grade. I put a little brownish eye shadow on, hoping that was okay, and some mascara. I really was pretty clueless here. Figuring I looked more or less acceptable, I put on some chap stick, and headed downstairs. If my mother was drunk, I'd be back upstairs in three seconds to change. If she was sober, well, I'd humiliate myself at school.

"Good morning Eleanor. My, you look really nice this morning. I made you some breakfast."

She handed me a stack of three pancakes and syrup. I ate quickly, because I didn't have much time left.

"What time will you be getting home tonight, Eleanor?"

"Um, I have co-op right after school, and I usually don't get finished with that until about 5 o'clock or so, so I should be home no later than six. Is that okay?" I asked her, hardly believing myself. I was asking my mother if it was okay to do what I had been doing for the past two months.

"Sure, that's no problem at all. I'll have dinner ready around 6:30. I'm going job hunting today."

"Really?" I asked, figuring this was too good to be true. "Where are you looking?"

"I have a job interview at the hospital for a nurse position. Keep your fingers crossed for me. With any luck, this'll give us a little extra money to go shopping in a few weeks."

"Ok, well, good luck mom. I've got to get going to school."

"Sorry, honey, but I can't give you a ride today."

"Oh, that's okay mom." Actually, it was more than okay, I thought to myself as I headed out the door. I loved having a real mom and all, but it was kind of getting creepy. And I was always on edge, trying not to set her off. I mean, I didn't want her to start drinking again.

Once I walked into school, I knew this was going to be a very very very bad day.

"Nice outfit," was the nicest comment I got all day, and that was sarcastic. Apparently, no one in this school could suddenly change their look without getting a whole lot of shit. Marco cornered me in the hall. "What's up with this Ellie?"

"I just decided to try something different."

"But why? I don't get it. How you dressed was always so important to you, and then...well, I just don't understand."

"I just...my mom..." I stopped right there. Anything I said would sound really lame, and I knew it.

"You changed for you mom?" he asked, incredulously.

"Well, yes," I said lamely. "She said I'd look nicer if I looked more normal. And, well, I didn't want her to start..." I trailed off. Marco was the only one who knew that my mom drank.

"To start drinking again?"

"Well, yes. You don't understand, Marco. You've always had a great family. I haven't. I mean...well, I'd do just about anything to keep her this way."

"Your clothing isn't the reason she started drinking in the first place."

"No, but she was so happy when I came downstairs looking like this. I just...I can't..."

"Fine, Ellie. If you want to change for you mom, fine. I just thought you were different..."

"Marco, that's not fair at all. You haven't had to deal with half the crap I've dealt with. You've never come home and have to clean up the bottles of booze from the table, and help your mom change out of her clothes because they're covered in puke. You've never had to pretend you were your own parent when a teacher called because they were too drunk to come to the phone. You've never had to fend for yourself at all. Your judgment comes from someone with parents who care. So Marco, get over yourself. You have no right to judge me or my decision to change my wardrobe."

"El..." he started.

"Forget it; I don't want to talk to you anymore." I stormed off, so angry, I couldn't see straight.

That was the worst thing that happened all day. The only person who never commented was Caitlin at co-op.