Will Work for Prom Dress

by Aimee Ferris

  It was enough to make a girl want to hit the nacho-cheese broccoli.

  I stood in line to pay for my BP-approved lunch instead. I snapped a baby carrot in two, wishing it was one of David’s stupid, artistic fingers, and poked the pieces into the blob of hummus on my plate. I smiled at the resemblance to The Spikester’s hair.

  I selected a few more of the skinnier veggies and soon had a freeform sculpture in progress. I nibbled a piece of carrot into a little orange scowl and nudged it into place. Not bad. Maybe Anne was on to something with that pepperoni idea. I could do a whole series of food portraits. It would be better if the medium fit the personality better, though. The Spikester was so not a carrot-sticks-and-hummus kind of guy.

  “I was waiting for ten minutes. What happened to you?” Anne asked.

  I pulled my backpack off the saved chair next to me. “Why didn’t you tell me that David was working on the play?”

  “Well, hello to you, too. Quigley, it’s not like you exactly welcome mention of his name. He’s a friend of T-Shirt’s, remember? When the original set designer bailed, he asked David to fill in. I thought I’d do you a favor and keep that info to myself.”

  “Well, thanks a lot. I made a total jerk of myself in the hall.”

  Anne’s normal smile turned into the grin that usually landed her in detention. “Not according to David,” she singsonged. “He came in and asked T-Shirt if you were seeing anybody.”

  I sucked my breath in so quickly that tiny pieces of baby carrot flew the wrong way down my throat.

  Anne banged on my hacking, gasping back and giggled. “Really, Quigley. You’re making a scene now. Unless you’re trying to catch David’s attention—bet he does a mean Heimlich.”

  I barked like an unattractive seal with laryngitis and wiped at my watering eyes. “Not funny.” I gasped for breath.

  Anne ignored my near-death experience and pulled my plate closer. She turned it around and lovingly stroked an orange spike. “I can’t wait for Wednesday.”

  “What is up with you and that guy, anyway?” I asked.

  “Which guy?”

  With Anne, that was a fair question. “The designer guy. The Spikester. How old is he, anyway?”

  “Who knows? Age is in the eye of the beholder—”

  “I think that’s ‘beauty,’ “I said.

  “Well, he’s beautiful, too. He’s got the most piercing blue eyes.”

  “Yeah, he’s big into ‘piercing.’ Besides, it’s only the eyeliner that makes his eyes so intense.”

  “Well, say what you like—it’s called style. And even you have to admit his eyebrow ring is way hot. So, I guess he’s twenty-two or something. He said he was seventeen when his son was born and he’s going into kindergarten soon—”

  “Oh my God! He’s got a kid? A kid who’s five?”

  “Almost five. Dude, why are you freaking out? A lot of people have kids who are five.”

  “Not a lot of people who you’re crazy in love with.” Anne’s was the snort heard around the world, or at least around the cafeteria. “Well, you know what I mean. You are totally into the guy.”

  “Sure, he’s cool. And probably going to be the next Marc Ecko, or something. But for now, we’re keeping it cas’.”

  “Ah, so your mom caught on?”

  Anne pouted and scraped the last bit from her yogurt cup. “Totally. I’m guessing she made it clear that if he wanted to pass the class, he’d better not make a pass at me. What a killjoy. You’re so lucky your mom’s not around to see you and Alexander.”

  “Me and Zander? We’re not together.”

  “Yeah, right. You guys spend three hours together every week in your own little world, laughing your rapidly dwindling gluteus maximus off. For the past six weeks he’s never once picked me to model his stuff.”

  I smiled at her compliment and made a mental note to check out the full-length mirror later. I’d been so wrapped up in tight-roping that thin line between Cs and Ds in my classes, I’d completely spaced that there was some practical reason for Anne’s Betterment Plan.

  “From that you get that we’re together-together? In case you don’t remember, spending three hours together every week is my job. It’s not my fault no one else ever wants me to wear their clothes.”

