Top Ten Uses for an Unworn Prom Dress (7 page)

W
e need to talk,” Kylie said, waving for me to make room for her on the mall bench.

She threw looks at her mascaraed bodyguards, who obediently backed off. But I remained on high alert, my hands anchored around the frosty drinks. (Palms losing sensation—but one crisis at a time, if you don't mind.)

“We'll be in A and F if you need us,” Cherry said, leading Natalia away.

Kylie sank down, eye level with me. I looked at blond hair so exquisitely streaked that no two strands
were the same shade. Perfectly smoky eyeshadow under finely penciled brows. And lip liner etched around a pretty coral gloss.

She probably spent more time on her face every morning than I would have for the prom.

Had I gotten to go.

“Okay, girl to girl,” she said, actually meeting my eye. “Let's get this thing ironed out.”

I didn't have to be a genius to realize she meant Rascal's sudden, renewed interest in me. It wasn't like she and I had a friendship to fix. Or that we'd spoken since she'd spread those lame rumors about me food-poisoning her.

And actually, it kind of surprised me that she'd go so far as a face-to-face with me about Rascal. I mean, did she really find me threatening? Her boyfriend was just a flirt. And didn't the snitch who told her I was going to be Rascal's prom date give her the 411 on how he'd asked me out of the blue, and how, even then, we'd barely spent any time together?

“Look, Kylie,” I said, now resting a mocha on the bench and warming my frozen-tundra palm against my shorts. “There's nothing between Rascal and me. I was just a substitute prom date.”

She sniffed, her body arching like her marionette strings had been pulled. “I know that.”

“Okay. Well, he and I hardly ever talk. I mean, sure, outside my Spanish class sometimes, but that hardly counts.” Then I took a sip of my mocha (or maybe it
was Alison's), thinking it was probably a good time to shut up.

She tapped perfect nails on the bench. “I'm here about our boyfriends.”

Our …
Hello?

“Rascal and Jared are at each other's throats,” she said, and frowned so hard that actual wrinkles creased her forehead. “I'm afraid they're going to throw punches and Rascal will get suspended before the homecoming game. We have to do something.”

I just sighed.

First of all, Rascal might be spectacular to watch in those tight pants and padded jerseys, and his performance on the field was good and all—but the football team was undefeated. They could most definitely win without him.

But, more importantly, she'd really gotten things twisted. Jared was too pigheaded to be swayed by anything I had to say. Meanwhile, Rascal had slipped that note into my locker, had been talking and pretty much flirting with me. He'd even kind of offered to fight Jared for me.

Kylie flipped a handful of hair back off her forehead and continued. “I think, as their girlfriends, we should try to find a way to help them burn the hatchet.”

“Bury,” I choked out.

“What?”

“Bury the hatchet, not burn.”

She frowned.

I put down the other mocha. As well as my guard. There was no reason to be nervous about this. “Look, I'd love to help, but I'm not Jared's girlfriend.”

Her gaze narrowed. “That's not what people are saying.”

People … who? People like Keith and Mitch from the Senior Bench? The ones who thought that I was putting out for him to drive me around? Or Rascal and his friends in Burger King? Yeah, real in-the-know people.

“Sorry to break this to you, Kylie, but I know a little more on the topic of my love life.”

She seemed to look right through me. “Well, I was thinking if the four of us got together, had pizza or something—”

“No,” I said, standing. “No four of us.”

“Nicolette,” she whined.

“Look, can you talk Rascal into this sit-down?”

“I figured we could sort of trick them. Maybe pick a time to meet at the same pizzeria.”

“Yeah, well, nothing I can do.” Or even wanted to do.

“If you could just talk to Jared …”

“I hardly know the guy, okay? He's, you know, my best friend's brother.”

Alison emerged from the shop, a cell phone to her ear. “Nic!” she called, then froze for a heartbeat while acknowledging me and my unusual companion. “Uh, Jared's on his way to pick us up!”

