Ashley stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom and
studied her hair. She had teased the top, brought some of it
forward in bangs and pulled the rest of the long, blond, straight
tresses into a high pony tail on one side of her head. She
shrugged. It'd look cool if I could wear make up, she thought.
She picked up some clear gloss, all the makeup she was allowed to
wear, and applied a thick coat to her full mouth. Her mother was
just unreasonable, the 12-year-old thought. It's just makeup.
It's not like I asked for a month's supply of condoms, she
grumbled to herself, not sure of how many that would be. She
glanced at her outfit, a snugly fitted mint green t-shirt with a
patchwork heart that matched her short skirt. Her slender legs
were bare, as were her feet on which she wore flat-heeled
sandals. She shrugged again. One more year, she thought. I'll
be 13 and in junior high and I'm wearing makeup. I don't care
what my mother says. I'm not a child. She picked up her Pooh
Bear back pack and slipped it on before leaving her room.
Ashley walked downstairs and into the living room, where her
father sat watching a football game.
"Daddy. Where's Mom?" Ashley asked.
"I guess she's still getting ready," he answered, not
looking up.
"What's taking her so long?" Ashley asked, moving closer to
the television.
Her father shrugged. "You know how you women are."
"Well, it didn't take me very long," Ashley defended
herself, stepping directly in front of the television. "Of
course, I didn't put on any makeup. That's probably what she's
doing."
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