  “Well, you sure seem to be enjoying your job. It’s like your own private comedy club back there. And he makes you the most gorgeous dresses. Don’t get me wrong—The Spikester’s look is hot. That bodice made entirely of metal zippers might have looked cool, but his fashion can be a little painful.”

  I accepted half of Anne’s offered banana. The carrots and hummus had lost their appeal after being transformed into the face of The Spikester. “Well, you must suffer for your beauty, after all. Zander’s great—really funny and so sweet. But it’s not like that with us—we’re friends. I do love his work. But it’s not like he’s designing the gowns for me or anything.”

  “Are you sure about that? Every one is your style, only more fab. Colors that rock with your exact skin tone. He spends half the class drooling over your drawings like they’re Rembrandts or something.”

  “He’s trying to learn from them.”

  “Imitation is the highest form of flattery, Quigley. Not that I disapprove. Zander’s definitely worthy. And you need someone to keep David on his toes, anyway.”

  “What!”

  “Well, you can’t give too much power to a guy—keep a few on the line and they all appreciate you a lot more. It’s really the only way to run a successful relationship.”

  I leaned back and tried to remember if any of Anne’s successful relationships had made it past the one-month mark.

  “So, really, this is perfect,” Anne went on. “You just need to decide between your guys before prom. I wouldn’t even bother to think too hard about it until a few weeks before the dance.”

  “Between my guys?”

  “Sure. David and Zander. You can’t be greedy, Quigley. Come prom time you’ll have to decide which one to keep and which to let go. Nobody’s that much of a jerk—you know David’s only being mean because he’s into you. Boys are dumb like that.”

  I stared at her pupils to see if she’d stood too close to a Bunsen burner in chem. “Anne. I don’t have to decide which guy to keep. I don’t even have one guy, much less two.”

  “Well, prom’s less than six weeks away. Who are you going to go with then, Quigley?”

  I felt a hollow burning in my stomach that I couldn’t blame on the hummus. It was a good question. The money saving was right on track. The guy situation—not so much. “Look, Zander is just a friend, and he’s totally not interested in me like that.”

  “Well, maybe the David thing will work out. I know you have a weird history, but I was serious about him asking T-Shirt if you were with anyone.”

  I tried a light laugh, but it came out a little too harsh. “Come on. David? No. Never. I can’t stand him. He’s a pompous jerk, besides being a no-talent art hack. Real attractive qualities, Anne.”

  Anne’s mouth dropped, and I instantly knew what I would see if I followed her eyes behind me. I steeled myself before turning to the Art King himself. Except he didn’t look much like the Art King.

  David’s usual cocky smile was a little crooked. “Wow. I guess that probably means you don’t want to catch the new exhibit Saturday.” He laid the brochure from the Contemporary Art Museum down next to The Spikester sculpture. “At least not with me. But, umm, you should check it out. It’s a new collection of digital photography. I just, you know, thought you’d like it or something.” He shrugged and tried another smile that didn’t make it to his eyes before walking quickly away.

  The prickle of oncoming tears hit my eyes as my cheeks burned.

  “Whoa. Brutal,” Anne said.

  I grabbed my plate and stalked to the trash can. I shook it three times, but the stupid hummus was like glue. “I didn’t mean—I mean, if I’d known he was there I would have never—”

&n
bsp; “I know,” Anne said quietly. “I never would have pegged him as the sensitive type. But wowza—he really looked hurt, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, Anne. I caught that.” I finally just threw the whole stupid plate in the trash. I returned to the table and slammed my chair back in, then grabbed my bag. “I gotta go.”

  Chapter Five

  I looked up after hearing Zander’s sigh. He patiently replaced the sash I had let slip for the second time within two minutes. He took a step back and gave a little nod. He pulled one of the pins held between his pursed lips and fastened the sash an inch higher. “Mwaming mwong?”

  “Huh?”

  He pulled the last two pins from his mouth. “Something wrong?”

  “Ha. Something? Everything. Everything wrong.”

  “Bad day?”

  “Try bad week. Bad month. Bad year.”

  “Hmm. Drama queen is usually more my style,” he said.

  I smiled. “Stop. I don’t want cheering up. I’m enjoying my misery.”

