Better Than the Movies

by Lynn Painter

  “But not for you?”

  “No.” No matter what I was learning about Wes, any real relationship with him would end in sure disaster. And—as if I needed to convince myself—just like that, I wanted to tell her. Everything. “So here’s what’s happening. But this is top secret, okay? Like, even Jocelyn doesn’t know.”

  “Oh my God, I love being the one in the know.” She beamed and leaned a little closer. “Tell me everything, you sneaky little tart.”

  And I did. I told her about Michael, and she made a heart-fluttering gesture when I described him and his unexpected re-emergence in my life. (Though I left off the connection to my mom.) I told her about Wes’s and my plan, and she laughed and called me an evil genius.

  She cried actual tears when I described getting vomited on, and she snorted while crying when I added the details of the nose-meets-basketball accident to the story. She was wiping at her eyes when she said, “Oh my God, it’s like fate is trying its hardest to keep you away from him.”

  What? It wasn’t like that, was it? Those were just unfortunate coincidences.

  “Every time you get close to having a moment with Michael, it sounds like the universe breaks it up with a ball to the face or a puke to the outfit. I think the universe likes Wes better.”

  I’m pretty sure I looked at her as if she had a snake crawling out of her mouth. “No, it doesn’t. Those things were freak accidents. If anything, I’d say bad luck just follows in Wes’s wake. Me being near him was probably what fate was pissed about.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “Oh-kay, Liz. Whatever you say.”

  The universe likes Wes better.

  My brain was fried by that single, solitary sentence as we went out to her car and drove to the shopping center. Did the universe like Wes better?

  * * *

  “I’m going to be sick.” I shook my head and stared as Jocelyn looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing an orange floor-length gown, and she looked more like someone on the red carpet at the Oscars than a high school student trying on a prom dress. “Does anything look bad on you?”

  Joss’s mom barked, “It’s too grown-up. Take it off.”

  Her mother was one of those nice-but-intimidating parents. She’d always been supersweet to me, but when she was mad at Joss, it made me nervous. She was tiny—barely over five feet, but every inch of her was in charge.

  She was an attorney, and I’d always assumed she was amazing at her job because I’d yet to see Joss ever win an argument with her.

  Jocelyn rolled her eyes and muttered something about shaking her mom until the woman’s hair fell out of its bun, which made me giggle but also think about the way Wes was always messing up my hair. It was super annoying, but something about it made me smile every time.

  I cleared my throat and frowned, just to make sure I wasn’t creepily grinning into space.

  That could ruin everything.

  Because so far, Joss and I were having fun like a normal shopping trip. Her irritation with my reticence on senior activities and my irritation with her badgering had yet to rear their ugly heads.

  It was great and I didn’t want my boy-drama lies to mess it up.

  We were at our third store, and it was going the same way that it’d gone at every stop. I tried on a handful of dresses that were so-so, and every dress that Jocelyn slid into looked amazing. She was having a hard time narrowing it down to one, and I was having a hard time finding even one.

  “It’s not that I look good; it’s that I’m trying on great dresses.” Jocelyn looked at me in the mirror. “You, on the other hand, keep trying on retro floral things that don’t even look like prom dresses. I know you’ve got your whole romantic-vibe thing, but try on a damn floor-length gown that is considered a prom dress, for the love of God.”

  “She’s right, Liz.” Helena was eating a corn dog she’d bought in the mall while she sat on a chair and watched us try on dresses. “Just grab a stack and get rolling.”

  “Step outside of your comfort zone,” Jocelyn’s mother said, giving me a maternal smile and a reassuring nod. Then she barked at Joss, “That one is too tight and the cleavage is too much. On to the next.”

  I glanced at the racks and didn’t feel like any more searching. “Ugh.”

  “Here. Wait.” Jocelyn held up a finger. “Go to the dressing room and wait for me. I’m going to bring ten dresses for you to try on. Just trust me.”

