by Piper Banks
“Good,” Hannah said. “Now. What are you wearing?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it. Are we supposed to dress up?” I asked.
Hannah looked at me, her face blank with horror. “Ye-ah,” she said, drawing the word into two scathing syllables. “How could you not know that?”
“Sorry,” I said, shrugging. Which was a lie—honestly, I couldn’t care less—but I didn’t want to get in an argument over it, either. “I guess, I’ll wear . . . um, maybe a skirt and sweater?”
“No,” Hannah said firmly. She stood and marched over to the closet, swung open the doors, and began rifling through my clothes, whipping the hangers aside. Aghast, she turned to stare at me. “Are these really the only clothes you own?”
“Basically. There are some T-shirts and things in the dresser drawer,” I said helpfully, gesturing toward the low white modern dresser that sat under the windows.
“But . . . it’s just jeans and khakis,” Hannah said desperately, turning back to the closet. She shook her head in horror. “How can you live like this?”
“Somehow I manage,” I said dryly.
“Wait, what’s this?” Hannah asked, pouncing on the garment bag at the back of the closet. She unzipped it and pulled out the pretty rose beaded silk slip dress I’d worn to Henry’s house on New Year’s Eve. Hannah gasped. “Oh, this is gorgeous! You have to wear this!”
“Okay,” I said. It seemed a little over the top for a birthday party, but then, what did I know? There were preschoolers out there who had better fashion sense than I did.
“Do you want me to do your hair for you again?” Hannah offered.
“Why?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.
“I just thought you might want to look nice tonight. Really nice,” Hannah said, twisting a lock of golden blond hair around her finger, the way she always did when she was nervous.
“And again, I ask: Why?” I said.
Hannah sighed. “I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want you to get all freaked out about it. . . . The thing is . . . Dex is going to be there,” she said.
My mouth fell open and my stomach suddenly felt like it had dropped out of my body. Hannah had invited Dex? Dex, who’d kissed me, pretended to like me, and then never bothered to call or write me afterward? Which would mean . . . oh, no. Oh, no no no no no. Which would mean I’d have to see him. It was what I’d been most dreading since I got back from London.
“Why do you hate me?” I asked, when I’d finally regained the capacity for speech.
“I don’t hate you,” Hannah said, crossing her arms and frowning at me. “I’m doing this for you.”
“For me?” I repeated.
“To help you,” she explained.
“To help me?”
“Why do you keep repeating everything I say?” Hannah asked.
“Because, Hannah, I don’t want to see Dex. He pretended to like me and then he blew me off. Seeing him now would be humiliating.”
How can she not understand this? I wondered wildly. How?
“I don’t think so,” Hannah said. She crossed the room and sat back on the bed. “You said that he dumped you for some other girl, right?”
This was a fun conversation.
“Yes,” I said. I blew out an exasperated puff of air.
“Well. I asked around at school, and no one’s heard anything about this chick he’s supposedly dating,” Hannah said.
“So?”
“So I don’t think he’s seeing anyone. If he was, word would have gotten around,” Hannah said.
“Maybe he hasn’t told anyone.”
“I doubt that. Why would he keep it a secret?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t relish the idea of everyone gossiping about him. Or maybe . . .maybe”—my brain spun off into a whirl of speculation—“it’s the ex-girlfriend of one of his friends, and he doesn’t want his friend to know. Or maybe her parents are super-religious and don’t allow her to date, so they have to keep it a secret.”
Hannah snorted. “I seriously doubt that.”
“Look, I really, really don’t want to talk about this,” I said.
I was seriously not enjoying these speculations about Dex and his new girlfriend. My stomach had a pinched, sour feeling, and my lungs felt like they’d shriveled up so I couldn’t take in a deep breath. It wasn’t helping that Hannah was looking skeptical, as though the idea of anyone carrying on a relationship at Orange Cove High without her knowledge was unimaginable.
“Okay, whatever,” Hannah said, raising her eyebrows. “But I still think you should wear that dress. It’s killer.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “Wear the dress? Wait . . . you don’t think I’m still going to this party, do you?”
