“What’s wrong with it?” I shouted, stung.
“We’ll discuss it later,” my mother said through clenched teeth. “No,” I objected. “I spent a lot of time on that list!”
“You shouldn’t be spending time on stuff like this,” my mother said, waving the list in the air angrily. “You should be studying or practicing the flute.”
“I’m always studying or practicing flute!” I screamed. “When do I get to have fun, huh?”
“You sleep over at your friend’s house every weekend,” she countered.
“YEAH. I have to get away from here to have any FUN!” I shouted.
My mother’s hands clenched into fists. She looked like she might lunge across the table and tear my face off if it weren’t Thanksgiving, and if her in-laws weren’t sitting right next to me.
My grandmother put her hands up in surrender. “Let me see this list,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ruth, it’s completely inappropriate and I wouldn’t want you to think ill of your grandchild,” my mom backpedaled. But my grandmother just stuck out her arm, the international signal for GIMME. My mom grudgingly handed it over.
My grandmother’s eyes scanned the page. “Some of this stuff is just weird,” she said flatly. I leaned over her shoulder to see what she was referring to. The fringed leather vest? The studded booties?
“That’s not the point, Ruth,” my mother said. “The point is that she seems to feel entitled to these unnecessary and exorbitant things!”
My dad shrugged. “You wanted to send her to that hoity-toity school…”
“I wanted her to have a good education!” my mother objected.
“Why can’t I have stuff like that?” I asked. “Everyone else has it!”
“Where are you gonna wear that stuff, anyway?” my mom pressed.
“I have places to go!” I shouted.
My mom rolled her eyes. “You’re sixteen years old,” she sighed, as if that had anything to do with anything.
I gritted my teeth. I was about to explode. If she questioned me any further, I risked telling her everything just to throw it in her face—going to The Viper Room and Greystone Manor, hooking up with Baron, starting KissnTell—and getting grounded for basically ever and missing Winter Formal. So instead, I took a deep breath, folded my napkin, and stood up from the table.
“May I be excused?” I asked.
“Absolutely not,” my mother muttered, “it’s Thanksgiving.” I sighed.
“Then may I go to the bathroom?”
My mother shook her head. “Whatever,” she said. “Go.”
* * *
I didn’t even have to go. I just needed to get out of there before I started crying or screaming or worse. I don’t know why I even bothered with Christmas lists, conversation, or anything, really. They would never take me seriously. They wouldn’t even call me Vaughn. I collapsed on my worn, old quilt and speed-dialed Anais. Pam’s parents had died when Anais was really little so it was always just the two of them on Thanksgiving, baking pies and chowing down on the living room floor. Pam was so cool. She didn’t talk down to us like we were kids. She never made me feel ridiculous, like my parents always did. She listened. It didn’t hurt that she was well-dressed, either.
As it rang, I realized how pissed I sometimes felt at Anais, like whenever she looked in the mirror and called herself fat, or complained she’d never get into a good college, or said anything negative about any aspect of her life, because I would trade places with her in an instant. I would swap my string bean frame for her curvy one. My strong features for her soft face. My predictable, humiliating parents for her Pam. My terrifying trysts with Baron Caldwell for her legitimate dates with Austin. I would trade it all.
“Hi!” she chirped. She sounded cheery. She rarely sounded cheery.
“Hi,” I droned, letting out a long, dramatic sigh.
Anais paused. I could hear pots and pans scraping in the background. “Ruh-roh,” she said. “You don’t sound so hot. What happened?”
“Thanksgiving happened,” I said.
“Care to share?”
I sighed. I really didn’t. It was just too infuriating to relive. “Not really,” I murmured. “I just wanted to make sure we’re on for Sunday.” Sunday was the Rose Bowl flea market, where we would graze for dresses for Winter Formal. I had become obsessed with Winter Formal.
“Yeah, my mom said she’d drive us and pick us up when we’re done. It’s her day off so…,” she trailed off.
“Cool,” I replied. “I miss you guys,” I added softly.
“We miss you!” she exclaimed. I grinned. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you,” she added.
