Will Work for Prom Dress

by Aimee Ferris

  “I have a pass,” I said uneasily, and shifted my books into my other arm.

  “That’s fine. Go ahead and find a seat.”

  “But David’s on my stool.” I sounded like a whining kid.

  “It seems we need to do a bit of shifting of responsibilities. I was just explaining to the class that due to your little mishap in the lab, they’d need to go out and reshoot their assignment.”

  Well, that explained the death glares. Sort of.

  “I don’t get it. Why? I thought they came out pretty well.”

  Mrs. Albertt raised one eyebrow. “Well, perhaps they might have before the damage. The destruction of everyone’s work due to such carelessness is bad enough. I won’t even go into the recklessness of smoking in a closed room full of chemicals. You’re lucky all that happened was melted negatives and a few smoke- and water-damaged prints. Had you set off the main sprinkler system, you’d have destroyed the entire storeroom full of student work and be looking at far more serious consequences.

  “It was a mistake on my part to have trusted an unsupervised student in the lab. You’ve had a long history of hard work in my classes, so I’ve decided not to bring this matter to higher authorities so close to graduation. However, you’ve proven that you’re not responsible enough to be trusted with the position of teacher’s assistant. I believe you owe your classmates an apology.”

  “What? I don’t smoke! Cigarettes are nasty. Ask anybody—I’ve never smoked!”

  Click. Click. Click. David sat in front, shaking his head in disapproval.

  “Ask David! He was here with me. There was no fire, no cigarettes.”

  “That’s true, Mrs. Albertt. When I left, everything was just fine. Quigley had made some mistake with the developing and had to redo the prints. I had to get home to watch my sister, so I couldn’t stay and help her fix it. But everything was fine … when I left.”

  So this is what it felt like under a bus. I realized too late I’d been outplayed in the game of revenge. Anne had warned me David cared about his image to a freakish degree, but I’d let the handful of nice moments we’d had hanging out alone lull me into thinking he could be a bigger person and accept my change of heart … and prom dates.

  Mrs. Albertt nodded approvingly at her star witness. “And the lab was shut nice and tight and all locked up when I came in the morning—keys in your cubby, Quigley. Obviously something happened. I am glad you weren’t hurt, although I wished you’d have admitted this right away. You’ve put us all in a tight spot. Those negatives were meant to be used for the class’s submission in the citywide show. Now the class will have to make arrangements to reshoot the project before the due date.”

  The groans around me held a thinly veiled undertone of hostility. Not good. “I truly don’t know what happened, Mrs. Albertt, but I’m happy to help out as much as possible to make sure everybody gets their entry completed.”

  Mrs. Albertt smiled tightly. “I’m afraid I don’t have the luxury of taking any chances, Quigley. David has offered to take over the teacher’s assistant position for the rest of the semester. You can take a seat and complete the course as a student. Let’s consider this matter closed and move on, shall we?”

  I willed myself not to breathe until I could hide behind my textbook, out of David’s sight. Tears would only add to my humiliation.

  The sea of happy cafeteria munchers did little to improve my mood. I snagged a tray and defiantly asked the attendant for extra cheese sauce on my broccoli. Betterment Plan. Snort. That wasn’t me—that was all Anne. I’d spent seventeen years perfectly content being me, making my own choices, making decisions based on my priorities—not anyone else’s—and for what? To get pulled this way and that by everyone who flitted into my life, and blow it all when it really mattered?

  This was the real deal—game time, baby. I smacked a fork next to the teetering plate of cheesy vegetables. It was like Ms. Parisi had said at the last design class—measure twice, cut once. The choices I had to make about the future would change the rest of my life. And here I was spending all my energy cleaning up after my best friend’s craziness, getting so sucked in to one guy I couldn’t see straight, and trying to save the feelings of another guy who, after a single unasked-for kiss, I’d blindly forgotten had only ever treated me like trash.

