by Meg Haston
“Remember when Nate came to live with us the summer before he left for college?” Molly said quietly. Nate was her half-brother from her dad’s first marriage. He’d always lived with his mom in Oklahoma, but he stayed with the Knight family one summer while he took premed classes at Northwestern. I’d only met him twice. He was nice enough, but it was still weird.
“I remember you stuffed a bunch of Snoopy’s hair in his pillowcase,” I reminded her. Snoopy was the Knights’ three-legged diabetic cat, and Nate was deathly allergic to him. “And that Nate had to go to the ER to get some kind of emergency shot.”
“He stole my room!” Molly protested. “Am I not allowed to defend my territory?”
“Peace, girly. She’s just kidding.” Liv grinned.
“I’m just saying that situation was kind of like this one,” Molly said. “I had my family, and everything was good, and then all of a sudden, things just… changed.”
“Yeah.” I reached out and squeezed her hand. I’d never really thought about what that summer must have been like for her. Knowing that she’d felt the same way I did made me feel less alone.
“Things are good now, though.” Molly double-squeezed back. “He sent me an NYU hoodie for Christmas, and he’s coming home this summer to intern downtown.”
“Good. Okay, enough about Gabe and our crazy families. We’ve got a dance to plan.” I took an extra-long sip of latte, feeling the caffeine shoot through my veins. I flipped my folder open and found a song request list for Gravity, a catering menu from a hip Asian-fusion bistro in Lakeview, and a checklist of tasks for the committee, arranged by the necessary completion date and time.
I blinked. It looked like Molly really had found her calling.
“So I’m calling this meeting to order.” Molly straightened up at least two inches. “We still haven’t decided on a theme to go with the decorations we picked out the other day. Plus, we have to clean up The Square. These campaign posters are killing the vibe in here.”
“I can’t believe Quinn is still in the race,” Nessa said.
“Right?” I exclaimed.
Molly lowered her fingertips to a black-and-white LET’S GET WILD(ER)! flyer on the ground and traced Quinn’s chiseled cheekbones. “He’s totes overcompensating.” But her awed voice didn’t quite match her words.
We all stared at Molly for a beat. Then I coughed.
“Ummm, don’t we need to get on with the meeting?”
“Oh. Right. Okay. First, we need a theme idea. The floor is now open.”
Liv leaned in excitedly. “I was thinking about this last night and—”
Molly shook her head vehemently. “Please address the chairperson in the proper manner, Committeeperson Parillo.”
“Fine.” Liv raised her hand. “Madame Chairperson, may I have the floor?”
“You may.” Molly beamed, stealing a glance at me. I gave her a thumbs-up.
“What if we picked a cause, like global warming or cancer or something, and charged a few bucks at the door? We could donate the proceeds to charity.”
“People aren’t gonna pay to come to a depressing party. Besides, how do you decorate for cancer?” Molly made a fist and thumped it against her knee. “Veto. So here’s what I was thinking. We could do a dance with a date auction, where everybody comes by themselves, and then people bid to be my date?”
“You mean, they bid to be your—the universal your—date,” Nessa said dryly.
“That’s what I said.” Molly raised an eyebrow.
“Wait. What happened to the new boyfriend? You’re not… you don’t wanna bring… him?” I asked carefully.
“I mean, obv, I do.” Molly’s left eye twitched. “I’m just thinking that most of the dateless freaks at this school—and I’m clearly not talking about you guys—would rather not have to go through the humiliation of showing up alone,” she explained. “And we could make a lot of money for the school this way.”
“Okayyyy.” I exchanged glances with Liv and Nessa.
“It was just an idea. Whatever. We can come up with another one.” Molly dragged the zipper on her jacket up, down, and back up again. Down. Up. Down. Up.
“We could just do something really simple,” Nessa suggested, pointing the toes of her bronze ballet flats. “Like, Marquette at Midnight, or something. We could have the dance here in The Square, under the stars. Just make everything really elegant.”
“Ooh! I like that.” I nudged her knee with mine. “Good one.”
“Madame Chairperson!” Liv’s gold-henna-inked hand thrashed in the air. “We could use those tea light votives we bought! We could hang them from the skylights to save electricity! And be romantic!”
Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. “So nobody wants to do my date auction idea?”
I bit my lip.
“Whatevs,” she said drily. “All in favor of Nessa’s romantic idea?”
“Aye!” the girls and I chorused.
“Fine.” Another eye roll. “Okay, so music? Kacey?”
“Gravity’s rehearsing today and tomorrow after school, so I’ll take your requests and see what we can do.”
“Good.” Molly’s gaze lingered on me a few seconds too long, but I couldn’t read her expression. “So now all we have to do is get rid of these ugly campaign posters.”
“Over my dead body. Didn’t anybody tell you it was election week?”
I turned around to see Paige standing behind me, her arms crossed so tightly over her chest it was a wonder she could breathe.
“Hey, Paige.” I rubbed my temples. “We were just kidding. Nobody’s gonna take down your posters.”
“Uh, yeah. I am.” Molly slapped her folder closed and stood up. “They have to go. I can’t throw a decent party with your mug everywhere.”
“Excuse me?” Paige’s face turned tomato red. “Say that to me one more time.” A few feet away, a crowd was starting to cluster.
“Okay, okay.” I jumped up and grabbed Paige’s hand. “You. Come on.” I dragged her across the courtyard, to an empty patch of real estate outside Silverstein.
“Oww! Kacey!”
“Hey. Look at me.” I pointed at Paige’s eyes, then at mine. “Focus. Do you really think I’d let Molly mess with your posters the day before the election? Come on, Paige. I helped put them up!”
She stared at the ground. “I guess not. Sorry. It’s just that this Quinn Wilder thing is driving me crazy.” Her shoulders dropped. “And I’m sorry about your mom and Gabe. I know you’re upset, and it’s just that I’m just really stressed out, and—”
“I know.” I pulled her in for a hug, and she sniffled into my shoulder. “It’s okay. I just really don’t want you to worry about Quinn, okay? I mean, it’s Quinn!” My laugh sounded fake even to my own ears. “He can’t even make it through homeroom without losing focus. There’s no way he’s gonna see this thing through.”
Paige pulled away. “You really think so?” Her eyes said she wanted to believe me. Almost as much as I wanted to believe myself.
“Heyyyy, Marquette! Make some NOOOOOISE!” Before I could reassure Paige, Quinn’s voice boomed over the courtyard. A few seconds later, he emerged from Hemingway, holding a megaphone and wearing a T-shirt with LET’S GET WILD(ER)! printed across the chest.
The Square erupted into cheers as Quinn paraded around the perimeter. “Are you guys sick of lame field trips and even lamer vending machine snacks?”
“Yeahhhh!”
Paige croaked and grabbed my hand.
“Then I say, let’s take back our student government! Starting with our snacking privileges!” Behind Quinn, Aaron and Jake whipped out Marquette gym bags and started pitching mini candy bars into the crowd. Soon, the kids in The Square were more out of control than Liv in the back room of a vintage consignment shop.
“TELL ME AGAIN HOW I SHOULDN’T WORRY ABOUT QUINN RUNNING?” Paige shouted, her eyes wild with panic.
“YOU’LL BE FINE! PROMISE!” I hit the deck to avoid getti
ng whacked in the head with a mini Snickers.
It was a blatant lie, and we both knew it. But this was one of those times when the cold, hard truth was simply just too painful.
DRESSING IS NINE-TENTHS OF THE LAW
Thursday, 5:49 P.M.
“I’m not so sure about this!” Paige yelled over the blare of car horns and squealing tires. “Can’t we go home and practice my speech?”
“Hold up.” I stopped at the corner of Michigan and Chicago, standing at the edge of a crowd watching an old man beat out a staccato rhythm on an African drum. The body of the drum was long and the head was made of animal skin stretched taut. The Beat had brought something similar to rehearsal once. A djembe, I remembered. If Zander were here, he’d give some useless but adorable trivia about some obscure drummer he loved.
“I have to give my speech to the entire grade tomorrow.” Paige tapped her watch impatiently. The wind whipping around the corner made her bob fly in a million different directions.