“What?” I croaked. I don’t know why, but I was tearing up. Something about the background noises on the other end of the line. I could feel Pam moving around the room. I could smell her cooking. And I guess I was pretty emotional after my parents totally shot down my wish list.
“I invited Austin to Winter Formal!” she exclaimed. “And he said yes!”
I started to cry. I tucked the receiver under my chin so she wouldn’t hear. Pam asked her something I couldn’t make out. A kitchen timer went off.
“Vaughn? Babe?” she asked. “You there?”
I swallowed some tears and managed, “I’m here.”
“I said I finally grew some testicles and invited Austin to Winter Formal! Thought you’d be proud.”
“I am,” I sniffled. “That’s amazing. I’m just—it was a weird day.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You’re welcome to come over—”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Darlene and George would so not be down with that.”
Anais laughed. “Understood. Call me tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
I hung up and tossed the phone onto the floor. It hit my wool carpet with a dull thud. I knew I wasn’t going to have a date. I also knew that I had, in fact, encouraged Anais, to the point of pestering, to ask Austin to be her date. I guess I just hadn’t thought through what it would actually mean for them to go together and for me to go alone. It felt as though she was catapulting ahead of me, her life on a typical, healthy, and fulfilling track. Meanwhile, I was left behind, alone, the center of swirling rumors, but alone all the same. I rolled onto my side and cried.
There wasn’t much to be done to even the playing field at this point. Asking Baron Caldwell was obviously out of the question, and there weren’t exactly any other men in my life aside from Teddy Fisher, the French horn player who, let’s face it, would do nothing to help my rep. I could ask Anais to ask Austin to bring a friend for me, but then I worried he wouldn’t be into me and the whole thing would be even more awkward and humiliating than if I had just bitten the bullet and gone dateless. The only strategy that presented itself to me, a loser on the brink of social acceptance going stag to a high school dance, was this: I had to look exceptionally hot, and I had to do it on a budget.
The Rose Bowl flea market was my only hope.
* * *
“So how much tongue are we talking?” I asked, scanning the racks at the Rose Bowl flea market on Sunday. We were discussing Austin’s kissing style. I was curious, for one thing, but I was also trying to squash my bitter and resentful instincts and be supportive of their relationship. “’Cause Baron Fucking Caldwell seriously got up in there,” I confessed.
Anais shook her head, smiling dreamily. “It wasn’t like that. It was soft, gentle,” she murmured, grazing a silk-chiffon Etro-like gown. “But still sexy,” she added sternly.
I nodded, trying to focus on my surroundings. As far as I was concerned, we were two measly specks among racks upon racks of clothing under rows upon rows of tents that seemed to stretch out for miles. Every other Sunday, the Rose Bowl stadium transforms into a bazaar of epic proportions, and for only eight dollars a head, we were granted admission into this vast oasis, full of the best deals on vintage and designer clothing in all of L.A. I fing
ered a pleated pleather skirt, willing my perfect, slinky dress to manifest itself. I knew I had found a lucky spot when the Rachel Zoe look-alike helming the cash box boasted about her career as the former assistant to the Costume Director on Gossip Girl. Anais wasn’t really paying attention, her eyes glazed over as she admired a pair of vintage Jimmy Choos.
“We should stick to the dresses first,” I murmured, tugging her sleeve toward the dress rack. I pulled out a few options for Anais: a 50s-style full-skirted dress with a watercolor motif, a gray nylon-blend mini that looked like it would hug her curves like nobody’s business, and an emerald empire-waist strapless gown. She’d look gorgeous in any of them, though I quietly rooted for the gray, even though it was the least likely. She was too modest for va-va-voom.
“What do you wanna go for?” I asked, holding up the dresses with pride. “Mad Men classy, Gossip Girl sexy, or Oscars elegant?”
She bit her lip, cocking her head to the left, weighing her options. Then, by some act of God, she reached for the slim, gray mini, smiling seductively. I grinned, stunned.
“And I want those shoes,” she said, pointing boldly to the silver vintage Jimmy Choos. I shrugged, amused.
