“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” Ruby answers, though I’m not sure if she means the amount of time they haven’t seen each other is a shame, or the fact that they have seen each other again is a shame. From the snarky expression on Ruby’s face, I’d say the latter.
“Shopping for your ball gown?” Mona asks.
“Something like that,” I say.
“Awesome! My mom and I thought we should hit the stores up early, just in case we need to order one online or have it cut down or something. Or we might just have one custom made!”
“Yeah, of course. You want it to be perfect,” I say. Behind her, Mona’s mother is floating around the white dresses, pulling them out, fiddling with the beads, putting them back. She’s doing so with such care and affection that it’s hard to find it too irritating.
“Do you know what kind of jewelry you’re going to wear?” Mona asks, looking over her shoulder at her mom.
“Not a clue. I hadn’t really thought about it,” I answer.
“My mom wants me to wear these pearls she has—they were her mother’s. But seriously, Shelby, they make me look like an old woman. I want to wear something cute!”
“I’m sure they look fine,” I say a little tersely. “Good luck finding a dress. Let me know what you chose?”
“Sure thing,” Mona says, and bounds off after her mother.
“Do you suppose they make a medication for whatever it is she’s got?” Jonas asks.
“If so, I’d like it in tranquilizer-dart form,” I answer as I make my way toward the dressing rooms. This store has only two dressing rooms in the formal-wear department, each with ridiculous circular platforms in the center. Lucky for me, they back up to each other and thus the doors are on opposite sides; if Mona’s mother saw the dresses Kaycee was bringing in for me, she’d have a conniption.
“I can’t believe she’s taking a virgin vow seriously,” Ruby comments as we reach the dressing room. “She always struck me as the naughty-little-church-girl type, sans the plaid skirt.” Ruby and Jonas sink down in chairs just outside the door, Ruby kicking her legs up and over the side. A store clerk gives her a dirty look, which Ruby ignores.
“She’s not taking it seriously,” I say quietly. “In fact, I’d say I’m the only one who is.”
“You’re only taking it seriously because of the Promises,” Jonas says.
“Yeah, but at least I’m taking it seriously,” I mutter.
I duck into the dressing room. My gown options are hanging on all the walls. It looks like a chiffon factory threw up in here. I wonder what dresses Mom would have picked out for me. Tasteful, white, classy, I suppose. We’d be here making fun of her own dress’s puffy sleeves, or laughing about the Star Wars cake story I’d have told her as soon as Dad and I got home. Of course, if she were alive, there’d be no Promises, and I wouldn’t care about some vows at a stupid dance. I’d pick out a dress and go through the motions and be perfectly happy about it.
It’d be so much easier.
I slide my sundress off and pull the nearest dress off the rack—a cyan-colored number that fluffs out so far from my body that I could probably smuggle Ruby and Jonas into the ball underneath it. I step out; Ruby’s and Jonas’s expressions say it all. I go back into the dressing room and give another dress a shot, this one a sort of lavender.
“I look like a cupcake,” I mutter as I step outside.
Jonas snorts. I return to the room.
Seventeen dresses later, I’m down to the orange gowns, which I’m pretty sure flatter any ethnicity other than alabaster white. Kaycee offers assistance on a few, but considering her advice that “magenta is the color for the Crewe family,” I’m pretty sure I can’t trust a thing she says. The last dress is a bright orange shade that one usually only sees on traffic cones.
Ruby cringes when I step outside. “Holy neons, Batman. Shelby, if you wear that, I will never speak to you again. In fact, I’ll light you and the dress on fire, then leave and never speak to you again.”
“This sucks,” I answer, slipping back into the dressing room and slamming the door.
“Don’t go away mad. Just go away and change,” Jonas says, laughing.
I tear the tangerine gown off my body like it’s attacking me and kick it to the side. I can hear Mona giggling through the changing-room wall, then her mother’s voice, just like Mona’s, only without the bubblicious sound.
Fun, sugary Mona, dress shopping with her mom. It must be nice, having a mom to go dress shopping with. Instead I’ve got an aunt who wants to dress me like a mojito. What is she going to do if I ever get married? Am I doomed to wear a pineapple on my head, surrounded by fuchsia-clad bridesmaids? I would do that to make Mom happy, but my willingness doesn’t extend to Kaycee.