“Of course you’re going! You have to! It’s my birthday party!” Hannah exclaimed.
“Hannah, I can’t! Not if Dex is going to be there!”
“But why?” Hannah looked truly confused.
I shook my head in disbelief. “Because, it would be embarrassing ,” I hissed. “What if he’s there with her?”
Hannah shrugged this off. “He’s not bringing her. He would have told me.”
“But since you don’t know who she is, you could already have invited her,” I pointed out.
Hannah hadn’t thought of this, and she paused, chewing her lower lip. “Maybe . . . but I doubt it. Besides, even if she is there, that’s even more reason for you to show up looking drop-dead gorgeous. That’s every girl’s fantasy—to see her ex-boyfriend when she looks amazing.”
“It is?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Well, that and marrying the Prince of England.”
“Which one?” I asked.
Hannah rolled her eyes at my stupidity. “William, of course. He’s the one who’s going to be king, after all.”
I used to think that William was the cuter of the two princes. Then I fell for Dex and gained a new appreciation for redheads. Which didn’t change the fact that this was perhaps the dumbest conversation I’d ever had. Including the time I once spent two hours listening to Charlie and Finn debate whether Snickers were superior to Milky Way bars.
“Anyway,” Hannah continued, “what you have to do is show up at the party looking hotter than hot, and Dex will see you, and . . . voilà!” She waved one hand in a flourish.
“Voilà?” I repeated. “Voilà what?”
“And, voilà, he’ll feel like crap for not calling you. Or e-mailing you. Whatever. Anyway, he’ll totally regret it. Isn’t that the whole point?”
“The whole point is to make Dex feel like crap?” I repeated.
Hannah smiled knowingly. “Yes. It is,” she said.
As much as I liked the idea of Dex taking one look at me and being overcome with pangs of regret and longing, I could spot two major problems with this plan.
“First of all, I’m not you,” I said bluntly.
“What do you mean?”
I sighed. “Hannah, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re gorgeous. I’m not.”
With her petite, perfect features and long, shiny blond hair, Hannah could be a teen model. I, on the other hand, was tall and gawky and possessed frizzy hair and a too-big nose.
Hannah looked me over, considering. “You’d be a lot cuter if you made more of an effort,” she said. “You know, with your hair and makeup.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, dismissing this with a shrug. I didn’t want Hannah to launch into makeover mode. “And second, I don’t want Dex to feel like crap.”
“You don’t?” Hannah asked, her eyes wide.
“No,” I said. “I like Dex. It makes me sad that he doesn’t like me. . . . But that doesn’t mean I want him to be unhappy.”
Hannah shook her head in disbelief. At first I thought she was impressed at how mature I was being. This illusion was quickly shattered when she spoke.
“No way,” she said. “I know you’re, like, supposed to be a genius or something, and
that you go to an ‘alternative’ school and all.” She made bunny ears with her fingers when she said alternative . “But not even you could be this weird.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said.
“Trust me, Miranda, I know about relationships. Everyone wants their ex to pine away for them. Everyone. It’s a universal truth. It’s like . . . like . . .” She struggled for an appropriate simile. “Like gravity.”
Hannah was so sure of herself, so sure that she was right, I couldn’t help but wonder...could she be? Would it make me happy if when Dex saw me he was overcome with misery and regret?
I was more than a little disturbed to realize that I didn’t hate the idea.
“Told you so,” Hannah said smugly, as she accurately read my expression of shock and self-disgust. “Now, come on. I’ll help you get ready.”
I couldn’t remember being more nervous in my life than I was when we arrived at the Canyon. Sitting in the backseat of Peyton’s huge SUV, I smoothed down the beaded slip dress, hoping I looked okay. Hannah—who had blow-dried my naturally frizzy hair into sleek waves and lacquered my face with more makeup than a beauty pageant queen—had insisted I looked “adorable.” I wasn’t so sure . . . and I certainly wasn’t comfortable. The high-heeled sandals I’d borrowed from Hannah—her feet were two sizes smaller than mine, but she still insisted I cram myself into them—were already hurting my feet, and my lips felt tacky with lip gloss. Without thinking, I pursed them together.