“Done,” I said, marveling at how fast we were going to burn through our KissnTell income. But it was Winter Formal! We had to go all out.
“So you decided not to bring anyone,” Anais said quietly, gathering her future purchases in her arms. “After all that.”
I frowned, stopping in my tracks. “After all what?” I snapped.
Anais shrugged, wandering toward the outerwear. “You know,” she said. “You were so excited about it! I guess I assumed you had some trick up your sleeve. Like there was someone you wanted to invite.” She glanced at me. I must have looked pretty surly since she added quickly, “I don’t know. Nevermind.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. She was my best friend. If there had been someone I wanted to invite, I certainly wouldn’t have kept it from her. Maybe it wasn’t intentional, but it seemed like this was her way of rubbing in my face that she had a date and I didn’t. It stung.
And it distracted me from the task at hand, which pissed me off even more. I was about to call her out, maybe even start a fight, when she blurted: “What about this for you?”
She held up a black, cashmere-blend, backless halter gown dangling seductively from a pink, plastic hanger. My jaw dropped. It was my slinky dress. I floated over to it, amazed.
Anais handed it to me and I studied it, scanning its fine weave for imperfections. There was a tiny hole on the left upper thigh, but I doubted anyone would notice. I looked to Anais, her eyebrows raised in anticipation, a tentative smile playing on her voluptuous lips. It was obvious she genuinely wanted me to have fun—there, shopping with her, and at the Winter Formal—and I was taking her date comment too seriously.
“How the hell did you do that?” I mustered.
Her brow furrowed. “Do what?”
“Find the perfect thing!” I exclaimed, running my hands over the luscious fabric.
Anais smiled. “Beginner’s luck?” she postulated, shrugging.
I sighed, clutching the garment to my chest. “Is it going to be weird?” I started. “You know, you and Austin and then, like, me, the third wheel?” I asked. Anais looked confused. She shook her head, baffled. “I mean, is that why you mentioned that I didn’t have a date? Because you’re worried you and Austin won’t have, like, time alone, or whatever?”
Anais swallowed hard. “No,” she mustered, shifting her weight. “No, it’s not about me.” She looked over my shoulder, out into the distance, searching for the right words, I guess. “The thing with you and Baron,” she started. “You haven’t really talked about it since the night it happened, and I guess—especially with all this attention you’re getting at Cranbrook, with people bringing him up all the time and stuff—I was worried.”
“Worried?” I repeated.
Anais sighed. “Yeah, like, worried you’d internalized the way he treated you and maybe secretly felt like you deserved to be treated like that or something.” She shook her head. “I don’t know, I’ve heard that can happen with girls who’ve been, uh, harassed, you know? And I guess I want you to know,” she said, taking my hand. “You deserve so much better than that.”
I started to cry right there, wallet in hand, in front of the Rachel Zoe look-alike. Anais wrapped her arms around me. We were like nesting bowls: she hugging me, me hugging the dress. I inhaled sharply, wiping my eyes. Anais peered at me, assessing the damage of her words. I smiled for her, sniffling.
“Thank you,” I managed.
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“Now,” I said, straightening myself out, holding the dress up to my chest. “This puppy needs accessories.”
* * *
Two excruciating weeks later, Austin gave us a ride to the formal, which was held at the Roosevelt Hotel. On the way over, he informed us that NYLON was having their annual young Hollywood party at Teddy’s, the hot nightclub upstairs, and suggested we do a little celeb-scouting when the formal winded down. I clapped my hands, legitimately freaking out in the back seat like a kid on her first trip to Lego Land.
I really appreciated Anais’s concern about the Baron Caldwell incident, but for the past few days, I’d done everything in my power to push those thoughts from my mind and just be excited about everything that’s happened as a result of it. I was the talk of the school and now I truly looked the part. I was about eight feet tall in my new 70s-style wooden platforms, slinky dress, and chunky necklace—all found at the Rose Bowl. Slim as a shrimp and wearing enough makeup to put a RuPaul Drag Racer to shame. Baron’s epic douche-dom may have been a blow to my self-esteem, but what Anais hadn’t considered was that my self-esteem was in the toilet before I even met him. I really had nowhere to go but up, and I had particularly high hopes for this night, Winter Formal.
