Will Work for Prom Dress

by Aimee Ferris

  It was an impressive design, and I pulled my sketchbook out. It would be even better if I could capture Ms. Parisi at her desk in the background, staring at the pair and taking such frequent sips from her tightly gripped coffee mug that I began to wonder if it was really coffee, or something a little stronger.

  “Are you cheating on me?” Zander asked.

  Anne’s ears were set to instinctively tune in to that phrase, and I heard her little gasp. I stared hard at the page and tried to think of how to answer. His accusation came out of nowhere. Did one ice cream and an unexpected kiss constitute cheating? And cheating on what? Didn’t you have to be involved with someone before you could be cheating on him? No wonder his mood had been so brusque. It happened only yesterday—how did he even know, anyway?

  I allowed myself a millisecond to gloat that I was right in thinking our museum moment had meant something and that Anne, the mistress of love, was wrong … and then quickly bowed to her experience in such matters and adopted her tactic of talking her way out of a mess by going on the offensive.

  “Cheating is a little harsh, isn’t it?” I asked, with one hand on my hip.

  Zander raised one eyebrow. “Well, I have caught you red-handed all wrapped up in the designs of another man.” He pointed down to the row of little flowers crawling up the sketchbook.

  “Oh. That.” I dropped my hand and tried to ignore eavesdropping Anne’s snicker.

  “No, no. Go back to that whole indignant look,” he said. “It works with the dress. Very Daughters-of-the-American-Revolution haughty. I like it.”

  “Thanks.” I reached over with a smile to swipe his pencil and sketched a few wispy background figures sipping tea and wearing large hats onto his page. Satisfied I had redeemed myself, or at least distracted him from talk of cheating, I returned his charcoal pencil. His hand made light graceful strokes across the paper. “Hey, you’re doing much better!”

  Zander nodded. “Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing. I need to place my dresses in a scene to get a feel for what I’m drawing. When I think about just the dress, I get flustered.”

  “I know what you mean. You just have to make sure that the background slides right off the eye so that the dress is the main focus. Kind of like in those photos we saw at the mus—” I stopped short as my thoughts flew back to my afternoon with David.

  “So, speaking of—did you run into that David guy at school? I hope he wasn’t too upset.” Zander had a cute habit of reading my mind.

  “Upset?” I made an effort to make my voice rise with innocence, though it came out more of a squeak.

  “Well, sure. Kind of a blow for a guy to see a girl he likes on a date with some other guy.”

  “Right. True. That wouldn’t be a good thing.” So it was a date. I could kill Anne. Thanks to her convincing me Zander wasn’t interested, within one week I’d managed go from having no prospects of the boy persuasion, to cheating on not one guy but two.

  “Are you okay?” Zander asked.

  “I’m just not feeling so great.”

  Zander jumped up. “Here, take my stool.” He rifled through his satchel and pulled out a bottle of water. “Drink.”

  I sipped his water and stared at my bare feet. I’d just have to explain to David that we were better off as friends. It’s not like they would ever meet each other again. Zander’s hands were warm on my shoulders as he gave them a little rub through the thin silk of the blouse. I could get used to this treatment.

  “Feel better?” he asked. “It isn’t the dress, is it? I thought I used your original measurements, but it’s a pretty fitted style right over the ribs.” He pinched the back seam of the dress. “Hey. Not too tight at all—looks loose by at least a half inch. You haven’t been losing weight on me, have you?”

  “I don’t think so,” I stammered. Hanging out with a guy whose business it was to know your measurements was a little strange.

  “Hmm. Maybe I measured wrong. This is definitely too loose. Good Daughters of the American Revolution shouldn’t be able to slouch so comfortably in their garden-party frocks.”

  I managed a weak laugh.

  “But seriously, are you okay? I could give you a lift home if you want to call it a night.”

  Ms. Parisi’s heels clicked toward us. “Are you not feeling well, Quigley?” she asked.

  “Probably too many carrots, or something,” I mumbled.

  The Spikester was taking advantage of Ms. Parisi’s distraction to start a playful game of “he loves me, he loves me not” with Anne’s dress.

  “I offered to give her a ride, Ms. Parisi,” Zander said.

  “That sounds like a good idea. We only have another half hour here anyway. Why don’t you head home and get some rest.”

  Guilt slid over me, but a half hour to spend with Zander, now that I knew he was into me, was too tempting to pass up. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  A giggling Anne flashed me the universal “Call me!” sign with one hand as The Spikester rushed to pick up the little pile of petals from the floor before Ms. Parisi noticed.

  Zander rushed to the passenger side and opened my door before I could.

  “Why, thank you, kind sir,” I said in my best Southern-belle drawl.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “I am. I think I just needed some fresh air.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place then,” he said as he unlatched the top of the little convertible and folded it back. “There we go.” He snapped the last edge of the leather cover down.

  “This is such a great car.”

  “She’s my baby. She was pretty rough when I bought her, but I got a few books and, piece by piece, brought her back to life. Can you believe I only paid four hundred dollars for her?”

  “No way.”

  “Well, that was without an engine, transmission, spark plugs, and one of the tires was shot. Not to mention someone thought spray paint was the way to cover up her rust spots.”