  Anne would be off enjoying her Sex Week at some Ivy League school; Zander’s heartless dismissal had ended any chance we had of something lasting; and Art Institute–declining David had basically accused me of trying to burn down the school. So after all I’d done, I’d be left here alone, begging for my job at the pizza factory back, hoping to make minimum wage. I swiped the last Diet Coke off the shelf next to the register, twisted the top off, and glugged. Yep. I had some measuring to do. And heck if there wouldn’t be some people getting cut out of my life.

  I slammed the bottle down without thinking, or putting the cap back on. A massive geyser of frothy brown liquid shot up and all over me. A slow round of applause began to build across the room, punctuated by giggles and pointing fingers. Usually reserved for the crash of dropped trays and broken dishes, I knew it was customary to acknowledge the clapping with a goofy “Oh my, doofus me” face, and maybe a fake curtsy or deep bow thrown in for style, but I just didn’t have it in me. The soda drizzled in streams from my hair, which I let fall over my face to cover my tears. I grabbed a handful of napkins and crouched down, pretending to mop off my soaked legs.

  Through my bleary eyes, a pair of military boots clunked into view. I took the offered towel from his hand and glanced up past the I’D KILL FOR A NOBEL PEACE PRIZE to meet T-Shirt’s concerned gaze. He bent down and picked up my backpack, flicking pools of bubbles off the straps before he slung it over one shoulder.

  “Come on, I’ve got extra shirts in my locker.”

  It was about the only thing anyone could have said in that moment to make me smile. I didn’t quite make it to smiling, but I gratefully let him lead me from the cafeteria. With a protective arm around my back, he walked between the crowd and me, concealing my red eyes and glaring down anyone who dared to snicker. I sighed and added another name to my list of people I’d judged too quickly.

  We entered the hall and he gave me a little pat before dropping his arm.

  “How’s Anne?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t want to wake her and we didn’t get to talk last night.”

  “Yeah, I thought I saw you there.”

  He waved at a passing group of sophomores wearing nun habits. Budding method actors trying to get into character, or just trying to draw attention to feed their egos, which Anne claimed was integral to being an actor. Not that she was biased.

  “Just tell her I’m sorry, okay? I get it—we’re done. But I really do feel bad about how it all went down,” he said.

  “What exactly did ‘go down’?” I asked.

  “First of all, she wasn’t even supposed to be there. We agreed she’d do the preliminary and then stay out of the rest of”—he glanced around and lowered his voice—“the deed.”

  I thought back to that stupid half ruler, and the even stupider plan for revenge.

  “So it was the light bar.”

  “Shhh. Look, all they know is that it’s gone, and I hope for all of our sakes that’s all they’ll ever know. I can’t believe she told you.”

  He shook his head, spun his locker combo, and yanked twice before a quick shoulder slam unjammed the metal door. He rifled through his things, finally pulling out a handful of shirts.

  “Thanks,” I said, flipping through for the least offensive one.

  “No problem. I keep a bunch here in case I go right to the theater or somewhere after school. It’s my remote closet. So last night, Anne calls out of nowhere, saying she wants to be in on the plan. When I picked her up, she was wired, and I could tell something bad went down, so I told her, ‘No way.’ Loose cannons aren’t a safe bet, you know? But she was really raging over some deal with her mom, and believ
e me, I know how that can be. I thought it’d be a good distraction for her. But I didn’t let her out of the car.”

  I handed I DIDN’T CLIMB TO THE TOP OF THE FOOD CHAIN TO BECOME A VEGETARIAN back and debated between the final two. YOU NONCONFORMISTS, YOU’RE ALL ALIKE lost out to HE WHO LAUGHS LAST, THINKS SLOWEST, which even I had to admit was clever.

  T-Shirt nodded his approval. “Philosopher chick, huh?”

  “So why were you guys picked up?”

  “The plan was going perfectly. One of the guys tracked the cop over the last week and saw he always hit Dunkin’ Donuts for dinner. It was too classic not to go for, right? So I had Anne park my car around the corner, and the guys parked their van in back of the shop. Once the cop was elbow deep in his flatbread and cruller, we snatched the bar. They ditched it in the van, I ran back to Anne, and we got out of there. The guys sped off to deposit the goods in an undisclosed location and that should have been that.”