  “But you don’t—”

  “Trust me.”

  I sighed and strolled back to the fitting rooms, already so done with the dress shopping. I plopped down on the bench and felt my phone buzz when I sat. I pulled it out and saw a message from Wes.

  Wes: What happened to your car?

  The minute I saw that the text was from Wes, I felt… something. Something good and equally confusing that I chalked up to being related to Michael. He could have been texting about Michael—that had to be the reason for my reaction.

  His question cracked me up, because of course Wes would notice. My dad, the man whose name was on the title, hadn’t noticed the damage I’d done when I’d scraped the car against the side of the drive-thru post the day before, but Wes Bennett had.

  Me: Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.

  Wes: Are you threatening me?

  Me: Only if you broach the topic of my car again.

  Wes: So… um… nice weather out today, eh? Whatcha doin?

  Me: Prom dress shopping. It’s awful.

  Wes: Worse than shopping with me?

  I thought about that for a second. Actually, yes. At least you were in a hurry. These ladies are all about stretching it out, and I kind of want to make a run for it. I think I could belly-crawl out of this dressing room undetected.…

  Wes: Who are you going to prom with? I thought the goal was Michael.

  My brain produced an image of Wes in a tuxedo, and I quickly cleared it. Michael was the goal.

  “Okay.” Jocelyn appeared in the doorway with an armful of dresses. “Promise me you will try on all of these. Even if they don’t look like something you’d normally go for, just humor me and try them on for us. Deal?”

  I set my phone on the bench. “Deal.”

  She furrowed her eyebrows together. “Who were you texting?”

  I furrowed my eyebrows right back at her. “Why?”

  “Seriously?”

  I shrugged and felt like I’d been busted looking at dirty pictures. “Wes, okay? He texted me about the paint on the side of my car.”

  Jocelyn knew about the paint because I’d texted her when I hit the pole, so she wasn’t fazed by that revelation. But her face lit up and she said, “You and Wes text each other now?”

  “Not really.” I cleared my throat and tried to remember what I’d told her before the basketball outing. “It’s just been a couple times and it’s totally casual.”

  “Yeah, right. You aren’t fooling me, by the way.” She hung the dresses on a hook and put her hands on her hips. “Even though you’re acting all cool, you like-like Wes Bennett.”

  “I do not.” I didn’t! My emotional responses to Wes were all about his connection to my mother and the fact that we were partners in crime.

  That was it.

  “Oh, yes, you do. You’ve been daydreaming all day long, every time you’ve tried on a dress.” Her eyes narrowed and she said, “Oh my god—you better not ditch me for Wes.”

  “Shut up.” My stomach got tight when she gave me that little preview of just how unhappy she’d be if Michael asked me to prom. “I’m not ditching you for Wes.”

  But I might do it for Michael. God, I was a garbage friend.

  “Well, you have some boy on the mind, and if it isn’t dear Wesley, then who is it?”

  Part of me wanted to come clean and just tell her. Who cared if she thought my plan was a bad idea? Perhaps it was time.

  But just as that thought was firing up, I heard Helena and Joss’s mother laughing out by the b
ig mirror. They sounded like two moms, happily waiting on their daughters, and that brought all of my screwed-up emotions rushing back.

  Nope. I just couldn’t find the fortitude for a disagreement, not there in the fitting room at Ralph’s Department Store. It wouldn’t be so bad to double down on the Wes thing, would it? I mean, technically he was the one who’d been on my mind all day. It was totally within the realm of believability that I had a tiny crush on Wes that would ultimately not pan out, right?

  I dragged a hand through my hair. “I’m still trying to figure it out, okay? I totally have fun when I’m with Wes, but he’s also not my type and—”

  “What do you mean, not your type? Because he’s not some character who writes poetry and knows what your favorite flower is?”

  I hated when she did that. When she reduced me to a lovesick, airheaded child. I said, “It doesn’t even matter because we’re just talking, okay?”