Before forking the keys over to the valet, Austin rigged his secret, miniature camera to the lapel of his navy suit and, like a true gentleman, opened the doors for Anais and me. Anais stepped out of the car in all of her silver, bootylicious glory and one of the valet guys discreetly tapped the other, motioning to check her out. Austin placed a protective arm around her as we made our way to the entrance.
We traipsed over oriental carpets, through stone archways, beneath gothic chandeliers, past tasteful frescoes to the Blossom Room, the famous site of the first-ever Academy Awards ceremony…and the Cranbrook Academy Winter Formal. I gasped at the twenty-five-foot, hand-carved ceilings, the iron-railed mezzanine, and the tiled floor speckled with familiar faces. We stopped in the arched entryway, admiring the landscape of the party. Sequins glistened and shook in the warm light. Guys absently tugged their collars and girls dabbed pink gloss on their pouty lips. Several people turned to look at us, appraising our clothes in awe. I smiled, squeezing Anais’s hand.
“What do we do?” she whispered.
“Let’s take a lap,” I suggested. She nodded, motioning for Austin to follow. As we glided around the floor, it was clear that all eyes were on us. We came to the southeastern corner of the room, where the Shrew Crew and some of the water polo guys, including Xander Carrington, were clustered. My heart skipped when Xander totally checked me out. Odette tugged his arm sullenly, snapping, “What are you looking at?” He shrugged lamely.
“Hey! Austin!” Stella called, pushing past Ellis Leachman. I frowned, shooting Anais a confused look. She swallowed hard, her expression falling. Austin took her by the hand as Stella shimmied over in a seriously slutty one-shouldered frock. “What are you doing here?” she asked, not bothering to acknowledge me or Anais.
“I’m here with Anais,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “My girlfriend,” he added pointedly. Anais’s eyes widened.
Stella frowned, casting a quick, unhappy glance at Anais. “Oh,” she said, about as crestfallen as I had ever seen her. “Well, come hang out with us!” she exclaimed.
> Austin looked warily at Anais. “Your call,” he murmured to her. She hesitated, scanning the leering faces of the Shrew Crew and their male counterparts.
“We’d love to,” I interjected.
Stella balked. Anais shot me daggers. But in the background, Xander’s eyes practically bore holes in my dress. If I was ever going to make him want me, this was the time to strike. I know it sounds crazy after everything he’d put me through, but I couldn’t help it: I was attracted to him. He was the only guy I’d ever really been attracted to. Sure, I fooled around with Baron Caldwell, but that was always more about his celeb status. Xander was the one I dreamt about. Xander was the one I wanted to kiss.
Stella reluctantly led us over to the rest of the group, who stood there, dumbfounded. “Guys, this is Austin,” she said, motioning to him. “And you know, um, Vaughn and Anais.” It seemed like it took all of her willpower not to say, “Vag and Anus.”
Everyone nodded, confused, except for Odette, who scowled. “What the fuck are they doing here?” she snapped. Xander rolled his eyes.
Stella laughed uncomfortably. “Odette,” she urged through clenched teeth. “Don’t be rude.” Anais frowned. Stella wasn’t exactly qualified to give a lesson in manners.
Odette’s jaw dropped, stunned. “Since when are you besties with these losers?” she shouted.
“Hey,” Austin said sternly.
“Austin, I—” Stella started, frazzled.
“Let’s just go,” Austin said, ushering Anais in the opposite direction. She looked over her shoulder at me pleadingly. But I was too tempted to hang around and see how it played out with the Shrew Crew. Clearly, there was tension within the rank.
Stella whipped around to face Odette, her blonde hair smacking me in the face. “When I bring people around, you respect them,” she said sharply, glaring at Odette.
Odette laughed, mocking her. “I’m sorry, no,” Odette replied curtly. “Not when you decide to hang out with Vag and Anus, who are clearly trying to make some kind of lame-ass play for my boyfriend.” I rolled my eyes.
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