Poor Little Dead Girls

by Lizzie Friend

  Brett was smiling, but something was off. Her mouth stretched wide, but her eyes were dull. “Oh, it’s nothing,” — she laughed — “I got dehydrated from all the throwing up, and then on my way to the nurse’s office I fainted and hit my head on the edge of a table. I’m fine, really.”

  Grace jumped up from the table. “I’m going to get you some ice — that looks like it’s still swollen.”

  Brett waved a hand. “It’s just a bruise.” She smiled her ventriloquist smile again. “I’ll survive.”

  Jessica shrugged and started in on a piece of toast, but Sadie watched as Brett bowed her head back down and stared into her mug. She glanced at Brett’s right wrist and frowned. A month ago Josh had given her a diamond Tiffany bracelet for their six-month anniversary, and she had barely taken it off since. She even wore it to practice, tucked under a terry-cloth sweatband so it wouldn’t get scratched. Sadie watched as Brett lifted her hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. There was a thin red welt around her pale wrist, but the bracelet was gone.

  Chapter 14

  The next weekend, it snowed. Sadie pulled open the curtains, saw the flurries gathered in the corners of her window, and barely suppressed the urge to get back in bed and stay asleep until next spring. “How the hell is it already snowing?” she yelled at the windows. “It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

  She was answered by two muffled groans coming from somewhere beneath the twins’ pastel comforters.

  She was supposed to meet Grace, Brett, and Jessica in the dining room at ten so they could have breakfast and head into town to shop for dresses, and it was already almost 9:30. She sat down on the window seat and surveyed the room.

  Over the last two months the twins had managed to cover their side completely with discarded clothes, candy wrappers, and half-empty cans of Red Bull, and now the mess was spreading into her space like a fungus. There were at least three different pairs of black leather and suede boots crinkled in sad little piles on the floor, and a pair of shredded fishnet tights hung off the back of Sadie’s computer chair. She picked it up with two fingers and shot it towards Trix’s desk like a slingshot. It landed on the top of a closed laptop. Sadie didn’t think it had been opened in weeks.

  More and more, she was starting to wonder if the honorable Duke Everleigh was actually just paying Keating to babysit, with the implicit understanding that an education would be a welcome side effect if they happened to go to class.

  After a minute, she spied the leg of her favorite jeans sticking out from under a pile at the bottom of her closet. She grabbed them, threw open the doors of her armoire, and pulled out a white tank top and a chunky gray sweater. She tossed the whole pile on her unmade bed, then laid the ivory coat carefully across her chair before heading to the showers.

  Forty-five minutes she stood with the others by Ashby’s front door, shivering and watching as their breath gathered in a steamy cloud over their heads.

  “Seriously, Brett, if this car doesn’t get here in five seconds, I’m going back inside to watch TV,” Jessica said, jamming her hands deeper into the pockets of her North Face jacket.

  “It’ll be here soon.” Brett checked her watch. “I told the car service 10:30 and it’s only, like, 10:28.”

  Sadie shook her head. “I still can’t believe we’re taking a limo. Couldn’t we have just called a cab?”

  “Oh, quit whining.” Brett smiled. “It’s included in the cost of tuition. If we didn’t use the cars we would actually be wasting money.”

  “Besides, there are no cabs in Foxburg,” Jessica said. She wrinkled her nose and imitated Charlotte’s southern drawl. “I mean, seriously y’all, I would die before I let my Chanel coat touch the inside of a taxi.”

  “There it is.” Grace pulled back the cuff of her glove to check her watch. “It’s 10:30, just like you said.” Jessica and Brett exchanged sarcastic “I told you sos” and begrudging “whatevers,” and the four of them ran toward the car.

  While the car wound its way through the hills toward Foxburg, they all chatted about what they were looking for. Brett wanted something strapless and “Audrey Hepburn-esque,” and Grace wanted something blue. Jessica claimed she didn’t want anything, but Sadie knew she was lying. A sophomore named Stephen had asked her to the ball yesterday after practice, and she had been struggling to keep up her grumpy ruse ever since.

