by Megan Stine
“We’re trying to think of someone for you to be with at the prom,” Lisa Marie said almost defensively. “And I say Tony is the perfect guy.”
“Not again.” Heather rolled her eyes. “I thought we went over this.”
“We did, and we agreed you’re giving up too easily,” Marianna said. “How about Max Snow? He’s not going with anyone.”
Heather sighed. “Honestly, you should give up on trying to find someone for me. You can both go off with your guys, and I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t be silly. We’d never just abandon you. Come on, think. We made a list last week. Who was on it? Max Snow, Eric Sandberg, Tony . . . Oooh! I know! How about one of the Marshall twins?”
“How about both of them?” Heather joked.
“Whatever floats your boat,” Marianna said with a shrug before she realized that Heather was totally kidding.
Come on, Heather, Marianna thought. You’re not even trying. It’s one thing to be shy, but you’ve got to make at least some effort to get what you want in life.
Heather took two bites of her salad. “Mmm,” she said. “Extra blue cheese. I love when it’s lumpy.”
She was barely participating in this conversation. Marianna and Lisa Marie were having to work twice as hard.
“Tony’s the best choice,” Lisa Marie concluded. “He’s not attached, and I know you like him. I saw you talking to him in the publications office last week.”
“Really?” Marianna latched on to that piece of info real quick.
Okay, so maybe it was a little bit self-serving to be trying to hook Heather up for the prom, but she was doing it as a favor, too. Somebody had to help Heather get past whatever was keeping her from having a social life. “When was this?”
Heather was chewing.
“Come on—details,” Marianna demanded.
“Umm, the lit mag people were working on the final issue last week, and I was doing layout for the yearbook,” Heather explained. “Someone asked Tony to do a spot illustration for the mag . . . he didn’t know what size to make it . . . I helped him figure it out. That’s all.”
“You were laughing and having a good time,” Lisa Marie pointed out. “I saw you.”
“He’s funny,” Heather admitted.
Lisa Marie and Marianna waited expectantly for her to elaborate. God, this was like pulling teeth.
“He’s got a dry sense of humor,” Heather explained. “Margo was asking everyone where to get a decent pair of jeans. Everyone knows she dresses kind of slutty, so Tony mutters, ‘I’d have thought you’d want an indecent pair.’ ”
Marginally funny, but whatever.
“You had to be there,” Heather said when neither of them laughed much.
“Well, so, talk to him some more,” Lisa Marie encouraged. “He sounds perfect for you. Really.”
Heather shrugged and got up to get more salad dressing.
The minute she was out of sight, Marianna reached across Lisa Marie and dug into Heather’s purse.
“What are you doing?” Lisa Marie was shocked.
“I’m looking for her cell phone,” Marianna said quickly. “I happen to know she’s going to be in the pub office today after school . . . and I think Tony should be there, too.” She found the phone and dug the St. Claire’s student directory out of her own backpack to look up Tony’s number. Then she quickly sent Tony a text message from Heather. It said: “Meet me. Pub office. After school.”
“Hurry. She’s heading back here!” Lisa Marie warned.
Marianna slipped the phone back into Heather’s purse just in time.
“Someone took all the chunks.” Heather pouted at the dribble of blue cheese dressing on her salad plate.
Poor Heather. Why couldn’t she get herself focused on what was important in life—like the prom? If she didn’t work a little harder, she was going to end up spending the whole night alone.
Luckily, she had two good friends to handle the details for her.
“The sports section is a mess.” Marty Alexander, the editor of the yearbook, leaned over Heather’s shoulder in the pub office that afternoon and looked at the pages in front of her. Behind them, the yearbook staff was bustling around like crazy. The final sections of the book had to go to the printer in three days.
Heather had laid out the sports section in Quark and printed out PDFs of the pages. Now she had the printouts spread in front of her on a big table.
“Well, we can’t start with lacrosse—it’s too marginal,” Heather argued. “That’s why I put basketball up front.”