  “I can’t believe you guys. What if the cop came out when your friends were putting it in the van?”

  “They could have just driven off. I mean, the guy was missing his lights and siren, how fast could he have really chased anybody? I wish I could have seen his face! Problem was, someone saw me as I left.”

  “They ID’d you?”

  “My shirt. Some woman pointed out my HANDBASKET shirt to her husband on their way into the shop. When the cop figured out what happened and asked for witnesses with any information, she mentioned it.”

  “Not much to go on, how did they even catch up with you?”

  “That night when he first hassled us with all the car violations and the curfew ticket, I had my STOP FOLLOWING ME, I’M NOT A SHOPLIFTER shirt on. I guess it stuck in his head, so he thought of me. The cops looked up my tickets, put out an APB on my license plate, and there we were, hanging out with the po-po on an otherwise lovely Thursday night. All thanks to my signature expressions designed to make the world a happier place.”

  “Wow.” On so many levels, wow.

  “Tragic. Brought down by my own genius.”

  I was relieved Anne might legally have an easy out, but worried that my friend had ended up in such a dark place over her dad that committing a felony with T-Shirt and company seemed like a good way to kill an evening.

  “Thanks for the shirt—I’ll get it back to you.”

  “No worries, keep it. I never wear them more than once anyway, you know, in public. Gotta keep it fresh for the fans.”

  Anne wasn’t kidding when she said T-Shirt’s dad was loaded. I guess being the head of a hospital means your kid can pull off a disposable-clothing allowance.

  “Quigley—thank goodness. I was so worried when you weren’t in class!”

  The sinking feeling hit the minute I recognized Mrs. Desmond’s voice. It was Friday.

  “The essay,” I said.

  “The essay! I can’t wait to read it. The judges are expecting me to turn it in by three,” she said. “I’m so glad this all worked out. This will really help you turn things around.”

  I opened my mouth, but no words came.

  “Sorry, Mrs. D.” T-Shirt reached into his locker. “I was supposed to print it out for Quigley last night, and I spaced. Maybe you could give her a pass to hit the media center next hour?” He plunked his laptop into my hands.

  “Nothing like cutting it to the wire, Quigley,” Mrs. Desmond laughed. “Right down to the seventh hour.” She scribbled out a slip excusing me from my next class. “Or sixth, as it were.”

  “Thanks,” I stammered.

  “No prob,” T-Shirt said at the same time as Mrs. Desmond’s, “You’re welcome”

  She gave him a questioning look and then smiled and headed on toward her class.

  “Laters, Quigley,” said T-Shirt. “You can drop my Mac off at the theater later. And just so you know, anything in there of questionable nature must be spam. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I mumbled, stunned by his save and the fact that I had to write a whole essay in an hour. He flipped my backpack over my still-damp shoulder and left me to wander down the hall trying to protect the expensive computer and fresh shirt from getting into the sticky mess. Not to mention, myself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So you’re okay?” I asked Anne. I could hear someone getting a rose or being voted off the island or kicked out of the sorority house or something in the background.

  “Yeah. Sorry I wasn’t up to talking last night. It was all just kind of overwhelming,” she said.

  “You think?”

  “Did you tell her?” Ms. Parisi’s voice called over the reality marathon.

  “Oh, right. So Mom had this out-of-town show next weekend. She was going to fly out Saturday and be back Sunday, and just see about me crashing with you while she was away. But now, with me being jailbait or a flight risk or whatever—” Ms. Parisi’s protests rang out over the commercials. “Sooorrry, I realize it’s not a joke, but this is just Quigley. Anyway, she decided it wouldn’t give the right impression to be leaving me alone right now.”

  “Really? From what T-Shirt said, you should be pretty much in the clear.”

  “He was at school today?”

  “Yep. And get this, he loaned me his laptop to whip up that extra-credit essay I completely spaced. I don’t even remember what I wrote—I just rambled for two pages.”

