“Actually, my mom’s best friend is the owner.” He smiles sheepishly.
“Hey, whatever, that’s awesome. So see you at 6:30. I better get moving since I have a lot to do before then.”
Phillip waits as I unlock my car. That’s when I notice Brianna and her girlfriends watching me from where they’re huddled next to a white convertible. I could be paranoid, but I’m sure they’re talking about me. And if looks could kill, I would be toast.
As I reach to open my door, I notice the key gash through the paint again, which gives me an idea. I point to the scar on Bonnie Blue, peering at Brianna with a questioning expression. Brianna just laughs. I exchange glances with Phillip, and it’s plain he gets it too.
“I’m surprised she could see the scratch from that distance,” I say as I open my door and get inside. “But she seems to think it’s funny.”
“I’m surprised the poor girl is actually laughing,” he adds sarcastically. “Considering how devastated she is over Asher’s unfortunate incarceration.”
“I’m glad you witnessed that,” I say as I start the engine.
“Don’t forget about how keys can retain paint fragments.”
I nod. “See you later.” As I drive away, I wish I had my cell phone to call Wally and give him my latest information. Not only about the car, but perhaps to help vindicate Asher, because I’m starting to believe he’s actually been the victim of circumstances, or just the victim of bad taste in girlfriends. As it is, I am phone-less, so it will have to wait.
I meet Grandma as planned in the formal wear department of Macy’s. “I picked out a few things that you might like,” she tells me. “Although I suspect you’ll have your own ideas.”
“Actually, I have no ideas,” I confess. “That I’m even going to this dance still feels unreal.” We go back to the fitting rooms where a woman has been helping Grandma, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see that I actually like a couple of the dresses they’ve picked out. The ones that just aren’t me, I hand back.
“You try them on,” the saleswoman tells me, “and I’ll do some more looking around for styles and colors that are similar to the ones you like. It appears you go more for classic styles . . . and not too fussy.”
“Yes, I’ve never been too much into the princess thing,” I admit.
Between trying on dresses in various styles, colors, and sizes, I manage to squeeze in a break to call Wally on Grandma’s phone. “I don’t know that there’s much you can do about this,” I tell him, “but I’ve learned some things today that strongly suggest Brianna Cole is at the bottom of most of this.” I tell him what Bristol revealed about the email, and also about how Brianna laughed when I pointed to the scratch on my car, explaining how she was too far away to actually see it. “But Phillip told me there could be traces of my paint in her keys.”
“Phillip is right.”
“It’s not like I’m trying to get her locked up, but the repair work on my car is probably going to be expensive and—”
“No kidding. And if that girl is behind all of these things, she deserves to be locked up for a while.”
“Instead of Asher,” I tell him. “I could tell he was clueless about most of this when we talked today.”
Wally thanks me for the tips and promises to do what he can to investigate them. “Have fun at the dance.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say, realizing that Phillip and I will probably be less than welcome by a number of people there. I wonder if this store carries dresses with bulletproof bodices.
Instead I decide on a silvery gray dress that Grandma says looks great with my eyes and skin tone. “You really do have a lovely tan,” she tells me as I model the final selection for her and the saleslady.
“Hopefully you’re using sunblock for those UV rays,” the woman says.
I give a sheepish grin. “Sometimes.”
She just shakes her head. “Young girls these days.”
It’s a little after five by the time I’ve picked out a dress and shoes and we’re on our way to our cars. I hug Grandma in the parking lot, telling her that I better get home if I want to be ready for Phillip at 6:30. “I don’t even know how to thank you for everything,” I tell her. “I feel like I’m Cinderella and you’re my fairy godmother.”
She chuckles. “Fairy grandmother is more like it. Just make sure your mom gets some photos tonight. By the way, she said she’d be home in time to see you off.” She waves goodbye.
I promise her the photos, but then as I’m driving home, I realize Mom and I are still camera-less. Perhaps Stacie will let me borrow hers . . . if she’s talking to me, that is. Although, knowing Stacie, if she sees me dressed up for the dance, she will probably warm up out of pure curiosity. Plus, seeing me participating in a normal event might help convince her that I’m not exactly the pariah she imagines me to be. And maybe I can explain that this whole ugly mess might be coming to an end, and that we’re narrowing in on the real guilty parties now. That should help to relieve her mind about me.
Just a little past six, I’m dressed and mostly ready, although I’m not sure what to do with my hair. First I try it up, then down, and finally up again. Mom’s not home to give her opinion, but I decide to find out if I can borrow a camera and see what Stacie thinks in regard to my hair.
“Wow,” she says when she opens the door. “What’s up with you?”
“I’m going to the homecoming dance with Phillip,” I tell her.
“Oh.”
“And I promised my grandma that we’d get a picture, but our cameras are kind of confiscated, you know. Do you think I could borrow one?”
She frowns now.
“I’ll bring it right back,” I promise her.
“The problem is the battery’s dead,” she tells me.
“My mom might have a battery.”
“And I think the memory card is full.”
“Okay, fine,” I tell her. “I get it. You’re still freezing me out. Even though my attorney is getting ready to prove that these nasty allegations against me are totally false, you’re still holding—”
“How’s he going to prove that?”
