Roadside Assistance (22 page)

Saturday night I sat on a chair in front of Chelsea and blinked my eyes. “Are you almost done?” I whined. “My eyes are so itchy. I don’t think I can stand it with all of this junk on my eyelids.”

“Quit moving,” she hissed. “You’re going to make my hand slip, and you’ll wind up with eyeliner on your nose.”

I groaned. “This is excruciating.”

“You should try it from my point of view. You’re a terrible client.” She bit her bottom lip and continued painting my face with who-knows-what.

“When I’m done with you, Zander is going to fall head over heels for you,” she said with a grin. “He won’t know what to do when he sees you.”

“He might run in the other direction,” I grumbled. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but he’s used to an ordinary girl. He’s not expecting a girl who’s dressed up like a queen.”

“Trust me,” she said for the hundredth time since she’d shown up to help me dress. “This will all be worth it.”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“We have a few minutes. Just relax. He had to run an errand, so I think it’ll be a bit.” She placed the eyeliner onto the dresser next to me and then grabbed something else from her bottomless makeup bag.

“How do you know he had to run an errand?”

“As I said,” she sang, “trust me. You’ll be excited.”

“Are you almost finished?” I asked.

“Quit whining,” she said, fishing through a small bag filled with lipstick tubes. “It’s very unqueenlike.”

I glanced across the room toward my mirror, and I didn’t recognize myself. The makeup was perfect — bringing out the deep green of my eyes. Chelsea had spent nearly an hour piling my curls on top of my head. I was wearing a slip and pantyhose, as my costume still hung in a zipper bag in the closet. I didn’t know exactly what the costume was, but Chelsea had been calling me Queen Emily since she’d shown up.

She stepped back, studied me, and then smiled. “Perfect.” She crossed the room and opened the closet door. “Wait until you see this.”

Outside I heard a big block engine roar, and I wondered what kind of car was driving through our neighborhood. It sounded as if it parked nearby, perhaps even next door.

Chelsea placed the garment bag on my bed and unzipped it, revealing a hunter green and gold dress.

My eyes widened with surprise. “What is it?”

“You’re going to be Queen Elizabeth the First.” She pulled a few accessories from a tote bag, including a sequined gold crown and a large white collar.

I cupped my hand over my mouth. The costume was so unlike me, but it was so captivating that excitement surged through me. “I can’t wear this. It’s too beautiful.”

She laughed. “You’re so silly. You don’t even realize that the dress is more you than you know.”

“What do you mean?” I ran my fingers over the velvety soft gown.

“You’re a gorgeous girl, Emily. This costume is actually perfect for you. Zander is going to flip.” She lifted the gown and unzipped the back. “Let’s get you dressed before he gets here.”

I descended the stairs ten minutes later clad in the costume, complete with high heels and a crown, and nearly fell twice on my way down. In addition to my innate lack of coordination in anything but sneakers, the dress was awkward, probably weighing close to ten pounds with a huge crinoline underneath, giving the gown a distinctive bell shape. Chelsea followed close behind me, holding up the long skirt like my lady-in-waiting.

We stepped into the den, where my dad and Darlene greeted me, wide-eyed.

“Emily,” my dad gasped, standing. “You’re beautiful.”

“No, Brad,” Darlene said, holding up her camera. “She’s stunning, breathtaking, and just plain gorgeous.” She pointed toward the fireplace. “Let me get a few photos.”

“Maybe we should wait for Zander,” Chelsea said. “He should be here soon.”

“Don’t be silly.” Darlene directed us to the fireplace and took several photos of Chelsea and me giving cheesy smiles. “The costume is beautiful.” Darlene ran her hand over the sleeve. “Where did you find it, Chelsea?”

“We actually bought it last year for our community theater group.” Chelsea placed her makeup bag on the floor. “I normally make the costumes, but we decided to buy this one at a shop. I tailored it for the actress, and she was shaped similar to Emily.”

“It’s just fabulous. Simply stunning.” Darlene shook her head in awe. “Whitney will love this.”

“Where is she?” I asked.

“She went over to Kristin’s early to help her set up,” Darlene
said, examining the gold trim on the costume. “She was going to dress there.”