  “Nice one,” said Anne. “We’re hoping it all blows over, but one of those idiots took a movie on their cell and put it online. Mom’s PR rep told her the pics those guys snapped as we were leaving the station made it online, too. But nobody seems to have picked up the story, probably because there isn’t much to tell. I have a feeling the cops don’t exactly want to advertise that one of their own got duped while chowing down a chocolate frosted, at least not until they come up with some evidence. The whole thing was crazy stupid, though—that thing with my dad put me over the edge. Not that I wasn’t teetering on it anyway. Mom and I talked a lot about Dad today. I think I’m a little better now—I’m sorry you had to deal with my mess.”

  “I’m just glad you’re okay,” I said. It was impossible to stay mad at Anne.

  “Thanks. But you don’t sound like you are. What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” I thought about Zander. And David. And my life in general. “Everything.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Zander and I had a huge fight.” I swallowed hard and tried to sound like I wasn’t about to throw myself across my bed sobbing. “It’s over.”

  “Come on, Quigley. I might have missed it at first, but that guy’s crazy about you. No way it’s as bad as you think. You probably just misinterpreted what he said.”

  “He said I’m not good enough for him.”

  There was a long pause.

  “If I wasn’t sort of on probation for something I sort of didn’t do, I’d go over there right now and kick his crappy-drawing, MGB-driving, little—” A muffled voice stopped her. She pulled the phone away from her mouth. “Mom, he said she wasn’t good enough for him.”

  I pressed my ear to the phone trying to catch any possible words of wisdom from Ms. Parisi. Anne came back translating the advice. “Mom says she knows Zander. There’s no way he would say something like that and mean it. There must have been some major misunderstanding. She says to let him cool off and he’ll come back apologizing like the gentleman that he is. That whatever it was probably had nothing to do with you.” She held the phone away for a minute andcame back parroting more. “She says that people say and do incredibly stupid things when they are upset about something completely unrela—Hey!”

  I heard a good-natured swatting fight across the line and smiled. “I guess.” I wasn’t convinced I even wanted to be with someone who had it in him to talk to me that way. But it did make me feel a little better, hearing someone else say that it probably wasn’t personal.

  “Boys-schmoys. Here’s something to cheer you up. I called because Mom wanted to invite you to come with us to
her show, and she got us to tickets to some big Monet exhibit. Not my thing, but she thought you’d dig it.”

  “Rembrandt, you mean. Awesome. The one at the Met?”

  She checked with Ms. Parisi. “Nope, Monet.”

  “But the only Monet exhibit right now is in Chicago.”

  “I know!”

  I jumped up, squealing into the phone, knowing Anne was doing the same across town.

  “Ohmigodohmigod! Are you serious?”

  “Dead. She’s going to call your folks and get the okay. We get to stay at this totally cute little boutique hotel right near The Magnificent Mile, hang backstage at the show, maybe even meet somebody cool—a bunch of celebs come to these things—and then tour the Art Institute. She said she wanted to thank us for all of our hard work in her class.”

  “Considering it looks pretty unlikely I’ll be using the money for anything fun now, I guess that’s not a bad consolation prize.”

  “I forgot about prom. It’s still three weeks away. Maybe things will blow over? Look at me, I’m totally single, and I still have faith I’ll snag a date from somewhere.”

  “I have faith that you will, too,” I laughed. “But what about The Spikester?”

  “I don’t know.” She lowered her voice. “Mom doesn’t seem so keen on him. She’s been pretty cool through all of this mess, so I thought I’d throw her a bone and let that one fizzle.”

  Hearing the shift in Anne and her mom’s relationship almost tempted me to talk with my own folks about recent events, but the risk of their saying no to the Chicago trip on principle was too big a gamble. For now.

  “I’m gonna go cheer myself up and pack for next weekend.”

  “Okay. Don’t forget, we’ve got the Earth Day parade in the morning. Laters, Quigley!”

  I groaned. “Great. Laters.”

  I hung up the phone gently. Anne sounded so good. It was like she had found her way back from the craziness that had been building the past year, without losing her focus and the person, for better or worse, that she was. I lay back on my bed and tried not to be jealous.