“Don’t do that,” Hannah instructed me. “You’ll rub off the lip gloss.”
“It feels weird,” I complained.
“You’ll get used to it,” Hannah said with a shrug.
“Here we are,” Dad said, pulling into a parking spot just in front of the restaurant.
The Canyon was at the far end of a red brick L-shaped strip mall that also housed an orthodontist, an interior decorator, and a bakery. There was a covered walkway in front of the stores, as well as a row of palm trees planted in tall cobalt blue pots. Leafy green vines scaled up the outer columns of the walkway.
I’d expected Hannah to be nervous, too, but she seemed completely cool and collected as she unlatched her seat belt and slid gracefully out of the SUV. She looked even more beautiful than usual, in a strapless kelly green Lilly Pulitzer sundress. Her golden blond hair was piled on top of her head in a complicated updo, and her face shimmered with expertly applied makeup. Around her slender neck she wore the gold Tiffany bean necklace her dad and stepmom had given her for Christmas last year.
“Let’s get this party started,” Hannah said. She turned to look at me, still sitting in the SUV. “Are you stuck to the seat or something, Miranda?”
I was so nervous, I seemed to have frozen in place. I wondered distantly if I could just sit out the party here. It wasn’t like anyone would miss me—I hardly knew most of Hannah’s friends, and those that I did know I didn’t exactly love. But Hannah gave an impatient toss of her head and gestured to me.
“I’m coming,” I said.
Reluctantly, I opened my door and slid out. Dad and Peyton were already out, standing with Hannah. The three of them looked like the sort of beautiful, perfect family that photography studios use in their advertisements—Hannah, lovely and lithesome, Peyton and Dad beaming proudly down at her. I felt completely extraneous, a feeling that deepened as they headed toward the restaurant without a backward glance to see if I was following.
I hesitated for a moment—if I was going to bail out on this party, now was the time to do so. It was a tempting idea. There was a Starbucks just down the street. I could hide there, tossing back mocha lattes, and not have to worry about bumping into Dex and his new girlfriend. But . . . I couldn’t. Hannah would be disappointed, my dad would be upset, Peyton would . . . well, forget that, Peyton would probably be overjoyed if I missed the party. She probably counted any night she didn’t have to spend in my presence to be a good one.
I puffed out my cheeks and sighed, and then hurried after them. I caught up with them just as they were walking into the restaurant. Hannah went in first, and I could hear her friends applauding her arrival. Peyton, hanging on my dad’s arm and beaming at the guests, followed just behind Hannah. I brought up the rear, huffing with the effort of having jogged across the parking lot in the too-small heels.
The Canyon was decorated in a sleek industrial style, from the dark wenge bar to the steel tables covered with crisp white linens. Spare aluminum pendant lamps lit the room, and stark black-and-white photographs of the desert hung on the walls.
Hannah had timed her arrival perfectly to make a high-impact entrance. It looked like most of her guests were already in attendance, sipping fruity drinks and munching on appetizers being circulated by an attractive waitstaff outfitted in white T-shirts and black jeans. There were a ton of people there. I didn’t know most of them, although there were a few familiar faces. I assumed they’d been in attendance at Hannah’s impromptu kegger in November.
Tiffany and Brit—twins with high cheekbones and long braids—raced forward to greet Hannah, squealing with excitement. Hannah’s former best friend, Avery, a thin-faced girl with short, dark hair and narrow gold-flecked hazel eyes, was also there, but she hung back. She and Hannah had a falling-out a few months back when Hannah learned that Avery had stolen a sweater out of Peyton’s closet.
I was actually a little surprised to see that Avery was even at the party, and wondered if this meant that she and Hannah had made up. I hoped not—Avery was not my favorite person. Back when Avery and Hannah were still close, and spent every day after school hanging out at the beach house together along with the twins, Avery constantly pestered me to do her homework for her.