“He’s been collecting evidence.”
“When will you know for sure . . . I mean that you’re innocent?”
“I know I’m innocent right now!”
“I mean when will your name be cleared—like will it go to court?”
“It sounds like we can get my charges dismissed. Maybe by early next week if all goes well.” I glance down to the parking lot, spotting Mom hurrying out of her car. “My attorney’s got more evidence and stuff. It’s looking pretty good for me.”
“Oh.” She nods. “That’s great.”
“Well, I better go finish getting ready.”
“Sorry about the camera,” she says as she closes the door.
“Elise!” Mom exclaims as I meet her at the top of the stairs. “You look absolutely gorgeous!”
“Thank you!” I do a little spin for her then open our front door.
“You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
I control the urge to roll my eyes. “Well, at least I’ll be there.” We go inside, and I quickly fill her in on the latest developments of the case.
“It sounds like Asher and Brianna might not make this dance together after all.” She puts the last pin in my hair, which we decided looks best up. “Ironic, isn’t it? Considering that seemed to be what all the fuss was about in the first place.”
“I don’t know. Brianna is a very driven person.” I follow Mom to her room, where she pulls her jewelry box out of a drawer. “I’ll bet that girl’s not above breaking Asher out of jail just to have him take her to the dance.”
Mom laughs as she lifts the lid, then she turns back to me with her beautiful diamond earrings in her hand—the ones Grandpa gave her when she turned thirty a few years ago. “I think that dress needs these, don’t you, Elise?”
“Seriously?” I stare at the sparkling solitaires. “You
’re not worried I’ll lose one?”
“They have screw-on backs.” She shows me. “Almost impossible to lose.”
She helps me put them on and then we check them out in the mirror. “This feels kind of surreal,” I admit. “Like just a few nights ago I was sitting there in our bathroom thinking about knocking myself off and—”
“What?” Mom looks horrified.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
“Is it true?”
I explain about my dark night—the day of the arrest—and how I poured all her sleeping pills into my hand. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I wasted them.”
“You wasted them?”
“By dumping them down the toilet.”
She looks relieved.
“They’d gotten all clumped together in my sweaty hand and I don’t think—”
“You didn’t waste them, Elise. That was the right thing to do.” She hugs me. “I’m so thankful you had good sense. And I’m so sorry I was being such a poor excuse of a mother then.”
We hear knocking on the door, and I tell Mom about my promise to get pictures for Grandma. “But we don’t have cameras and Stacie wouldn’t—”
“Oh yes we do,” she says as she grabs up her purse. “I picked up a disposable during lunch today.”
I open the door to Phillip, and his eyes light up when he sees me. “Wow!” He nods with approval. “You look stunning!”
“Thanks. Same back at you. That tux is great.”
He holds out a flat package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of string. “It’s not flowers,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.
“No, I didn’t think so.”
“I just didn’t know what kind of flowers to get,” he admits. “And my sister told me that not everyone does flowers. Anyway, I’d been wanting to give you this since Monday.”
“Should I open it?”
He nods.
It turns out to be the drawing of Jesus’s hand, neatly matted and framed. “Wow,” I say as I admire his work. “Do you really want me to have this?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you! I love it!” I show it to Mom. “It’s Jesus’s hand,” I explain. “Phillip drew it.”
“You’re quite an artist,” Mom tells him. “And now, if you don’t mind, I promised Elise’s grandmother that we’d take some photos.”
I strike some poses with Phillip, who looks dashing in his retro tux, and Mom takes about a dozen shots. “You kids have fun,” she finally tells us as we’re leaving.
“Did I tell you that you look stunning?” Phillip asks as he opens the car door for me.
“Yes, you mentioned that already. But thank you.”
“Thank you!”
The parking lot nearest the restaurant looks packed, so Phillip decides to splurge for valet parking instead. “This is more elegant anyway,” he tells me as he pulls right up to the front of the restaurant. “It goes with how you look.”
As he’s helping me out of his car, we notice a stretch Hummer pulling in behind us. A bunch of kids in formal wear start spilling out, kind of like the clown car in the circus, one after the next. Among them are Brianna and Asher and the rest of their friends. Suddenly my heart is pounding and it’s like my silver sandals have been superglued to the pavement—because I’m actually afraid to move. I just stand and watch as the group pauses to glare at us and then backs away like we’re contagious. Then, haughtily, they turn away, and the circus parade funnels into the restaurant.
“Come on,” Phillip says quietly as he takes my elbow in his hand and escorts me toward the entrance. “Don’t let them rattle you.”
“I won’t,” I promise. “It just took me by surprise.”
Now their noisy, colorful group is glommed around the reservation desk and filling up the small foyer. But Phillip eases past them and gives his name to the hostess, and just like that we’re being led into the restaurant. I control myself from letting out a cheer. I so didn’t want to stand out there and wait among them. We’re quickly led to a delightful corner table near the fountain area, where we’re seated and given menus.
“Do you think they’ll be eating in a banquet room?” I say quietly after the hostess leaves.