“Yup. And unless you follow my advice, we’ll both be listening to Quinn Wilder’s victory speech on Monday.”
As we set off down Chicago Avenue, I snuck a quick glance at my watch. Five fifty-two. Still plenty of time to make sure Paige was suitably dressed for tomorrow’s presidential rally and get to Andersonville to meet Zander for our first date.
Our. First. Date. Possibly the most beautiful words in the English language. Unless, of course, we were just “hanging out” in a way that was “no big thing.”
“I don’t know why I need a new outfit,” Paige argued, sidestepping a half-dozen elementary school kids in backpacks, marching in dutiful single file behind two harried adults. “I have plenty of clothes at home.”
“No, I have plenty of clothes at home. You have a closet full of the most depressing goth threads I’ve ever seen.” I held up my palm before she could chide me for my honesty. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. And it’s also true that you need to look amazing tomorrow.”
“Have you ever listened to anything I’ve said in the history of our friendship?” When Paige huffed, her breath clouded resentfully in front of us. I charged through it. “Politics is about ideas. Not outfits.”
“If people don’t like your outfits, they don’t listen to your ideas! Why do you think Michelle Obama wears J.Crew twenty-four-seven-three-sixty-five? You have to be a role model, Paige. And that includes fashion.”
“All the stores down here are too fancy for me. I don’t have that much holiday money left, you know.”
“That’s why we’re goooooing… here.” We stopped directly in front of the glass doors of Nordstrom Rack. “My mom gets sale stuff here all the time. Good stuff. Maybe we can even get you a dress for the dance, too.”
Paige opened her mouth like she was about to protest. Instead, she squinted thoughtfully at our reflections in the storefront. “I do like Michelle Obama…”
“Why? Because her wardrobe is killer. Her arms are, too, but we’re working on limited time here.” I shoved Paige through the doors into a brightly lit white-and-chrome entrance.
We joined the bevy of chic shoppers riding the long escalators to the first floor. If we had time, maybe I’d pick up a new set of bangles for tonight. My black pants, silky mint-green top, and patent flats suddenly felt blah. Plus, Zander had already seen me in this outfit at school. That settled it. I needed a new… everything.
“Hey.” Paige snapped her fingers in front of my face. I blinked. “Are you listening? Repeat what I just said.”
“Ummm… something dull about politics or principles? Wait. No. You quoted a dead president.” I crossed my fingers and held them up, faking excitement. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Hilaaaaarious. What’s going on in there?” She wiggled her index finger in front of my nose. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
I took a deep breath. Paige was my and Zander’s biggest cheerleader. But what if it didn’t work out? What if, halfway through the concert, Zander decided he didn’t like me anymore? Sure, things seemed good now. But things could change. People could change their minds. Like my dad did. And like I was hoping to make my mom and Gabe do now.
“Are you okay?” Paige cocked her head to the side and peered into my eyes. “You don’t look so good.”
“I—I’m sort of hanging out with Zander tonight.”
“I KNEW IT!” she shrieked, pinning me to the escalator rail. I gripped the rubber edge to steady myself. “I knew you guys were together! I totally saw you holding hands in The Square.”
On the step ahead of us, a lady in bloodred lipstick and a fur pillbox hat turned around and glared.
“Paige!” I hissed. “Chill. We’re not together.” Just in time, I hopped off the escalator and out of her reach. Ahead of us stretched an endless array of outfit possibilities. Designer jeans were packed on rolling racks. Colorful cashmere scarves hung from accessory displays. And ruthless bargain hunters clawed through stacks of folded cardigans with jeweled buttons.
“You need jeans,” I decided. “Like, nice jeans that say, I’m in charge here, but also, I can be casual. Agree?”
“I’m not agreeing to anything until you tell me what’s going on with you and Zander.” I hadn’t seen Paige look this determined since first grade, when we got to our classroom on St. Patrick’s Day to find all the desks overturned and green glitter everywhere. It was the work, said our teacher, Mrs. Phelps, of mischievous leprechauns. Horrified at the disrespect for school property, Paige launched a full-scale investigation to find said leprechauns, until Mrs. Phelps quietly pulled her aside and confessed.