For a moment, a horrible moment, I’m angry at Mom. I’ve been angry with her before, of course—for dying, but I’ve never been angry with her for the Promises. The Promises have always guided me, helped me, but now they’re hurting me. They’re making me stand in this dressing room, making me vow to Dad, making me participate in this stupid ball, and they’re all her fault. She made me promise—she made me promise when she knew I couldn’t say no.
I flash back to her in the hospital bed, the papery feeling of her fingers, the desperation in her eyes. She knew she was going to die, I know that now. She knew the end was near, and she didn’t tell me. She just made me promise. The Promises were more important than telling me she was dying; the Promises were her good-bye.
I have to keep them. I hate that I have to keep them. I inhale, swallowing the feeling of dough rising in my throat. I have to keep them.
“Shelby?” Kaycee calls just as I emerge from the dressing room. “Which one did you like?”
“Whatever,” I say, walking toward the cash registers. “I’ll get whatever one was your favorite.”
“Personally,” Kaycee says, pausing like a game-show host about to reveal fabulous prizes, “I just adore the pale bluey-green one. What’s the color called? Ocean fiesta?”
I don’t answer. Kaycee shrugs and throws the dress on the counter, loudly proclaiming that she’s a longtime customer and has a frequent-shopper card.
“So, Shelby, I was thinking we could go to a few more stores—I’ve got a little shopping of my own to do….”
“I have a headache. Can we go home?” I ask bluntly.
“Oh, but Macy’s is having a shoe blowout! Just a little longer? Do you want to go wait in the car?” Kaycee asks, eyes widening like I’ve just kicked her favorite puppy.
“Sure,” I mutter. Kaycee makes a squee noise that actually does give me a small headache and begins talking about stilettos versus wedges with the woman behind the counter. I turn sharply and walk away. Ruby and Jonas are fast on my heels.
“We should scratch ‘Ocean fiesta is the shade of whores’ in the side of her car,” Ruby suggests.
“Sounds good,” I mumble over my shoulder, deftly avoiding a pack of women with strollers by slipping through the purse section.
Ruby falls silent; Jonas’s turn. In true Jonas fashion, he doesn’t speak. Instead, as I weave through the ladies’ gloves section, he reaches forward and hooks his arm through mine.
We reach Kaycee’s car in silence. I climb into the driver’s seat and crank the AC up, waiting anxiously for the warm air in the vents to become icy cool, while Ruby and Jonas sprawl out in the back, doors open so the heat inside the car can escape.
“You know,” Jonas finally says, his voice edged with relief as the cold air begins to flow toward the back of the car, “I’m beginning to think your dad is adopted. No way he’s related to Kaycee.”
“Well,” I say, “there’s always the possibility that Kaycee was kidnapped and raised by drag queens or exotic dancers.”
“No one should love sequins that much.” Ruby nods sagely. She scans the parking lot and her face lights up. “Ooh, Shelby, there’s a 7-Eleven over there, past that exit ramp! We should go get Slurpees.”
&nb
sp; “You’re suggesting we walk across a five-lane highway for colored corn syrup and ice?” Jonas asks.
“No,” Ruby says, “I’m suggesting we drive.”
I adjust the rearview mirror so I can give Ruby a surprised look.
“Come on, we don’t even have to tell Stripperella,” Ruby continues. “We’ll just go over there real fast and be back before she’s out of her shoe coma. It’ll take, like, five minutes, tops.”
“She’ll freak if I drive her car,” I say, leaning my seat back.
It’s silent for a minute until I hear Jonas squirming. I look back to see him removing his wallet. He pulls the Life List out of the billfold.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
“Check out number one hundred thirty-four.”
My eyes run down the list. Number one-thirty-four is written in the margins in old pencil, but I still know what it is.
“Steal a car?” I read it aloud.
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted it on the list,” Jonas says. “But you could knock that one out this afternoon. I mean, we have a car, we have the keys, and we have a victim who is unlikely to press charges unless we crash into her favorite glitter factory and halt production.”