I waved in recognition and turned to see Kylie
standing up. She dwarfed me in both height and social stature. “Promise me you'll talk to him.”

I twisted my ring.

“
Promise
me, Nicolette. This one thing. When have I ever asked anything of you?”

Something inside me exploded. I wanted to find the mall intercom and respond in front of everyone:

Ask anything of me?

YOU are the reason I missed out on the most astonishing night of my high school life
.

Ask anything of me? MUCH?

But staring into her
Hello? Anyone home?
eyes, I bit back those words to give her what she wanted. I had a feeling that making her wish come true might be more fun than denying it. “Well, okay,” I said. “I'll ask him.”

Smug satisfaction settled on her face. “Great. We'll talk Monday before geometry.”

Talk?
At school? In front of people? Wow, Chunky sure was anxious for her man to play in the homecoming game.

“Can't wait,” I said, going so light on the sarcasm I doubted she'd pick it up.

I caught up with Alison, and soon we were heading across the mall, toward the parking lot, recounting the past few minutes.

“You settle this thing between Jared and Rascal,” Alison told me, “and Kylie will be eternally grateful. At least as long as she remembers. She might even invite you to a party at her house or something.”

I laughed scornfully. “Now, that's my idea of heaven. A whole night of watching the two of them make out!”

Jared was idling at the curb outside Macy's. Sunglasses sat over his eyes, making him look oddly
GQ
-esque.

Alison opened the door and slid into the back. I knew it was only so I could have Jared's full attention about the Kylie thing, but still, I appreciated her giving me the front.

“So, Jared,” I said, moving the stack of flyers from the floor to my lap. “I had a heart-to-heart with Kylie in the mall.”

“Kylie?”

“Yeah. We ran into her.”

“Or it could be Cherry called her when she saw us,” Alison piped up.

I gave him a moment to let this sink in, knowing the guy brain didn't have the same ability to process rapid-fire, random information as the girl brain. “Yeah, anyway, she wants you and Rascal to make up so he doesn't get suspended before the homecoming game.”

I held my breath.

“Tell Kylie Shoenbacher,” Jared said, his hands clenched around the steering wheel, “that she can kiss my ass.”

Alison poked her head through the opening of the two seats, and together we burst out laughing.

“I can't wait,” I said.

•

Mexican seasonings woke up my senses when I cruised through the front door.

Uh-oh. Mom's enchiladas were to die for. But since Dad had left, she'd only labored over complicated dishes when she was upset.

I plopped the flyers upside down on the coffee table and followed the aroma. “Smells good,” I said, instead of hello.

She looked up from a saucepan. “Hi, honey. Where were you?”

“At the mall with Alison.”

“Buy anything?”

I shook my head and saw relief flash in her eyes. Slipping into a kitchen chair, I asked about the open house.

“A few Looky Lous. That's all.” A huge sigh seemed to rise from deep within her. In a scratchy voice, she continued, “But remember the couple from Nevada? Whose whole office was transferring out here?”

Worry balled in my stomach. I knew she hated being a realtor, but I hated the fact that she was failing so miserably at it.

“Yeah?”

“They bought through another realtor.” She stirred the enchilada sauce furiously. “I was counting on their commission. And all the future sales from their coworkers, too. I thought things were turning around for me.” She blew some loose hairs off her face and then let out a laugh, sad and hollow.

“Mom,” I said, feeling a well of emotion in my throat. I had to tell her. It was time. “You can forget about the mortgage for right now. I—I went to the bank and paid the total due.”

She turned. “You did … what? When?”

“Yesterday. During lunch. Jared drove me.”

“Where'd you get the money?”

“The money from Grandma,” I said, suddenly focused on the linoleum floor. “I knew you were strapped. And I still had a bunch left over.”

“I didn't think you had that much. I mean, she only left you …” She stared off into space, then back at me. “That was wonderful of you … really wonderful. I hate that you spent your own money to keep a roof over our heads. But that was wonderful.”