“Can we at least talk and try on clothes at the same time? I’m supposed to meet Zander at seven thirty.” I spotted a pair of gray wax-coated skinnies and tossed them over one arm. “These are a definite yes. They’ll make you look taller, which will make you look more presidential.”
“Okay! Whatever! Tell me everything!”
“We’re just hanging out tonight at that café in Andersonville. It’s not really like a date date. More like a friend thing. A ‘no big deal’ thing.” Or was it a big deal? We had kissed. I turned away, pretending to check the price on a pair of leather fingerless gloves. “Before you freak, these are for me.”
“It so is a date.” She scoffed. “You guys just don’t want to call it that. Does Molly know?”
“No.” I whacked the gloves against Paige’s arm. “And she’s not going to know until I figure out how to tell her.” I lifted my pinky finger menacingly. “Swear.”
“Okay, okay.” Paige latched her pinky to mine. We shook. “Like you have to worry about me gossiping with Molly. Please.” She spotted a boxy black blazer and yanked it from the hanger. “How about this?”
“Throw on a dude’s shirt and a tie with that and you could pass for Imran Bhatt.” My gaze fell on a bald mannequin sporting a cropped charcoal blazer with black leather piping. “Now this is a blazer.” I whipped it off the display, leaving the mannequin bare-boobed. “You might actually look like a girl in this one.”
“Gee, thanks.” Paige sniffed behind me. “Besides, I heard from one of my best sources that Imran dropped out of the race this afternoon.”
“Seriously? Because of Quinn?” I held the blazer up to Paige’s frame.
Paige nodded, her eyes suddenly glassy behind her smudged lenses. “I should go back and practice my speech. What if—”
“Look. Here. Try this on,” I said gently. I lifted her messenger bag over her head and helped her out of her peacoat. “You already have everything you need to beat Quinn. You have better ideas, an actual track record. This is just the finishing touch.”
Paige slid into the blazer and checked out her reflection in a mirrored column.
“It’s not bad.” She cleaned her glasses on the hem of her black T-shirt, then took a step closer to the mirror. “It looks professional, at least.”
“And the leather ups the cool factor.” I draped my arm over her shoulder and brushed he
r bangs away from her eyes with my other hand. “Makes you much more relatable.”
Paige’s lips curved into a small smile. “I’ll think about it.”
“Give me a few lines from your speech.”
“Huh? Here?”
“Why not? See if it fits with the new threads.”
“Umm, okay. I’ll try out the part about Quinn.” Paige blinked at the mirror and buttoned the center button on the blazer, then unbuttoned it again. “My opponent is trying to ride the popularity wave right into office,” she said disdainfully. “Sure, he’s got a ton of friends, and I hear he’s super fun at parties. He’s promised to make our field trips more fun, and if it’s up to him, we’ll probably have nothing but junk food and soda in the vending machines.”
“Uh, Paige? Don’t we want people not to vote for Quinn?”
“But do you know what he doesn’t have, people?” Paige planted her palm on the mirror and glared into it, her voice getting stronger. “He doesn’t have experience. None. Zip. Nada. So when it comes time for you to vote on Monday, you have a choice. Do you want the candidate with years of leadership experience? Or do you—”
Just then, my cell phone buzzed. “Oops. Sorry.” I checked the screen.
Stevie. Ugh.
“Kacey! You killed my flow!” Paige stomped her foot.
“I have to take this. Sorry. You’re doing great! Great flow!” I lifted the phone to my ear and made a beeline for a rack of plus-sized fur coats. “Hello?” I ducked between two coats, creating a soundproof barrier.
“I got more details on this hot-air balloon date.” Stevie’s voice was almost a whisper. “He’s doing it Friday night.”
“As in tomorrow? The same night as the dance?” I whispered back.
“Yeah. And he went out and bought a new shirt today. And he shaved.”
“So, basically, he’s acting like a normal, hygienic person.” I closed my eyes.
“He hasn’t bought a new shirt since I was born. This is a problem. I think he’s gonna drop the L-bomb.”
My blood ran cold. “Okay. First, nobody says ‘L-bomb.’ And second, what do you want me to do about it? We’ve tried to break them up, but they’re too into each other.”