  “Okay.” She gave me a funny grin, and the emotional roller coaster I’d just enjoyed a three-minute ride on went undetected. “My money’s on Bennett, though. If anyone can slip in and shake up your romantic notions, it’s Wes.”

  I rolled my eyes and remembered what Helena had said earlier. “I think you’re making this way more of a thing than it is.”

  “We’ll see. Now try on the dresses.”

  She slammed the door behind her, and I pushed the lock over. Before I started in on the dresses, I grabbed my phone and replied to the previous text, knowing my response was a lie.

  Me: Jocelyn and I had planned on going together, but I’m sure she’ll understand if I get asked by someone I care about.

  Just putting it into the universe could make it true, right?

  I pulled on the first dress, a long red sparkly thing that could probably be seen from space, and giggled at my reflection. I looked like a pageant contestant who’d lost her makeup bag and hair supplies. From the shoulders down—good. From the shoulders up—not so much.

  My red hair totally clashed with the dress.

  I went out to the three-way mirror anyway and spun for my fans, who agreed.

  “But the style is so much better than the ones you tried earlier.” Helena put her hands together like she was praying. “Praise Jesus, I feel like we’re getting close.”

  When I got back to the fitting room, I glanced at my phone before changing.

  Wes: Why don’t you like dress shopping? That seems like your jam.

  I unzipped the dress and shimmied out of it while texting.

  Me: My preferences don’t exactly match up with prom trends, and the people I’m with don’t care.

  Wes: Ah. You want flowers, pockets, and old lady ruffles, and they want you to wear something hot.

  Why did his take on most things—even when he was mocking me—make me laugh? I smiled and reached for the black gown. It was short in the front and long in the back, with a top that tied behind the neck. I was about to step into it when my phone buzzed.

  Wes: Don’t forget that white is your color, gurl.

  Okay—that made me laugh out loud. I glanced at the dresses, and there was a white one in there. I dropped the black one and reached for it. And wow.

  It was actually… wonderful.

  It was strapless, with a simple silk bodice that tapered into a white beaded belt and a long, full floor-length skirt. It was stunning in that 75 percent of the dress was simple and understated, and then along the bottom there was a burst of colorful wildflowers.

  I pulled it on, sucking everything in as I slid the side zipper into place. And when I looked at my reflection—

  I grabbed my phone. You might be right, Bennett. The only dress I’ve liked so far is white. WTF is with you nailing my fashion?

  I lifted my hair and turned sideways to see the back. It was really a glorious dress. And when I ran my hands down the sides, I found pockets.

  Wes: Why do you ever doubt me?

  Me: Good judgment. Experience.

  Wes: Pic, please.

  “What?” I said it to myself, and a nervous snort came out of me even as I thought about the best angle. God, why was I thinking that when it was Wes asking? I muttered a stream of obscenities—shit, shit, shit—under my breath before finally responding with Um, that’s a big no.

  Wes: Okay, then send me a pic of something else just so I feel included.

  I looked around the fitting room for something funny to send him, and then I thought—what the hell? I took a picture of the gown in the mirror and texted it to him.

  Had I really just done that? Had I really just sent Wes Bennett a motherloving prom dress selfie? Holy shiiii—

  “Liz! Do you have a dress on?” Jocelyn was yelling from her spot in the gallery. “You need to let us see, because even though they’re not your style, one of those will work, dang it.”

  I dropped my phone and went out to the big mirror. Like it was Say Yes to the Dress or something, Jocelyn and Helena both gasped and covered their mouths with their hands when I stepped in front of them. Jocelyn’s mom just smiled.

  “That dress was made for you.” Jocelyn crossed her arms. “Please don’t tell me that you hate it. You can’t.”

  “You look incredible.” Helena was on her feet, smiling like she was about to get teary-eyed. “Do you like it?”

  I shrugged. “It has pockets. And flowers. I pretty much have to get it, right?”