“Don't worry about it.”

She suddenly lunged at me and gave me a noisy kiss on my forehead. “You are the most unselfish, loving daughter in the world! And I swear to you—on your grandmother's grave—that I will pay back every penny of that. With interest.”

I forced a smile, but I could feel its edges trembling. “I don't want the money back, Mom. Forget it.”

“Forget it?” She let out another laugh. One filled with relief. Joy.

That struck my conscience like a devil with a pitchfork.

“Forget it?” she repeated. “Not only will I remember this kindness as long as I live, Nicolette, I may even
take an ad out in the newspaper to tell everyone the incredible thing you did for me!”

I faked another smile. She'd better be exaggerating. Or else I had to hope that the newspaper wasn't available as far north as my dad's place.

I left Mom in her giddy glory, snatched the flyers, and headed to my room. After closing the door, I slid the stack under a Lakers sweatshirt in my closet. No way I wanted her seeing them now.

I'd paid her bills with money from the man she hated. I'd lied to her face and pretended the money was the very same I'd selfishly pissed away ages ago. And all in the name of helping.

Helping
myself
was more like it.

I flopped down on my bed and was trying to concentrate on the little rocks in the cottage-cheese ceiling when the phone rang.

Alison started talking as soon as I picked up. “Okay, so Jared said something pretty interesting after we dropped you off,” she started in immediately. “He doesn't think Kylie really cares about the homecoming game as much as the homecoming
dance
.”

I sat up. Go, Jared.

“He thinks she's afraid Rascal will be suspended from the game, and then they won't be able to go to the dance, either, disqualifying them from being named king and queen. And since they're seniors, of course, it's now or never.”

“Sure,” I said, thinking aloud. “What do you bet she's already written her acceptance speech and purchased her royal gown?”

“Or was shopping for it when Cherry and Natalia saw us?”

I hummed in agreement. “All she needs is her tiara.”

“And her king to stay out of trouble.”

“Tell Jared he's a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

She was silent for a beat. “Better I don't. It was just a passing comment. And he already thinks you have some kind of an obsession about dances and dresses.”

I felt blood rush to my face.

Well, of course he would, having spent so much time driving me from store to store. Hearing what was wrong with the first gazillion dresses I'd tried on, and so
right
about my one-of-a-kind vintage find. I'd probably babbled like an idiot.

My gaze flew to the back of my door, to the garment bag encasing the loveliest, softest, sweetest dress ever.

Aaaahhhh.

Okay, so maybe I
did
have a bit of an obsession going on. But The Dress was incredible—whether or not I got to wear it outside my room. Besides, there were other uses for it. Plenty of uses.

Drope it over your bed, for while you may never be prom queen, at least you'll sleep in princesslike spelndor (and avoid mosquito bites)
.

I
shook my head as if to rid myself of my ridiculousness and kept listening to Alison, who was now asking how Mom's open house had gone. Another subject I didn't want to discuss. But these things were apparently out of my control. I shifted gears and gave her the scoop, including how I'd owned up to paying the mortgage.

“Did she ask a million questions, guess where the money came from, and throw things?”

“No, no, just the opposite. She totally believed it was from my bank account and acted like I was the best daughter in the world.”

“Ouch.”

“Totally.” I exhaled, my gaze drifting to the Lakers sweatshirt in the open closet. “So I figure I'd better spend tomorrow passing out the flyers. Secretly, you know, to help her get more business, but without her going all crazy about how totally wonderful I am.”

“Yeah,” she said, and made a noise like she agreed. “I wish I could help, but my mother's on a rampage about my room. She's ‘made time’ tomorrow to help me with a complete overhaul. It's going to be one
long
day.”

“Well, when we're college roommates, we can have competitions to see whose side of the room can be the messiest.”

“Seriously.”