  “So you weren’t in the get-a-new-car-for-the-ol’-sixteenth-birthday crowd, huh?” I hoped my attempts to find out more of his background were subtle.

  “Are you?” he asked, ignoring my question.

  I snorted. “Hardly. Any extra fundage in my section of the Johnson family pocketbook would be marked for college. Scholarships aren’t exactly stacking up. But then again, neither are admission invitations. So maybe the universe really does always balance.”

  He chuckled. “School’s definitely pricey—especially when you’re not prepared.”

  “Well, you seem too ‘Boy Scout’ to not be prepared. I bet you had scholarships lined up from sophomore year.”

  “Freshman, actually. And I think that’s the Girl Scouts who are always prepared.”

  I bit my tongue as another dumb Boy Scout–Girl Scout joke threatened to roll out, not wanting an accidental replay of the Barbie–Ken doll moment.

  A flash of sadness or regret crossed his face, quickly shrugged away as he tugged his seat belt for the second time and glanced down at mine. Pathetic how much his little show of concern warmed me.

  “I had things lined up, but things change. Life, right? What can you do? Anyway, once you decide which school will be graced by your presence, I’ll give you a hand finding resources for last-minute grants. There’s money still out there; tracking it down just depends on what state you’ll be heading to.”

  The state I was heading to was one of being both touched by his offer and weirdly hurt that he could mentally pack me off to some far-flung school so nonchalantly.

  We pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the freeway.

  “Do you mind if we take the local roads back?” he asked.

  “Not at all.”

  I smiled as we blew by the entrance ramp. Make that forty minutes alone with Zander. Wisps of my hair tickled my cheeks as a warm spring breeze flowed through the open car. Zander turned up the radio as an old Fleetwood Mac song started playing.

  “You have a pretty
voice,” Zander said.

  My face went hot. I didn’t even realize I was singing along. He smiled and started singing, too.

  “You know who has a really amazing voice?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Anne. She totally hides it, but it’s amazing when you catch her.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed that. Does she get that from Ms. Parisi?”

  I laughed, thinking about Ms. Parisi’s tortured attempt at the “Happy Birthday” song at Anne’s last party. “No, not at all.”

  “Good. It would be criminal for so much talent to end up in one person.” Zander reached over and hit the right blinker. “Hey, can I take you somewhere? I’d love to show you this one spot, but it’s totally cheesy. You have to promise not to laugh.”

  “I won’t laugh.”

  He laughed. “Sure you will, but that’s okay. It’s too nice of a night to pass this up. That first warm breeze of spring always makes me feel this sense of hope, sort of excited and anticipating new, good things. Maybe kind of appropriate?”

  He pulled off onto a windy road and slid his hand over mine. I had no idea where we were heading, but I was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see my idiotic, goofy grin. I can’t believe I ever thought I liked David. We were driving uphill, but it was hard to tell exactly where we were. Then, all of a sudden the trees opened up, and we were looking out on the lights of the city. I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

  Zander groaned. “You promised!”

  “You brought me to a make-out spot,” I said.

  “No. I brought you to a beautiful panoramic view of the city.”

  “Then what are all the people in those cars doing?” I pointed at three cars discreetly spaced out in the open hilltop field.

  “Okay, so I brought you to a beautiful panoramic view of the city where some people choose to park and make out.”

  I giggled.

  “Oh yeah? Good luck getting a kiss out of me now, laughing girl.”

  This only made me laugh harder.

  “Please stop. You’re killing my mojo.”

  “Mojo? You got mojo?”

  “Oh, I got mojo,” he said.

  I took a deep breath to stop my giggles.

  “All better now?” he asked. “Now may I please show you why I brought you up here?”

  “Oh, my!” I feigned shock.

  Zander leaned forward and lightly banged his head against the steering wheel.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll stop now,” I said.

  He turned his head, still resting on the wheel, and studied me.

  I tried to look contrite. “Seriously. Please show me why you brought me here.”

  “Okay. To get the full effect, I have to make a brief adjustment. Remember, open mind … and no giggling.”

  “Okay.”

  I held my breath as Zander leaned across me, chuckling. I smelled the same light, clean scent from the museum as he came in close to crank something on the far side of my seat. As my seat reclined inch by inch and I felt his breath on my neck, the urge to giggle left me entirely.

  “There. Now me.” He cranked his seat until we were both lying back staring up at the sky. “Another hobby of mine.”

  “Parking with girls?”

  “Sure. That and the whole science of astronomy.”

  “Really?”

  “Do you know any of the stars?”

  I pointed at the three-starred belt of Orion. “I can always pick out Orion. But that’s about it. I can usually see the one Dipper but I never know if it’s the little one or the big one.”

  “I love the myths behind the constellations. I think it’s so cool that different cultures have different stories for the same stars. It sort of shows what’s important to them.”

  “Like what? Example, please.”

  “Well, take your Orion. He’s Orion to the Greeks, but the Lakota people think of the bottom half of him as their Constellation of the Hand.”

  I snuggled back into the seat and breathed in the soft leather.