The twins swept Hannah away into the crowd of her friends, while Dad and Peyton moved off to circulate among the adults they’d invited. I saw Hannah’s boyfriend, Emmett, was there waiting for her. He greeted her with a bunch of sixteen red roses and a kiss that caused all of the girls to swoon and sigh. A few months ago, back when I was still infatuated with Emmett, this sight would have made my heart implode with jealousy, but now I barely registered it. I didn’t like Emmett anymore, at least not in that way. Now there was someone I was much, much more interested in seeing. . . .
With my heart beating wildly, I glanced around, trying to appear casual as I looked for Dex.
Just find him, say hello while staying cool and detached, I told myself. Yes, it will suck. Yes, it will be awkward. But you’ll get it over with, and you can move on with the rest of your life.
Spurred on by this silent pep talk, I redoubled my efforts, turning around in a slow circle. Dex was usually easy to spot, with his tall, lanky frame and flame-red hair. . . . But I didn’t see him anywhere.
I felt a rush of disappointment tinged with relief. Girlfriend or not, I had really wanted to see Dex. . . . And find out how he would react when he saw me. I knew it didn’t make any sense, that he didn’t like me the way I liked him. I guess it was the same as worrying at a canker sore. . . . Even though it hurts, you can’t leave it alone.
At least I don’t have to see him with Laughing Girl, I thought.
The party was not fun. Or, I should say, it wasn’t fun for me. First of all, the too-small shoes were killing my feet. And since I didn’t know many of Hannah’s friends, I was pretty much the odd girl out, standing to the side watching everyone else talk and laugh and flirt. Unsurprisingly, while the parents stayed to one side of the room— sitting at the tables near the windows—the kids gravitated to the other side, mostly standing and milling around near the bar area, where the band was set up and playing. The twins’ boyfriends— two interchangeable meatheads named Geoff and Roy—tried to order mixed drinks from the bartender, claiming they were getting them for their parents, but they were shot down, which was causing waves of hilarity among Hannah’s friends. The parents were either unaware of what was going on or were choosing to ignore it.
After we’d been there for about an hour, the waitstaff set up a buf
fet—enchiladas, fajitas, taquitos, bean salad, fresh tortillas. The guys swarmed the table as though they hadn’t eaten in a month, while the girls—all of them thin and gorgeous—hung back, making noises about how many calories everything had. It reminded me of what Sadie had said about how girls my age suffered from low self-esteem, and I decided that although she might be right, my low self-esteem wouldn’t keep me from eating. I was starving, and the food looked too good to pass up.
I sat down at one of the tables off to the side by myself, relieved to be off my aching feet, and dug into my plate of enchiladas and bean salad. Just as I’d taken a bite of the oozy, cheesy enchilada, I heard someone say, “Hi, Miranda.”
I looked up, mouth full, and nearly choked on a cheese string when I saw who was standing there.
Dex.
He looked . . . well, he looked amazing. The same pale blue eyes, the same long, straight nose, the same pale, freckled skin. He’d gotten a haircut since the last time I’d seen him, and was wearing his coppery red curls close to his scalp. He looked unusually serious,though. Normally when I saw him, he was smiling his sexy crooked grin that made my knees go wobbly. But now his eyes were cool and his lips quirked down in a frown.
I chewed and swallowed my bite—which took forever, the cheese, sauce, and tortilla seemingly multiplying in my mouth— and when I’d finally gulped it down, I managed to say, “Hi. You’re here.”
“I know,” Dex said. He motioned toward the empty chair opposite me. “Do you mind if I sit?”
I shook my head and tried to focus on breathing normally, a task made harder by the fact that my pulse was pounding like a jackhammer. He was here. And it appeared that he was here alone, unless his new girlfriend was hanging out with the group of girls over by the bar. I looked in that direction, to see if I could pick out the Laughing Girl, but I didn’t see anyone who was watching us. And most of Hannah’s friends were smiling and giggling. In fact, most of them were interchangeable—they were all thin and pretty, and all wore hip clothes and too much makeup. They were the chosen girls of Orange Cove High, and they knew it, reveling in their status at the top of the social heap.