She's the one in the hand-me down dress nervously hoping that no one will recognize it from her cousin's debut last year. She's the one who's hair doesn't quite have that perfection that comes from hours at a salon. Instead she has the tiny curls that won't be confined by misplaced pins. She's the one standing on the sidelines as all the other debutantes are comparing jewels bought just for this occasion. She doesn't have any jewels. Instead she has flowers lovingly tended through the winter months in window boxes by her mother and woven into a wreath and corsage by an annoying little sister who just wants to help. She knows she'll stick out from the crowd, but is determined to go through with this -her debut- for at sixteen, the only thing that matters to her is the glow of her parents faces as she walks down those grand stairs and is presented to the world.
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