  Zander reached over and took my hand. I shivered as he lightly traced a line across my wrist. “See? This is Orion’s Belt.” He trailed his fingertip up my pinky. “This is a star called Beta Eridani, from another constellation called Eridanis.” His finger slid back down my pinky coming up my index finger and lightly tapped the tip. “That bright one there is Rigel.” His finger came back down and rested on my thumb. “And this is the Orion Nebula, or the brightest one in Orion.”

  He pulled my hand close, and I felt his warm lips graze my palm before resting his arm between us, still holding my hand. Beta Eridani, Eridanis, Rigel, Orion Nebula … I didn’t think I would ever forget those names now. If only I had studied in a setting like this, Anne would have had some serious competition at school.

  “The Lakota people think the constellation represents a great chief who was very selfish. The gods made the Thunder People rip out his arm to teach him a lesson. His daughter offered to marry anyone who could return her father’s arm. Fallen Star, a young warrior whose father was a star and mother was human returned the arm and married the girl, symbolizing unity between the gods and humans. You know, with a little help from a couple of kids in love.”

  “That’s so romantic.”

  Zander laughed out loud and squeezed my hand.

  “Sure. Some guys might use lines. But for me, talk of dismemberment always gets the girl.”

  “Such a player you are.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So what’s the Greek version?”

  “Hmm. Now that I’m thinking it through, neither of these stories seems particularly appropriate for the situation.”

  “Well, you already started. Can’t leave a girl hanging.”

  Zander sighed.

  “Well, there was this poor shepherd. A couple of guys came over and he didn’t want to be rude to his guests, so he killed his only animal, an ox, to feed them. He didn’t know it, but the guys were really gods, and they rewarded his generosity by offering him anything he wanted. What he wanted most was a son. So they told him to take the hide from the ox and bury it. And every day for the next nine months, he should go out and, well … urinate on it—”

  “Ewww!”

  Zander sat up. “See? I told you!”

  “No, no. Go on,” I said.

  “So anyway, a boy was born in that spot—”

  “So much for boys being made from frogs and snails and puppy-dog tails.”

  Zander laughed. “I suppose at this point in the story, you’ll tell me you’re an animal-rights activist and vegetarian.”

  “Well, I do love animals. But I also love bacon cheeseburgers, so you’re probably safe.”

  “So the kid was this awesome hunter.”

  “Thus the bow …”

  “Thus the bow. He was so good, the king hired him to kill all the beasts on his islands. And he kind of got too into the animal slaying and announced he would kill all the animals in the world.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yep. Didn’t go over so well with the goddess of the animals, so she sent a giant scorpion to sting him to death. Giant scorpions trump swords and strength, so Orion made a run for it. And there he is, running today.” Zander lifted my hand, pointing at Orion, and then shifted to the right a bit. “And come summer, there’s where the scorpion will appear in his place, still chasing him.”

  “That’s so cool,” I said, wondering what summer would bring and hoping that Zander was more “Fallen Star” than “Orion.”

  “You, my dear, are easily entertained.”

  “So what don’t you know?” I asked.

  We cranked our seats back to upright. I considered faking trouble with my twisty-knob thing to smell his cologne again, but I didn’t want to seem desperate.

  “Hmm. Well, I don’t know how to draw very well, though I am diligently working on that with the help of a very talented tutor. And I also don’t know how to ask this without making the last half hour seem like a patheti
c attempt to disguise my ulterior motive.”

  “Ask what?”

  “Which I swear it’s really not.”

  “Ask what?”

  Zander squeezed my hand and looked up. “Quigley, do you think I could maybe kiss you?”

  I couldn’t really breathe, so I just nodded. Zander’s hand smoothed the wisps of hair over my ear and gently pulled my face toward his. Our lips touched so softly I almost couldn’t tell we were kissing until he leaned in against me. I felt his mouth curve into a smile against my cheek, which he also kissed, and then rested his forehead against mine for a second. “Thanks,” he whispered.

  I still wasn’t doing so great with the breathing and talking thing, so I just nodded again.

  He stared at me for a minute in the dark. I could see his smile as he turned the ignition. “We’d better get you home before Ms. Parisi calls to check how you’re feeling and your parents freak out.”

  Chapter Ten

  Click. Click. Click.

  “Quigley?” Mrs. Albertt raised one eyebrow and looked pointedly at my shifting stool.

  “Oops, sorry,” I said.

  “You’re on duty supervising the developing lab after school. You might want to work on your focus,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I’d been staring at the same spot on the floor in front of me for most of class, avoiding David’s attempts to catch my eye. When Anne and T-Shirt sat down at lunch, their company made it easy to scam my way out of dealing with the David talk, but in three short hours we’d be alone in the lab.

  “I thought I showed all of the slides, but it appears there is one more,” said Mrs. Albertt.

  The titters from the class made me jump. I glanced at the wall and then almost fell off my stool. The 5×8-foot image of David’s smiling face above what looked like a dozen roses would have been shock enough had the foot-high letters PROM, QUIGLEY? not adorned the bottom of the shot.

  A sinking feeling hit me as I turned to see David, standing at his table and pulling the identical roses out of his backpack.