  I looked at my reflection in the mirror and knew—I just knew—that my mother would’ve loved that dress. She would’ve picked out that dress for me. Heck, she would’ve worn that dress herself if she’d had reason to go formal. Maybe she couldn’t be there, shopping with me, but finding that dress was something, right?

  “Oh, Libby, I can’t wait for your dad to see you in this.” Helena’s head was tilted to the side and she was smiling, but her words were like a bucket of cold water, jolting me back to the momless present. Because what Helena had just said was exactly what my mother would’ve said if she’d been there. In fact, I could perfectly hear her lilting voice saying those words.

  But Helena wasn’t my mom, even if she was suddenly calling me Libby like she was.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and needed to be out of that dress STAT. “I’m going to go change.”

  “Aren’t you excited?” She gave me a smart-ass excited look and a fake fist pump that probably would’ve cracked me up an hour ago. “You found your dress.”

  “Sure.” I watched her smile falter, but I couldn’t stop myself. Some part of me believed that if I didn’t push back, she was going to erase the fact that my mother had ever existed. I thought about the whole day Helena had planned. I just wanted to be alone. “I’m not hungry, by the way, so can we just go home after this?”

  Helena glanced at Jocelyn and her mom, who were thankfully talking to each other and not paying attention to us, before she said, “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

  After I changed, instead of joining the others by the big mirror, I took the dress to the counter and paid before Helena had the chance. When I joined the group with my dress already bagged up and hanging over my arm, they all looked confused.

  “You already bought it?” Jocelyn’s eyes were big as she put the strap of her cross-body bag over her shoulder and muttered sarcastically, “Yeah, that’s not a weird thing to do at all.”

  I held up the dress and pretended everything was fine. I even smiled. “Since we have to go back to the last store and get yours, I thought I’d speed things up.”

  She gave me a look that told me she knew what I was up to. “Good thinking, Liz.”

  An awkward vibe hung over the four of us as we fake-happy conversed and walked toward the exit. Jocelyn and her mother knew what was up, Helena knew what was up and also knew that the others knew what was up, so we all just did our best to pretend I hadn’t screwed up the entire day.

  After buckling into the car, I put in my earbuds and quickly queued up a song before Helena could bring up what’d happened.
/>   Then I noticed the message on my phone.

  Wes: Buy that dress. I’m begging you.

  My stomach flipped. I could hear those words being spoken in his deep voice. Still, it was Wes. Surely he didn’t mean it the way it seemed.

  I faltered over my response, staring down at the phone in my hand as visions of Wes Bennett danced in my head. I started writing more than one “cool” response, but then I just gave in to my pathetic needs.

  Me: You like it?

  The bubbles appeared like he was typing, but after a few minutes they disappeared. I waited, and they finally appeared again.

  Wes: Michael will love it. Trust me.

  I started to respond, like, five different times over the course of the day, but in the end, I said nothing. Because what was there to say? I’d been getting a little sucked into Wes’s performance, stumbling over his charm, but his response had reminded me of my endgame.

  Me. Michael.

  Prom.

  Boom.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”

  —10 Things I Hate About You

  Wes: Movie at Michael’s tomorrow. Are you still in?

  I looked up from my phone to make sure the teacher was still lecturing and not looking at me as I broke the rules. My foot accidentally kicked Joss’s chair in front of me as I held my phone down by my lap and texted: Definitely.

  Wes: I’ll pick you up at 6 so we can grab food on the way.

  I glanced up for a second. I’d been going over my recent interactions with Wes in my head, and I needed to shore up our boundaries. All of our nice moments as of late were muddying the waters, and I needed to keep it together and focus on my goal.

  The last thing I wanted was to mess everything up by having a silly flirtation misconstrued. It’s not a date, right?

  Wes: Ewww, Liz.

  Me: Just checking. Can’t have you getting attached.

  Wes: As hard as this might be to believe, I’m having no trouble fighting the feels, you nice little weirdo.