  “What about you, Sadie? If you want to top that sexy little napkin you wore to the welcome reception, you’re basically going to have to go in a thong and pasties,” Brett teased. “Josh said all the guys were talking about you at practice the next day.”

  Sadie pressed her lips together. “I don’t know — I mean, what do you wear to a ball? All I can picture is like, Cinderella’s dress from the Disney movie.”

  Jessica straightened in her seat, wrinkled her nose, and pursed her lips in her usual Darrow impression. “A floor-length gown, preferably in a winter fabric, is most appropriate.” She held up one finger. “And remember, beauty is about class and elegance, not … skin.” The girls dissolved into laughter.

  “Okay well, whatever the hell that means,” Sadie said, “I guess that’s what I’m getting.”

  Jessica relaxed back into a slouch and smiled. “Good, ’cause we’re almost here.”

  They turned onto Foxburg’s main street, and Sadie pressed her face to the window. The sidewalks were bustling with couples clutching huge cups of coffee and women pushing strollers the size of small golf carts. The snow was just starting to stick, and the cobblestone streets were dusted with a thin layer of white.

  The car dropped them off in front of a store with huge glass doors and faceless mannequins in the windows. Sadie followed the others inside, then tried to resist the urge to immediately back out again. The store was total chaos — there were at least four other groups of Keating girls inside already, and the salespeople were darting frantically from one rack to the next, carrying hangers of sequined gowns like white flags of surrender over their heads.

  “This is worse than the Portland farmers’ market,” Sadie said. “And you do not want to get in between yuppie hippies and their raw-milk sharp cheddar.”

  Brett hooked an arm through hers and propelled her forward. “We only get one day to shop, so it’s either dealing with this or dancing with Jeremy in your dress uniform.”

  Sadie pictured the thick velvet jumper and starchy blouse Keating girls reserved for chapel on holidays and shuddered. “Fine. But I’m not picking anything out. I’ll try on, but that’s it.”

  Brett looked at her sideways. “Like we would have let you choose your own dress anyway. Nice coat, by the way.” She grinned and dragged Sadie toward the fitting rooms.

  The first three dresses she tried on were awful. One was silver and slinky, but it ended about six inches shorter than where it should have. The second had plenty of length, but the material sagged on her chest like it was made for someone who was planning on smuggling exotic melons inside her strapless bra. The third was so tight she could barely get it up past her thighs. She gave up and stepped out of it, tossing it aside so it fell in a twinkling gold heap on the floor.

  Before she could yell to Brett for some new options, her phone jingled. She glanced at the screen, but she didn’t recognize the number. She flipped it open.

  “How’s shopping going?”

  She typed out a reply. “Meh. All this stuff is made for girls with doubleDs. Who’s this? Don’t have your number saved.”

  She threw the phone back into her purse and surveyed the damage in her room. All of the hangers were empty, and she was out of options.

  “Hey guys?” she called through the velvet curtain. “This really isn’t working. None of this stuff fits me.”

  Jessica yanked back the curtain in one swift movement.

  “Hey!” Sadie cried, crossing her arms over her bra.

  Jessica grinned. “Whatever. Sorry if a couple old sales ladies see your perfect body.” She held out something b
lack and sparkly. “This was like eight inches too long on my stumpy legs so it’ll probably be just about right on you. What do you think of this one?” She twirled and showed off the red minidress she was wearing. It was silky and flirty and just scandalous enough to drive Darrow nuts.

  Sadie laughed. “It’s perfect. Stephen might have a hard attack.”

  “That’s the plan.” Jessica grinned, then caught herself. “Or not, I don’t care.” She turned and flounced away toward the full-length mirror.

  “Hey wait,” Sadie called. “Did someone on the team get a new phone or something? Who has an 858 area code?” Jessica looked over her shoulder and shrugged, and Sadie’s phone beeped again. As soon as she flipped it open, she wanted to die.

  “It’s Jeremy … Josh told me you guys were shopping today. He asked Brett for your number … hope you don’t mind.”

  She felt her cheeks flush as she pounded her forehead with the heel of her hand. She sat down to type a reply, but the phone beeped again.