  “Okay, then. As you were.”

  I flounced onto his stool, forgetting I was wearing his project for the week. I jumped back up at his moan and tried to recrimp the poof of petticoats under the back half of the short skirt.

  “Are you sure a bustle is the right look for my body type? I mean, I have a pretty good bustle going on, au naturel.”

  “I’m going to forgive you for insulting my creation, Quigley, since you are so obviously distraught. But if you will just join me at the mirror, I would at least like to show you how dead wrong you are.”

  I motioned over to Anne, who was standing dead still as The Spikester knelt at her feet and inched a scissors upward for a dramatic jagged slit in the otherwise pristinely sleek white gown. “Now Anne, on the other hand, she could maybe do with a bustle—”

  Ms. Parisi hovered near the pair, pretending to inspect the bodice of a dress at a neighboring table.

  “Anne couldn’t pull off this dress.” Zander lowered his voice for Ms. Parisi’s benefit. “Not even with The Spikester’s help.”

  My snort of laughter made several other designers look up from their sketch pads.

  “Oops, sorry. That probably broke the whole leave-me-to-my-misery mood,” he said.

  “It’s not funny! I did a really jerky thing the other day and I haven’t been able to undo it.”

  Zander grabbed my hips with a little frown and turned me slowly in front of the mirror. “I have a hard time imagining you doing anything ‘jerky.’ And if you did, whoever it was directed at probably deserved it.”

  I stared at the unimaginably tiny waist the dress created and resisted the urge to crouch down to see if it was one of those warped funhouse mirrors. Weeks had passed, and I still wasn’t used to Zander’s magic with a needle and thread.

  “So what did this cretin do to inspire your uncharacteristic act of ‘jerkiness’?” he asked.

  I sighed and headed back to the workstation. “He asked me out.”

  Zander’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”

  We usually sat next to each other happily sketching and stitching in silence for an hour, but something about the sudden quiet between us felt strained. I fidgeted in his creation and felt a weird urge to take back my comment.

  He picked at a thread holding on a tiny crystal bead. “So. What did you say?”

  “Exactly?”

  His forehead wrinkled as he stared at the thread. “Sure.” He really seemed preoccupied with that bead.

  “I believe I called him a pompous jerk and a no-talent art hack.”

  Zander’s laughter echoed throughout the room.

  “It’s not funny!”

  “It kind of is.” Zander wheezed and tried to control himself. “Man, you’re brutal. Did he ask you to a hotel or something?” He waved away my glare. “Sorry! Just trying to figure out what sort of invitation gets a guy that type of response.”

  “Actually, he asked me to the new exhibit of digital photography at the Contemporary Art Museum.”

  “The nerve!” Zander grinned and lifted my hand to spin me in a twirl. He was suddenly in far too chipper a mood.

  “Shut up. It wasn’t that. That exhibit is supposed to be really cool. It’s just him. I can’t stand him—the guy just makes me mental.”

  “Apparently. So this exhibit … is it supposed to be good?”

  I went back to check out Zander’s sketch of the couture wedding dress. The gorgeous tulip-petal-layered front looked more like two bubbles plopped over a set of legs with all the curviness of a couple of fish sticks. I worried Zander’s drawing skills might not come around in time for the final project. That design would have to be created and sketched in the classroom under Ms. Parisi’s watchful eye. No help from stray well-meaning models.

  “Yeah. That’s the stupid thing. I really wanted to go. Not with him or anything. But my parents are tied up with their kids’ charity stuff on the weekends, and they’re not too big on me wandering around Providence on my own.” I pointed at his sketch. “This top half’s not bad.”

  Zander took the gummy gray blob of eraser and started clearing the sketch pad of the bottom scribble. “Soooo—”

  “Nope. That’s your job,” I joked.

  He gave me a weak smile before staring at the pad and erasing with incredible concentration. “So, maybe we should go check out this exhibit.”

  “We? Me and you? Sure, that’d be awesome.”

  He stopped erasing with a smile. “Wow. That was easy.”

  “Easy?”