“Zander!” Logan yelled from the kitchen. “You look so cool!”

My stomach somersaulted, and I grasped Chelsea’s arm. “What if he doesn’t like the costume?”

She laughed. “Emily, if only you could truly see yourself. He’s going to be hypnotized by your beauty.”

“She’s right.” My dad kissed my cheek. “You’re stunning, Baby Doll, absolutely stunning.”

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace and touched my face. I didn’t recognize myself. I was pretty — or maybe glamorous was a more appropriate word. Chelsea had completely transformed me into a sixteenth-century monarch. I just hoped that Zander would approve. I spotted him in the doorway and took a deep breath.

Turning, I faced him and my eyes widened in surprise. He was clad in a black racing firesuit covered in various logos, including motor oil, tires, and fuel additives. The suit was snug with a zipper running up the length of it, bringing out his muscular frame. He looked positively gorgeous.

“You look amazing,” I said.

Zander studied me, his eyes wide. His mouth gaped, but no sound came out. And my heart soared. So Chelsea had been right all along: he did like me. Maybe I would get that first kiss tonight … My cheeks flushed even more at that thought.

My dad chuckled, smacking Zander’s shoulder. “She looks good, huh?” he asked.

Zander cleared his throat. “Yes, she does.” He smiled at me and bowed. “You look dazzling, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you,” I replied with a little curtsey.

Chelsea winked at me. “I need to run. My mom and stepdad are leaving soon for their party.”

“Thank you,” I said, hugging her. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I whispered.

“You better,” she said. She said good-bye to everyone and then exited through the kitchen.

Darlene directed us to the fireplace. “Let me get a few photos before you leave.”

We posed for what felt like a hundred photos before Zander took my hand and led me through the kitchen to the back door.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said, squeezing my hand slightly. “I guess you could say it goes with my costume.”

“Oh?” As we walked the short path to the fence dividing our yards, my heart turned over in my chest yet again. He looked so handsome that I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

“Close your eyes,” he said, taking both of my hands in his and walking backward while leading me the rest of the way.

I followed instructions, a smile growing on my lips. I couldn’t even imagine what he had in store for me.

“Okay, open them!” he said.

My eyes flew open, spotting a shiny, dark metallic blue ‘69 Camaro, and I blew out a surprised breath, cupping my hands to my mouth.

“Where …? How …?” I stammered, the words floating through my head but not forming sentences.

He laughed, tugging me toward the car. “When I told Jack my idea, he helped me find a Camaro SS.” He held up the keys and jingled them. “I was going to let you drive, but I guess in that dress it won’t be physically possible.” He pointed to the skirt, which nearly stood up on its own.

“Wow.” I ran my finger over the fender, marveling at the beautiful paint job. Peeking in the window, my jaw dropped. The black vinyl interior was perfect — clean and shiny. “Who owns this?”

“Some guy named Pete,” he said, opening the passenger door. “He’s good friends with Jack.”

“How long did it take him to restore it?” I asked, lifting my skirt and climbing into the seat, trying to make the sea of material fit inside the car without revealing my slip and pantyhose beneath it.

“He told me it took him three years to get it perfect.” Zander slammed the door and came around to the driver side.

While he got buckled in, I turned around and examined the car, shaking my head in amazement. The car was exactly the way I’d imagined mine would look after I’d finished my restoration, except that my car would’ve been purple instead of blue.

“It’s nice, huh?” He turned the key and the car roared to life.

“Oh,” I moaned, closing my eyes, taking in the purr of the engine. “That is the sound of heaven.”

He laughed. “You really are a Chevy girl.” He threw the car in gear and steered out of the driveway, the engine roaring with power. “He said I can keep it until Monday, so you can drive it tomorrow if you’d like.”

When we came to a stop sign, I turned to him and smiled. “Thank you.”

“No problemo,” he said, negotiating a turn. “I thought we’d have fun tonight.”

“Where’d you get the racing suit?”

“This belonged to Jack. He used to race in his younger days.” He nodded toward the backseat. “The helmet’s back there, but it’s not very comfortable.”

“Don’t wear it. Then I wouldn’t be able to see your face.”

He steered down Kristin’s street. “Isn’t the point of Halloween to be unrecognizable?”