“Plus, she’ll be in the mall for ages. I bet we have it back before she ever notices you stole it,” Ruby adds.
“Does this even really count as stealing?” I wonder as I run my hands across the car’s steering wheel. Everything in it is shiny, like she just got it from the dealership. If I was going to steal a car, this is really the one to take.
“I think so. Come on,” Jonas says in an unusually mischievous voice. “Just run up to 7-Eleven and back.”
He waggles the Life List in front of me. Promise Three, a life without restraint. If I can have sex to keep the Promises, surely I can take Kaycee’s car for a spin.
I bite my lip and shut the driver’s side door. Ruby squeals in delight while Jonas clambers over the center console and into the passenger seat. I slide the car into drive and ease forward through an empty parking lot. The next thing I know, I’m on the road that circles the mall, easing along so slowly that cars gun around me every few moments.
“You know, Shelby, you can go a little faster,” Jonas suggests.
“Shut up. I’m focusing,” I respond, unable to stop the grin that’s slowly spreading over my face. 7-Eleven grows closer. Each inch between Kaycee and me makes me feel more at ease.
“Right there,” Ruby says, throwing herself across the backseat to point. “Shelby? Right there. The turn is… um… you missed it.” She looks longingly at the 7-Eleven as we cruise by.
“I know,” I answer. “We’re going to the other 7-Eleven.”
“What other one? The one by the movie theater?” Jonas asks. I nod, never taking my eyes off the road.
“Um… you realize it’ll take, like, an hour to get there and back with traffic,” he says.
“Not just traffic,” I say. “We’ve got to stop by the lake, too.”
“Oh, man,” Jonas groans. “Look, Shelby, I was only encouraging this because I thought you were just zipping up the street. You realize your aunt is going to notice her car is gone if we’re gone for hours? Have you seen what happens to car thieves? I’ve played Grand Theft Auto, Shel, and the thief always ends up being shot by a cop.”
“But they also get to hang out with all those hookers!” Ruby reminds him. Jonas rolls his eyes.
“I promise I’ll fight off both the cops and the hookers for you, Jonas,” I tell him. Jonas shakes his head and releases a small, nervous laugh.
“Fine. But you also have to buy the Slurpees.”
“Ooh, good call, Jonas,” Ruby says from the backseat. She’s considerably more relaxed than Jonas, lying down across the three seats and chewing on her hair.
We cross through the mall area, finally leaving the array of shops and giant inflatable SALE! balloons behind us. The main road to the other 7-Eleven is flanked by trees and apartment complexes, with tiny gas stations peppered here and there. We roll down our windows so that the summer breeze mixes with the icy air-conditioning; the blend of the two temperatures makes me ever aware of where we are, what we’re doing.
We stop at an intersection and for a moment I don’t recognize it—I usually come to it from another direction, so the Citgo and Subway don’t appear in their normal spots. If I were to take a left, though, we’d be on the same road that the hearse traveled to my mom’s grave. I flash back. White coffin, pink flowers, black dresses, Life List, slide-show music, Dad’s tears, and the sudden, awful fear when we walked away from the grave site hours later: We were leaving her there. We were leaving her there, all by herself, under the ground.
She knew she was dying, and she didn’t tell me.
“Shelby?” Jonas says. “The light is green.”
“Oh,” I say. I don’t accelerate. Jonas follows my line of sight down the road and seems to get the idea.
“Want me to drive?”
“No.” I shake my head. She knew she was dying, and she gave me the Promises. She gave me something to hold on to. I urge the car forward. “No, I’m okay. Sorry.”
The stabbing feeling in my heart slowly fades as we continue down the road. The other 7-Eleven is “the crappy one.” It’s the sort of place where you stop for gas if you absolutely have to but never, under any circumstances, stop to use the bathroom. I park the car far away from the rusty vehicles that occupy most of the lot, and we wade through the heat to get inside.
“Man, this one doesn’t have cherry,” Ruby gripes, settling for grape.
“But the other one doesn’t have blue raspberry,” I point out as I slide a giant cup underneath the blue raspberry spout.