  “And for the record, I’d take yours over doubleDs any day.”

  She bit her lip to keep from grinning. “Sorry, shopping is the worst. Got any preferences?” She glanced at the dress debris on the floor, then added: “Right now we’re looking at black sequins or gold sequins, with varying levels of slut-itude. Up to you.”

  His reply came back immediately.

  “Anything but hot pink spandex, and I’ll be happy.”

  She rolled her eyes and tossed her phone back into her purse. The dress Jessica had given her was hanging on the wall, and she stared it down like an opponent in a boxing match. The design was pretty simple — no scary studs or ruffles — and the sparkle factor was subtle enough. Plus, if Jessica had liked it, it couldn’t be all bad. She took a deep breath, then lifted it off the hanger and over her head.

  As soon as she felt the dress fall down over her hips, she knew it was perfect. The fabric was smooth and supple, with one strap that gathered at her shoulder and skimmed down gracefully to the floor. It was just tight enough to show off her curves, and a spattering of tiny sequins made it glow under the dim fitting-room lights. As much as she hated to admit it, it was beautiful.

  She turned and looked at the back, and she drew in a quick breath as she noticed the train. She imagined what it would be like to feel Jeremy’s hand on the small of her back, and a shiver crawled down her spine. She shook herself and rolled her eyes at her reflection. Before she took the dress off, she picked up her phone.

  “Don’t worry, I think I just found something. It’s black, and it doesn’t even come with matching velour sweatbands. I think you’ll like it.”

  “Hey, ready to go?” Brett called from outside the curtain.

  “Yeah, one sec.”

  Brett called back that they would meet her up at the register, and she carefully changed out of the dress and back into her clothes. As she shrugged her coat back on, her phone beeped.

  “Can’t wait.”

  She held back a smile as she draped the dress carefully over her arm and headed to the front of the store.

  “Find everything okay?” The young woman behind the register eyed her over a pair of chic, dark-rimmed glasses.

  “Uh, yeah, thanks.” Sadie plopped the dress onto the counter and busied herself with digging her wallet out of her purse. She had purposely avoided looking at the dress’s price tag, but she was just hoping it would be under $300. She hadn’t spent much of her allowance since she had been at Keating, but anything more than that and she would be stuck paying her dad back until senior year.

  The woman glanced at her computer screen. “That will be twenty-three-forty-seven, please.”

  Sadie frowned. “Wait, twenty-three dollars? For the dress?” One corner of the woman’s raspberry-tinted lips curled up into a smirk.

  “No, sweetheart,” she cooed. “The dress is two thousand, three hundred, and forty-seven dollars. It’s a Marchesa,” she added, as if she had just explained that it was made of solid gold.

  Sadie’s jaw slackened, and she felt the blood rushing into her cheeks. The credit card she had clutched in her hand — “For emergencies, only,” her dad had said, “as in, you realize you’re deathly allergic to the East Coast and need to fly home before your esophagus closes,” — had a $1,200 limit. And she was pretty sure a date didn’t count as life threatening, anyway.

  “Um, hold on a sec.” Her voice cracked like a choirboy’s whose balls were starting to drop, and she dug frantically through her purse just to buy herself some time. She felt tears starting to sting the backs of her eyes, and for the first time since she had arrived, she knew she was finished. She didn’t belong with these people — not even Brett or Jessica, no matter how many meals they shared or practices they sweated through together. Where Sadie was from, $2,000 was a year’s worth of groceries, not a few yards of glitter.

  Her eyes started to well up, and she mumbled something else about her credit card without meeting the woman’s eyes. She was debating whether it would be more embarrassing to explain herself or just sprint for the door, when she felt a hand on her arm.

  “Hey, Brett,” Brett said, emphasizing the name with an exaggerated smile, “I just realized I never returned your Amex. Thanks for letting me borrow yours. I have simply got to remind Daddy to send me a new one as soon as he gets back from Dubai.” She turned her dark brown eyes toward the saleswoman and slid a shiny black card across the counter. “I’m such a spaz, I must lose my wallet every other week.”