A knuckled rap sounded on my door. “Dinner, honey. And I made hot fudge to pour over ice cream for dessert.”

God, she knew how to hurt a person.

“I gotta go,” I told Alison.

“Wait.” She stopped me. “One last thing. Did you hear from Mitch?”

“Mitch?”

“Yeah, about Spanish, or whatever.”

“No.” I had totally forgotten about that. “And I don't want to,” I added. “But hey, if you like him, I could maybe call him and set something up where you're there, too?”

“No thanks,” she said, and seemed to laugh.

After I hung up I stood there for a second and took a deep breath, readying myself for my mom. Realizing
that asking Jared for the ride and Dad for the money might actually have been the easy part. What might kill me was this—pretending to be worthy of Mom's hot-fudge adoration.

•

I was relieved to wake up the next morning to a note saying a prospective client had called and asked Mom to show him some properties. Not only did it mean the possibility of an eventual paycheck, but it made my day easier. I wouldn't have to smuggle the flyers outside or lie about where I was going.

But for some odd reason, the best part of the morning was when I opened the front door to see my best friend's brother on the step, jangling his car keys.

“I hear you've got a job to do.” Jared dug his hand into the pocket of his board shorts.

A smile took over my face. It felt too big, actually. But just being near him again lit a weird, happy glow inside me. “Yeah. You here to help me stuff mailboxes?” “I was thinking it might go better if we hit some minimalls. Put the flyers on people's windshields.” I studied his face. “I can't pay you.” “Did you hear me negotiating a price?” “You're just here because you're a nice guy?” His mouth curled into a half smile. “Don't push it.” As we drove to our first destination, I sketched him a quick background on the
lovely
turn of events with my mom, and he told me about the big argument his mother and Alison had had.

“Alison wanted to move the room-cleaning to
another day so she could come and help you.” He blew out an exhale. “But when my mom gets something in her head …”

“Oh, it's nice she tried. But I kind of like this chauffeur service, too. Especially since it's finally for a reasonable rate,” I said, and glanced out the window so I wouldn't catch a look from him that made me smile too big again.

A girl had to be careful. Especially when the guy who was making her feel weird was just a friend. And sometimes, not even that. Besides, I figured Jared had simply come by because Alison had asked him to. Her version of sloppy seconds.

I was impressed, but a little disappointed, too. It would have been nice to think that he cared enough to come over on his own.

Traffic slowed as we approached Thurman Oaks Park. People spilled out of parked cars, carrying kids on their shoulders, pushing strollers, holding hands.

Jared snuck me a look. “Hey, today's the farmers' market, isn't it? People come from all over … including some who might need a realtor.” He glanced in the rearview mirror, threw the car into reverse, and backed up to the curb.

“Smooth,” I said. I was still a little surprised I didn't have to shell out for this trip. “Thanks for being so nice—you know, helping me and all.”

He did this exaggerated shudder. “Okay, enough with the nice-guy thing. Don't you know what people
say about nice guys? Not only do they finish last, but they never get the girl.”

I studied his face. Was there a girl in question? Or was that just a general statement? For lack of a better response, I let out a little “Sorry.”

He flashed a grin. White, toothy. And, well, nice. Which set off something also very nice inside me. That I didn't want to think about.

I jumped out, took in the sweet breeze—peaches or nectarines from the booths, no doubt—and split the neon flyers into two piles. Handing one to him, I pointed toward a row of cars.

“You take that side, I'll take this one,” I said, and to my surprise, he nodded and got to work.

We plastered the bright pink flyers on the windshields of every car in the lot, as well as dozens up and down the side street. Tossing the remaining flyers onto his passenger seat later, Jared nodded toward the midway and its colorful canopied booths.

“Five or ten minutes?” he asked. “Just to see if they've got snow cones or cotton candy?”

“More likely asparagus and blueberries, but why not?”