“I’m not wearing a mask,” I said.

“I’m glad.” He grinned. “It would be a crime to cover up your beautiful face.”

My pulse skittered. This night was getting more perfect by the second — first he was speechless when he saw me, then he borrowed my dream car to escort me to the party, and now he told me I was beautiful. I couldn’t imagine what would happen next. A kiss could make the night complete. My heart turned over at the thought.

A line of cars snaked down Kristin’s street and music blasted from inside the house. He parked behind a red Toyota Prius, then came around the car and opened my door. I felt like Zander’s prom date as he took my hand and helped me from the Camaro. Hand in hand, we walked up the driveway toward the front door. We stepped into the foyer and found a group of kids talking and laughing in the den.

Whitney, dressed as Dorothy from
The Wizard of Oz,
spotted me and screeched before coming over and taking my hands in hers. “You look awesome, Emily! Holy cow!”

She called her friends over, and they prattled on about how beautiful I looked, sounding like mother hens. The attention was actually kind of nice.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Zander grinning, almost gloating over me.
Wow.

Zander handed me a cup of punch, and I stood with Whitney and her friends, answering what felt like a zillion questions about my costume and who had fixed my hair and makeup. The conversation turned to gossip about people I didn’t know, and I felt out of place. I silently wished Chelsea’s parents had found a babysitter.

I glanced over at Zander standing with a group of guys near the entrance to the kitchen and he shot me a warm smile. I felt as if I were floating on a cloud.

I suddenly felt the urge to use the restroom and dreaded the
thought of dealing with the crinoline and skirts. I leaned over to Whitney. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“There’s one off the kitchen and then two more upstairs,” she said. “Want me to go with you?”

“I’ll find my way. Thanks.” Finding the kitchen bathroom occupied, I ventured upstairs, passing a group of girls who looked familiar from the cafeteria. I gave them a slight smile and steered through a large bedroom to a master bathroom.

On my way back through the bedroom, I stopped when I heard voices outside the door.

“She looks hot,” one of the girls was saying. “I wonder where she got that costume.”

“I’d kill for that hair,” another said. “Most of the time it’s frizzy, but someone did a great job styling it tonight. Perms never look right on me.”

“I think her hair is naturally curly. You could never get a perm to do that,” the first girl said.

They had to be talking about me. I leaned flat against the wall and held my breath. I wanted to go back into the bathroom to avoid hearing anything nasty, but I was stuck there, glued to the wall by the door, wondering what they would say next.

“I wonder what Zander sees in her,” another said. “What do you mean?” the first girl said. “She’s really pretty.”

“Yeah, but she’s not, like, you know, in
our
group. It’s hard to believe she’s Whitney’s cousin. They’re so different.”

“Yeah,” the first said. “It’s got to be weird for Whitney, you know? Imagine how awkward it is for her to see them together since she and Zander were pretty hot and heavy last summer.”

I sucked in a deep breath.

“But that’s ancient history, Monica. They broke up and now they’re friends.”

“Yeah, but she must still feel
something
for him,” Monica said. “I mean, they, like, talk
all
the time.”

“Yeah, that would be like your sister dating your ex-boyfriend. Awkward and weird.”

“But Whitney’s with Chad, and he’s really hot.”

“Not hotter than Zander. He’s like a god.”

“You got that right!”

They all giggled and someone suggested going down to check the food table.

I slid down the wall, sinking onto the floor, and hugged my arms around my stomach. I let the information seep into my mind:
Whitney had dated Zander.

Now so much made sense. Now I understood why she’d said he was probably the most harmless guy at Cameronville High; she would know since she’d dated him. No wonder she said that all he talked about was cars. And now I knew why his numbers were programmed into her phone.

So why was he spending time with me?

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. Perhaps Whitney had asked him to spend time with me, and he was just seeing me as a favor to her. He was another hand-me-down — like the cell phone.

Then it hit me: This wasn’t a favor for Whitney, this was about God. Ever since I’d confessed that I wasn’t sure if I still believed in God, he’d been witnessing to me. He’d told me that he dealt with the grief of losing his grandfather by turning to God. Since I’d admitted I’d lost my faith, he’d tried at every opportunity to inject God into the conversation.