  The woman nodded slightly, looking disappointed, and swiped the card through her machine. Sadie’s palms were still sweating, but her pulse was slowing down. As the woman packed the dress into a garment bag, Sadie turned to face Brett.

  “You seriously cannot do this — it’s way too much.”

  Brett just smiled. “I can, and I just did.” The woman wordlessly handed over the bag, and Brett reached around Sadie and took it. She linked an arm through Sadie’s and steered her toward the door. As it swung open and a bitter gust of wind drew them out into the snow, she leaned in close and whispered, “Just think of it as another gift from some new friends.”

  Chapter 15

  Even at 9 A.M. on the Saturday of the dance, the dining room was frantic. Most of the girls already had their hair up in curlers, and a few of the freshman were shuffling around the buffet in salon slippers. Sadie almost choked on her oatmeal when one stumbled on her foam sandal and sent a bowlful of melon balls rolling across the hardwood floor.

  She sat back and pushed the bowl away. She was so nervous, each spoonful she forced down felt like a rock landing in the pit of her stomach. For the first time, she noticed how empty their table was. “Hey, where is everyone?”

  Jessica shrugged, but Brett gave her a wry smile.

  “Eating on the day of the dance? What are you guys, amateurs?”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “She’s right. Thayer and the minions never eat before dances. They claim it makes your stomach stick out, but really, it just makes them act like even bigger bitches than usual. I guess if I had to go to dances with Finn, though, I’d be acting like a bitch too.”

  “Yeah, what’s his deal?” Sadie said.

  “He’s not that bad,” Brett said thoughtfully. “He’s just, you know … a rich kid. Guys like him grow up with no one ever saying no to them. And his family is kind of intense.”

  “Whatever,” Jessica said. “I just know he gets drunk at every dance and then starts hitting on everyone while Thayer gets pissed and follows him around like an angry sheepdog.”

  “Really?” Sadie said. “So he’s seriously not that into it?”

  “Not at all. They’re practically an arranged marriage — both their families have been close for generations — but Thayer totally bought into it. She thinks they’re the modern-day Romeo and Juliet — although, that really just shows how much she doesn’t pay attention in English class. I don’t think he really cares. He just gets her those presents all the time to keep her hap
py and keep his family off his back.”

  “Wow,” Sadie said, feeling almost sorry for Thayer. Her relationship was as fake as her extensions, and everyone knew it but her.

  “All right, let’s go,” Brett said and stood up. “The guys are picking us up at five, so that only gives us, like, six hours to get ready.” She took off toward the door, leaving Sadie to wonder whether or not she was being sarcastic. Ten minutes later in Brett’s room, she found out the answer.

  “Okay, here’s how this is going to go.” Brett pulled up a spreadsheet on her laptop. “We’ll all shower now and blow-dry. At noon, Ken and Jesse are getting here to do our hair — my mom’s treat. She practically pays them as full-time employees anyway, so it’s no big deal. Sadie and Grace, you guys go first since your hair’s long and will probably take a while. Jessica and I’ll go next. By the time you’re done the ladies from LaBelle should be here, and they’ll do your manis and pedis. We’ll go when you’re done, then we can all go put on our dresses, come back here for makeup at 3:30, and all be ready for pictures and stuff at 4:30. Sound okay?”

  The girls nodded.

  “Okay, guys. Break.”

  Out in the hall, it was quiet — way quieter than it had been during midterms. As Sadie walked, three girls slipped out of one of the rooms, their hair in Velcro rollers and green masks smoothed over their noses and chins. They padded quickly down the hall, short pastel robes fluttering behind them, and disappeared into another room.

  The next three hours passed by in a blur, and at 4:30 they met back in Brett’s room. Sadie was already exhausted, but she couldn’t believe the transformation. They all looked fantastic, and she noticed even Jessica couldn’t resist sneaking glances of herself in the mirror. They spent the requisite fifteen minutes fawning over each other’s hair and nail polish, then argued over who looked prettier and whose dress made them look skinnier. When they were done, Brett broke out the champagne.

  “Courtesy of Ken and Jesse,” she said with a grin. “They smuggled it in for us.”