“But if we start with basketball, it looks like we’re sidelining the other sports,” Marty explained. “Makes it look like we have a pecking order.”
“We do,” Heather said with a laugh. “Fess up. Why else did we put theater and dance in the front of the book, and all the sports in the back?”
“Because we hate the jocks?” Marty offered.
“Hate’s a strong word,” Heather scolded.
“Yeah, you’re right. More like utterly despise because we’re intimidated by their big muscles,” Marty said.
Heather laughed. “So what do you want me to do? You’re the editor. It’s your call.”
Marty thought for a minute. “Put the cross-country team first,” he decided. “Use a huge photo of Marianna. That way everyone will think you’re just playing favorites with your friends, and the heat’ll be off me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Cry me a river,” Marty said. “It’s my call, remember?”
He meant it, too.
Oh, whatever, Heather thought. She didn’t really care about the sports section anyway, and it would be cool to use a big picture of Marianna.
She sat back down at the computer and started rearranging the pages.
“Hi,” a voice behind her said.
Heather turned her head slightly, still staring at the monitor with one eye and clicking things with her mouse. Finally she looked up.
It was Tony. He hopped up onto the table beside her.
“Hi,” she said absently, wondering what he was doing there. The lit mag had sent their stuff off to the printer a few days ago.
“I got your text message,” Tony said. “Why did you want to see me?”
Text message? Heather shook her head slightly.
“I didn’t send you one. You must be confused.”
Tony reached into his tight black jeans and took out his cell phone. His all-black outfit—jeans, T-shirt, boots—set off his smooth, pale skin and blue eyes. Heather thought he looked like a postmodern painting.
“I’m not confused. This is your cell number, isn’t it?” He showed her the text message.
Heather studied the phone and then saw what time the message was sent—during lunch that day.
Wow.
“My friends must have done that,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Why?” he asked.
Good question, Heather thought. How dare they? She could only come up with one answer.
“They’re trying to fix me up with you so they don’t have to take care of me during the prom.”
An approving grin spread across Tony’s face. Was he charmed by her blunt honesty?
“So meet me there,” he said with a shrug. “We can hang out.”
“Really?” Heather hesitated. She didn’t want a date—not with a guy. But Tony was nice, and he wasn’t making it sound like a real date. Just friends. Plus having him lined up would at least mean that Marianna and Lisa Marie could give it a rest.
He shrugged again. “It’ll be fun,” he said casually.
“Okay.”
Why not? She felt comfortable with him. Not all tense and nervous, the way she was around Katie. Maybe this could work out after all.
In fact, she was beginning to think that maybe she’d made a mistake. Maybe, if she gave guys a try . . . and if she just stuffed her feelings for girls . . . maybe her gay feelings would go away.
In
any case, Tony was the lucky guy she was going to experiment on.
Chapter 12
“Why are we filling up on burgers and fries before we go dress shopping?” Lisa Marie asked as she took another big bite of her juicy Monterey burger, slathered in cheese and mushrooms. “I’m already bloated enough without this junk.”
“No one made you order that!” Heather said. She sort of wanted to add, And I wish you hadn’t.
The truth was, Heather was sort of repulsed by all the greasy food spread out on the table, but she didn’t want to say anything. It was just one more way she felt different from her friends these days—and she didn’t need that right now.
“We need fortification,” Marianna said, encouraging Lisa Marie to eat without feeling guilty. “I ran 3K this morning. I’d never survive a shopping marathon without stoking up.”
“Okay, but I want to go straight to BCBG as soon as we’re done,” Lisa Marie announced. “I’ve been saving for forty-five days to buy that dress, and I’m taking it home today.”
“What about shoes?” Heather asked.
“I’ve got enough for that pair of Jimmy Choo knockoffs,” Lisa Marie said happily. “You won’t believe where I got the extra money, either.”
“Where?” Marianna asked, her mouth full of a Philly cheesesteak.
“Angela sent it to me.” Lisa Marie was clearly pleased. “She said she had some cash stashed away for a rainy day, and she wanted my prom to be as perfect as hers was. Can you believe that?”