  “Well, sure. I was preparing myself for the whole ‘no-talent art hack’ tirade.” He picked up the sketchbook and blew the eraser fragments away. “And in the case of this drawing, it would even be justified.”

  I laughed. “Don’t worry. I try to save that for guys who are asking me out on dates.”

  “Oh.” He stared back at the blank sketchbook. “Right—gotcha.”

  “Oh no! You erased the whole thing. Now you’ll have to start from scratch.”

  Zander sighed. “Story of my life.”

  I stood outside the auditorium and looked at my watch. It’d been half an hour, but I didn’t dare go in to find Anne and risk a run-in with David. My attempts to smooth things over during art class seemed to have gone unnoticed. There was a fine line between taking back my harsh comments without seeming like I was encouraging him, and I’d obviously failed to find it. David’s polite smile and lack of eye contact when I approached him in the art room didn’t exactly encourage meaningful conversation. So we mostly stuck to chat of the “here’s your developing solution” and “I think this is dry now” variety.

  I was so embarrassed by my jerkiness, I spent the first two days after the cafeteria scene avoiding him. By the time Anne convinced me just to suck it up and apologize, he was acting like the whole thing had never happened. Maybe I should just let it go, but I almost missed the cocky, obnoxious Art King act. The thought that I’d hurt this new-to-me three-dimensional David was a little much for me to deal with.

  I brought it up with my mom just long enough to be reminded why I don’t bring up much with my mom. I’m sure her comment that sometimes the toughest people on the outside were the most sensitive on the inside was well meant, but wasn’t exactly comforting. I pushed the niggling ring of truth in the comment away with my trademark fake smile, “Thanks, Mom,” and deft change of subject. My parents’ world was so solidly black and white, they could never understand that life played across my canvas in a hundred shades of charcoal gray.

  I glanced down at my watch again. Enough was enough—I’d have to catch up with Anne later. I was walking down the hall when I heard the door crash open behind me. I stifled a giggle as Anne walked right past me. It was understandable she might not see me, considering her face was plastered against the assistant director’s. Today’s little gem—I DON’T THINK MUCH, THEREFORE I MAY NOT BE—stood out on his 100 percent cotton-jersey back as they smooched by.

  I cleared my throat. “U
m, hello? Best friend here—patient best friend?”

  Anne pulled herself away, laughing. T-Shirt was still tugging her down the hall as she playfully protested.

  “Come on, Anne. Come with us—you haven’t been on a single collecting expedition,” T-Shirt said. “And this one will be the best yet—full reconnaissance gear, blackened faces—I’ll even let you wear my camo pants.”

  I went to retrieve my friend. “No, thank you. You stay in your pants; she’ll stay in hers.”

  He made a face and pulled Anne back for a last kiss. “Yeah, yeah—Warden.”

  “Oh, you’ll be fine without me. Besides, I have to show Quigley my new room décor,” Anne said.

  T-Shirt grinned. “Oh yeah. Cool. Laters, babe—wish us luck!”

  I pulled her down the hall a safe distance from the theater, in case anyone else popped out. “What was that all about?”

  “Can’t talk here—walls have ears or eyes or whatever. Come on, I’ll show you at home. You got your shoes?”

  I let my backpack fall to the floor with a groan and sat on the cool linoleum to pull on my track shoes. I hoped the whole Betterment Plan would fall by the wayside as things heated up between Anne and T-Shirt, but since she hadn’t decided if he was the one for prom, she was keeping as many options open as possible.

  “I heard walking is just about as good for you as jogging,” I said after tightening my laces.

  “Nice try.” Anne was already jogging in place. “Hey—is that David coming?”

  I took off in a mini-sprint and let the hall door slam behind me. Anne caught up halfway across the quad.

  She grabbed my shoulder and doubled over laughing. “Joking! I was joking. You’ve really got to do something about that situation. This is a small school and we have the whole rest of the year. That’s a long time to be dodging a guy you share half your schedule with.”

  I kicked a clump of dirt in annoyance and continued on toward Anne’s house. “I know. I’ll talk to him on Monday.”