He chuckles. “L’astrance doesn’t have a banquet room.”
Somehow the restaurant accommodates the group at several tables in the center of the room. Although I try not to watch, it doesn’t appear that they’re getting the level of service we are. I overhear Brianna complaining about the location of the table as well as the wait.
Just as we’re finishing up our entrées, which are amazing, a beautiful older woman in a sleek black dress comes out, and Phillip introduces her to me as Yvonne, the owner of the restaurant.
“A pleasure to meet you, Elise,” Yvonne tells me. “Phillip’s mother is my dearest friend in the whole wide world. As well as the person who encouraged me to start my own restaurant.” She smiles down at Phillip. “Naturally, we like to accommodate our dear friends when we can.”
“Everything was absolutely delicious,” I tell her. I can hear how quiet the other tables have gotten—as if everyone in the restaurant is watching us.
“And if you don’t mind”—Yvonne winks at Phillip—“I’ve arranged for a complimentary dessert for you.”
“That sounds great.” He nods and she waves back to the kitchen area, where a chef emerges with a silver cart and parks it by our table. He proceeds to put together a concoction of berries and brandy, which he lights on fire—and everyone exclaims over—then he ladles this over a delicate piece of cake and tops it with some kind of cream.
“C’est le bon,” Yvonne says to Phillip. “Enjoy!”
“Thank you,” he tells her. “Everything was spectacular tonight.”
She nods toward me with a smile. “Including your date.”
I thank her for everything, then she tells us to have fun at the dance. “And remember, you’re only young once!”
I feel like royalty as Phillip and I are served this amazing dessert with a French name I can’t begin to pronounce. We finish it off with tiny cups of espresso. I think that even if we didn’t go to the dance afterward, it would still be a perfect evening.
“This feels like a fairy tale,” I tell Phillip as we’re finishing up. “I mean compared to how my week started out . . . well, it’s just unbelievable. Thank you so much for asking me out tonight.”
“Thank you for coming. I’m enjoying it too.”
“And Yvonne was so sweet.”
“I think we were the envy of the restaurant.”
I try not to feel too smug . . . but it is a nice little turnabout.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says quietly, “but we’ve been watched tonight.”
“I tried not to notice.”
He chuckles. “Brianna looked seriously ticked when she saw Yvonne come to our table.”
“I can’t believe they’re here tonight,” I admit. “I mean Asher and Brianna together. Especially after what I heard today—and then Asher’s arrest—and with him knowing what she did. Well, it’s a little surprising, don’t you think?”
He nods. “Yes, the plot just keeps thickening.”
Finally our coffees and dessert are done. Phillip takes care of the bill and we are on our way to the dance. When we get there, I’m feeling pretty nervous. I’m not even sure why. I mean, really, what could possibly happen—well, besides anything?
None of Asher and Brianna’s crowd has arrived yet. Phillip and I actually enjoy several dances, and I begin to relax and think maybe the others decided not to come. In that case, this could be a very fun evening. I decide, hands down, that Phillip is the perfect date. Honestly, I wonder what I ever saw in Asher in the first place—besides an illusion.
I’m just thinking this is going to be the best night of my life when the snob squad arrives.
I can feel a shift of mood in the entire ballroom as their “elite” group makes
their noisy entrance—like they think they’re royalty or entitled or just spoiled brats. Everyone else gets slightly uneasy and uncomfortable . . . or maybe it’s just my imagination. But the atmosphere feels different. And when these kids start dancing, it’s like the rest of us automatically move back a few feet, making room for them, like we all know this crowd will settle for nothing less than center stage.
Phillip and I dance a few more songs, but the fun factor seems to have totally evaporated for me, plus I need to use the restroom—and not to powder my nose either. So while everyone is dancing to a popular song, I slip out, and thankfully there is no one in the restroom.
I go clear down to the end stall but soon realize it’s a challenge to maneuver a long dress with slippery layers in order to use the toilet. I really don’t want any part of this pretty dress taking a dip. After several attempts, I finally figure out that if I slide the dress up around my torso and then pull the skirt higher, hoisting it over my shoulder and anchoring it with one arm, I can actually use the toilet without endangering my gown.
I’ve just sat down when I hear voices—familiar ones—entering the restroom. And for some reason—maybe even fear—I decide to lift my feet up so it looks like no one’s in this stall. Sitting there with my dress hiked over my shoulder and both feet planted solidly on the door, I just wait, hoping they won’t be in here too long.
“I can’t believe that slut would show her face tonight,” Brianna says. I can see through the crack in the door that they’re clustered in front of the large mirror touching up their makeup. “I wish someone would lock her up and throw away the key.”
Lindsey chuckles. “They probably will before long.”
“I noticed Asher looking at her in the restaurant,” Bristol says. “Are you sure he’s over her?”
Brianna cusses. “Of course he’s over her. He thinks she’s certifiable.”
“Chance told me that Asher and the slut had a nice little talk today,” Lindsey says in a slightly catty tone.
“What?” Brianna sounds furious. “When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m not supposed to.” Lindsey giggles, and something about her makes me think she’s been drinking.
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