I wish I had a sister, Heather thought. Being an only child had its perks—she got just about everything she wanted or needed—but there was a downside, too. Like being too much the center of attention at home, especially now that her parents were divorced.
“That’s cool about your sister,” Heather said. “But what I meant about the shoes is that you’re supposed to shop for them first thing in the day. Before your feet get all nasty and swollen. Otherwise, you’ll buy a size too big.”
“Really?”
“That’s what I read,” Heather said.
“I thought it was the other way around,” Marianna argued. “Shop for shoes last. That way they’ll still fit when your feet swell up.”
“But then they’ll be too big at the beginning of the evening,” Heather argued. “We should do the shoes first.”
“Oh, whatever,” Lisa Marie said. “Let’s just get the shoes over with so we can go directly to BCBG, okay?”
They finished eating, dumped their trash, hit the restroom, and then stopped in Sephora for a touch-up, to make sure their hair and lip gloss looked good.
As Lisa Marie put it, “We’re going to be staring into mirrors; we’d better like what we see.”
Then they made a beeline to Mar-vel-ous, Heather’s favorite shoe store. They were known for carrying fabulous knockoff shoes at decent prices. Heather bought a pair of pointy green heels trimmed in velvet, and Lisa Marie got the black imitation Jimmy Choos.
Marianna tried on ten different pairs and then decided to wait until she found a dress. What a novel idea.
“So are we done here?” Lisa Marie asked. “Can I finally fulfill my dreams and aspirations, and blow five hundred dollars of my hard-earned cash on a killer dress that’s going to make me look like the hottest chick at the prom?”
“Spend it, sweetie!” Marianna cheered.
BCBG was at the far end of the mall, a hike.
“You were right about getting shoes early,” Lisa Marie said as they trudged through the crowds. “I’ve got blisters on my heels already.”
They passed a group of four girls from St. Claire’s, shopping bags in hand. Heather glanced and spotted Serena Moss’s younger sister in the group.
I wonder if she’s gay, too. Heather had been trying not to indulge in her favorite pastime, but she was addicted. Did lesbianism run in the family? she wondered.
It was a stupid question, and Heather knew it. When she thought about all the gays and lesbians she knew, or knew of, at St. Claire’s, she could tell that gayness didn’t run in the family. It wasn’t predictable, either.
Lisa Marie made a diagonal turn and cut through a clump of guys from various urban D.C. schools, barely dodging a little kid with a dangerously sticky caramel apple in his hand. She was clearly determined to cut two seconds off their arrival time at BCBG.
Heather and Marianna followed her to the back of the store, where the black peau de soi silk dress was hanging on a peg on the wall.
“Oh my God, there’s only one left,” Lisa Marie gasped, grabbing the dress. “There were three here on Thursday!”
She fiddled with the size tag in the neckline, but it was folded back underneath, so she couldn’t read it. Finally she found the price ticket and flipped it over.
“Oh, my God.” Lisa Marie was hyperventilating. She spun around to the nearest salesclerk, a skinny dark-haired girl with a vapid expression on her face who was standing about twenty feet away. “Do you have this in a six?” Lisa Marie’s voice carried halfway across the store.
It took forever for the salesclerk to move her butt over there, and Lisa Marie had to repeat the question five different ways. But the answer was still no. The dress was gone. They’d just sold the last size six about ten minutes ago. To another girl from St. Claire’s.
Oh, boy. Heather could feel the tension in the air. Lisa Marie was clearly trying to control herself, trying not to blame anyone or throw a fit, but it was obviously a struggle.
“Can you get it? From another store?” Lisa Marie’s voice was so shrill now that strangers were turning to stare.
“Sorry,” the salesclerk said. “Can I show you something else?”
Heather took a deep breath. “It’s so my fault. We should never have gone to look at shoes first,” she said, feeling terrible. “I am so sorry. Oh my God, I really am.”