We pushed our way through the crowds, pausing to examine the fruits, veggies, nuts, and whole-grain breads. Venders' voices competed in promoting their specials and deals, most faces lined and bronzed from too much sun.

Jared settled on a package of pralines and was
turning to head out when something seemed to catch his eye. He stepped closer to me and gave my side a nudge.

I followed his line of vision. Massive and pulsating, a red, blue, and yellow inflatable obstacle course filled a back lot, wheezing and breathing from pumped-in air, as if it had a life of its own. Except it also seemed quite lonely with only one kid visible, straddling its climbing wall.

An attendant stood beside a $3.00 per person sign.

Jared flashed me that smile again. “What do you say?”

I shrugged.

“Come on, it'll be like we're little kids. At Gym-boree or some rich kid's birthday party.”

I bit my tongue to keep from blurting out, “Like yours?” He was being too nice to deserve any more of my mouth.

Instead I arched a brow. “You paying?”

“Sure. I'll do one better than that. I'll race you over the course. You win, I'll buy you lunch. I win …”

My interest and adrenaline skyrocketed.

“… you have to wash my car.” He studied my face. “In a bikini.”

Yeah, right. Even so, I was surprised he'd think of me like that.

“Okay,” I said, and high-fived him. I was pretty sure my volleyball skills wouldn't fail me, and there was no way I'd let myself lose and give Jared the chance to laugh at my scrawny bikini-clad body. “You're on!”

Jared forked over the bucks and we kicked off our
shoes and lined up on the platform. Two ropes stretched down from the eight-foot climbing wall, daring us to start.

“No rules,” he announced. “Just stay on course, and first one to the other side wins.”

We gave each other the Squinty Eye.

“Okay,” I said. “Ready…set…go!”

I shimmied up the rope, my feet horizontally scaling the wall, and I reached the top. Piece of cake. I didn't bother to glance over, but my peripheral vision told me that he was somewhere behind, and my common sense added that he had a lot more weight to haul.

I used my back to slide down the steep incline, landed square on two feet, and turned to face a short tunnel.

Jared pounded the flooring beside me—throwing me up a good foot into the air—and then dropped to his knees and dove headfirst into his tunnel. Man, he was fast….

After regaining my balance, I went on hands and knees through my (hot, stuffy) tunnel, coming out to see stacks of pumped-up horizontal pillars. Jared was in midair, doing a move worthy of a long jumper. I caught my breath and followed with a belly-up dive. Twisted in the air as I scaled the pillars, I thought I would somehow land on my feet.

Wrong.

I landed face-first. Wedged in a small space between the pillars and another climbing wall. On top of Jared.

Twin emotions vied for dominance. How totally
embarrassed I was. And how totally, weirdly good it felt to be so close to him.

He emitted a little groan, letting me know my full-body slam dunk hadn't killed him. But he didn't move. Didn't shove me aside and take advantage of my prone position for the easy win.

“Sorry,” I said halfheartedly.

“You've got a lot of oomph for someone so little.”

I nodded and sat up. Then, catching the mischievous look in his eye, I dove for the next wall, digging my hands into the climb moldings.

Movement blurred in my side vision, but I'd been an athlete long enough to know not to waste precious seconds sizing up the competition.

I dug, I hauled, I elevated.

Loving every moment of this one-on-one physical challenge with Jared.

Finally, I crowned the wall. First. I saw the long slide to the finish and pushed off on my butt, my hands waving triumphantly over my head, only to see him bullet, face-first, right past me.

We landed seconds apart, but there was no denying he beat me out.

Ugh. I
so
didn't want to wash his car! Still, I growled with good humor. “Rematch?”

His chest heaved. “Not on your life. I might not win again.”

Standing, I offered him my hand. “So we should just call this even, huh, and forget about the bet?”

“In your dreams, Nic.”

I pulled him to his feet, but then, instead of breaking away, I gave his arm a playful shove. And he gave me that smile from the car.

Beating me again, darn him.