“That’s not even a real flavor. Have you ever actually seen a blue raspberry? It’s just the Slurpee makers’ excuse for not being able to come up with a real raspberry flavor.”
“You put a lot of thought into this, Ruby,” Jonas says as he chooses blue raspberry as well.
“There’s not a lot to do on slow days at Flying Biscuit,” Ruby says.
I pay for all three Slurpees, and we climb back into Kaycee’s car. I drive faster now, more confident with the car’s power, and within a few moments we’re rumbling down a broken-pavement road toward Lake Jocassee.
This is the side of the lake I prefer; the other half is covered with water parks and rich people’s vacation homes, but this side is more subdued. A playground that’s faded from sunlight sits near the edge of the water, and in the distance speedboats race by. There’s a couple with a little girl having lunch at the picnic table, but other than that, the area is empty. I park the car in a gravel lot, and we get out, Slurpees in tow. The old trestle is visible in the distance—I think I can make out people on its edge.
Ruby and I immediately head for the swings; Jonas sits on the side of a plastic camel on a metal spring. We all rock back and forth gently as the wind stirs the oak trees above. The little girl runs toward us, kicking up wood chips with her pink tennis shoes.
“You look like my pony!” the little girl declares, pointing at Ruby.
The girl’s mom is quick to start over, cheeks red-hot.
“What does your pony look like?” Ruby asks.
“His name is Patches!”
“Ah, of course. Pinto,” Ruby says with a nod, looking down at her multitone skin. “I guess that’s better than a Clydesdale.”
The girl’s mom reaches the swings. “I’m so sorry, sorry. Come on, Maddie, let’s go feed the ducks.”
“No, it’s okay,” Ruby says, holding up her hand. She rises from the swings. “Can I explain it to her?”
The mom doesn’t answer for a moment but then shrugs.
“So,” Ruby begins as all three start toward the water’s edge, “it’s this thing called vitiligo that makes me look like Patches, and it doesn’t suck as bad as you might think….” she begins. Ruby talks to kids like they’re adults; she thinks it makes her bad with anyone under t
he age of twelve, but I think they appreciate it.
Ruby, Maddie, and Maddie’s mom open a bag and start throwing bread to an ever-increasing crowd of ducks, whose flapping wings and quacks eventually drown out Ruby’s voice.
I twist the swing in circles, tangling the chain above me. Jonas walks over and takes the swing Ruby was sitting in. He removes his wallet, thumbs through the billfold, and emerges with my Life List. Jonas holds it out for me. I pluck it from his hands, cradling the soft paper in my palm.
I look at item one-thirty-four, then lean down toward Ruby’s purse and rummage around for a pen. I hand it to Jonas, who carefully crosses off Steal a car.
“One down,” he says. “And… four hundred thirty-two to go.”
“Four-thirty-two?” I ask, surprised.
“I counted after the trestle jump.”
“We should stop adding things,” I say, but I know that’s not going to happen. Jonas and I have already discussed it before: A life without restraint means an entire life. From the time I made the Promise till my last breath.
“Maybe we should stop listening to Ruby’s additions, though. I noticed all of hers cost upward of five thousand dollars. That weightless thing she was talking about? Six figures.”
“Ugh. Add ‘get rich’ to the list, then,” I joke as I twist myself in circles till the swing chain is tight over my head. “So with that, it’s four hundred thirty-three.”
“We’ll get there,” Jonas says. “Eventually. I’ll be ninety-seven years old holding onto this list.”
“Still going to be the keeper of the list at ninety-seven?” I ask, peering through my hair at him. I pull my feet off the ground and the swing begins to unwind rapidly, spinning me around.
“Of course,” Jonas says, and sounds offended that I’d suggest otherwise. I try to look at him, but I’m spinning so quick that he’s just a blur. “If you’ll still be following it,” he adds.
“I’ll still be following it,” I say as the swing comes to a stop. The world still shakes a little; I close my eyes to cure the dizziness. When I open them, I’m looking at Jonas, though he’s all blurry. “You’re stuck with me, then. Till we’re old and Kaycee’s giving me Botox gift certificates.”
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