“I’ve been saving for weeks! Killing myself at that job!” Lisa Marie moaned. She was still clutching the one remaining black dress as if it might somehow be made to work, but it was a size zero.
“I’m so sorry,” Heather repeated. What else could she say? It wasn’t really her fault that someone else bought the dress—not logically. Not technically. But it sure felt that way.
“Okay, this sucks,” Marianna said, taking charge. “But calm down. Don’t worry. We’re going to help you find something better. I swear to God, we won’t go home until we find you something Halle Berry would kill to wear to the Oscars.”
The vibe in BCBG was too stressed for them to stay another minute, so Marianna wrapped her arm around Lisa Marie and led her out of the store. Calmly, she kicked into “personal shopper” mode and headed straight to a store that could soothe any girl’s nerves: Stick, a boutique that carried the newest Stella McCartney.
All three of them tried on Stella McCartney dresses, mostly as a kick since they were outrageously expensive. When none of the McCartney dresses looked right on Lisa Marie, they prowled around some other racks.
“Here’s something,” Heather said, offering Lisa Marie a gorgeous lavender satin Marni gown.
Lisa Marie glanced, but shook her head. “I’m too short for that. Besides! It’s $800.”
True, Heather realized. On both counts.
For the next ten minutes, Heather and Marianna took turns bringing Lisa Marie dresses to consider, but nothing seemed right.
Then, all of a sudden, Lisa Marie spotted one she loved: a slinky black satin dress with a crossover halter neck and a low-cut V back. It was a designer they’d never heard of, though. The label said Slic. Like a cross between chic and sleek.
“So try it on,” Heather said, draping the black dress over Lisa Marie’s arm. “This could be the one.”
They crammed into the dressing rooms with their arms full. Marianna had finally found what she wanted: a fabulous gown with a purpley-pink sequined top, narrow velvet sash belt, and full silver-bronze taffeta skirt—so hip/fifties it almost hurt.
Luke would love it, Heather thought. He se
emed like the romantic type.
For herself, Heather took a white embroidered chiffon dress, just for a goof. No way would she spend $900 on a dress, and besides, she loved the green beaded flapper one she’d already bought. It was just a good way to kill twenty minutes, so she didn’t have to hang around feeling like a wallflower.
There’d be plenty of time for that on prom night.
The dressing rooms were crowded, mostly with girls their age, or the next age bracket, which Heather’s mom called HS plus ten—high school plus ten years, tops. Or women who were small enough to fake it.
“My boobs are spilling out,” Lisa Marie called from her dressing room.
“Poor you,” Marianna called back.
“No, really. This is too small.” Lisa Marie’s voice was getting tense and squeaky again.
Heather had slipped on the white embroidered thing, but it didn’t work. White wasn’t her color, except in the summer when she had a tan. This dress made her look like a flower girl at a suburban wedding.
“Let me see,” Heather said, stepping into the hallway.
Lisa Marie came out modeling the black satin gown. She was right—her boobs were spilling out the sides, near her underarms. The dress was way too tight.
“It’s a six!” Lisa Marie complained. “Do I look like I’ve gained, like, twenty pounds or something?”
Heather knew better than to make a joke about the burgers and fries they’d just devoured. Instead, she turned Lisa Marie around so she could examine the inside label. Sure enough, the hangtag was wrong. The price tag said size six, but the inside label said it was a four.
“It’s mislabeled,” Heather said. “Hang on. I’ll see if they have another one in your size.”
It was awkward, walking back out into the store looking like an overgrown kid. Heather felt ugly in the dress, and she could tell people were watching her out of the corners of their eyes. Serena’s little sister and her friends had come in, and they were fingering the cashmere sweaters up front. Lily Moss turned to whisper something to her friends.
Is she making fun of this dress? Heather wondered, feeling awkward and uncomfortable.
Heather hurried to the rack of black satin Slic gowns. There were only two left. A woman at least fifty years old was reaching for one of them, but Heather wasn’t about to lose this fight. She lunged in front of the woman and grabbed both dresses at once.