Authors: Jenny Han
“That looks cheap. It’s too plain.”
“I like it.”
She ignores me and continues wandering around the store. I go to the dressing rooms, sit down cross-legged on the floor, and open up my bruised copy of
Tuck Everlasting
. I’m on the third chapter when Mama reappears with an armload of dresses. On top is a pale pink dress with spaghetti straps and bows. It looks like a frilly cupcake. It’s the kind of dress Celia would have worn to her seventh-grade dance.
“Go try these on.” She thrusts the pile of dresses at me,
and I can already feel my skin getting itchy.
“Those don’t look right.”
Mama exhales loudly. “If you don’t like what I picked out, why aren’t you helping me?”
“I already told you I don’t want to go.”
“Do you know how much I would’ve loved it if my mama took me shopping for a new dress? Do you?”
“That’s you,” I say. I’m gripping my book so hard my hand is sweating.
She clenches her teeth. “There’s just no pleasing you these days. You never used to give me any trouble. You left that to your sister.
Now
look at you, Miss Mary Mary Quite Contrary.”
“I’m not being contrary! I told you I didn’t want to go! You’re the one who won’t listen! You never listen!” This comes out louder than I intended.
Mama stares at me like she’s never seen me before. “Fine,” she says tightly. “We’re going home.”
I sigh. “Just forget it. I’ll try them on.”
“No, give them to me.” She takes the dresses and throws them on top of the clothing rack in a big heap. “We’re leaving.”
She doesn’t say a word to me the whole way home. After dinner that night, Mama calls Mrs. Findley and tells her
something’s come up at work, that she won’t be able to chaperone the dance. I feel guilty, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved, too.
Mama doesn’t speak to me all weekend. Oh, she speaks to me, but not really. She says turn the TV down and have you done your homework yet and pass the pepper. But that’s it. She doesn’t bring up the dance once. I know she’s waiting for me to apologize, to tell her I want her to buy me a dress and that I really do want to go to the dance.
The worst part is, I do sort of want to go to the dance. A little. The more people talk about it, the more I want to go. I don’t want to be left out. I don’t want to be the only seventh-grade girl who doesn’t go to the dance, well, the only one other than Carol Motts, whose parents are superstrict and won’t let her go to any kind of dance. I want to wear a pretty dress and I don’t want to be “just Annemarie.”
I want to be special.
But now it’s too late. Some mean, sharp little part of me can’t let Mama have this. It means too much to her, and I don’t want her to take any bit of pleasure in it. I want this to be all mine, and if it can’t be, well, then I guess I won’t be going. Not that anyone would care. Elaine’s going with Hugh; Mark’s going with Hadley. Who will notice if I’m not there?
On Sunday night, the three of us—Celia, Mama, and me—are sitting in the living room. This is a miracle in and of itself, because Celia’s nights are reserved for Park. But tonight she is home, painting her nails candy apple red and watching TV. Mama’s sitting in an armchair reading the newspaper, and I’m sprawled out on the couch feeling as low as I’ve ever felt.
At the commercial break, Celia says, “Sit up, Annemarie, and I’ll do your nails for the dance tomorrow night.”
Hope surges through me. Right now, if Mama were to say, “Oh, Annemarie, just do us all a favor and go,” I could sigh and say, “Fine, I’ll go already.” I peek at Mama, who doesn’t look up from her paper. She turns the page, and it feels like an eternity before she speaks. “Annemarie’s not going to the dance,” Mama says. “She thinks dances are stupid.”
“Oh, of course you’re going, Shug. Don’t be such a baby.” Celia grabs my left hand and I snatch it away.
“I’m not going,” I mumble. Just this once, can’t Mama be the grown-up? Can’t she be the one to give in?
“See?” Mama says. “She’s not going.”
I should’ve known. I’ve never been able to beat my mama at anything. She always wins. If I go to the dance, she wins, and if I don’t, she wins.
The dance is tonight. Kids at school were yakking it up about the dance all day. I couldn’t wait to get home. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of crawling under my covers with some hot chocolate and a good book.
Elaine kept saying that I should just come alone, that tons of girls were going stag, that it wasn’t a big deal. Not a big deal—ha! Last I heard, even Sherilyn had a date. Martin Lum asked her. Martin with his thick glasses and his greasy nose. Heck, I’d have gone with Martin Lum if he’d asked me.
I’m lying in bed reading when Celia struts in. I snarl, “Ever heard of knocking?” but I stop short when I see what’s in her arms.
It’s a dress. It’s black with tiny ribbons for straps, and a full skirt with crinoline underneath. You couldn’t buy this kind of dress at the mall. It’s old, and it’s sassy and it’s sophisticated. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen, not up close, anyway.
“Where’d you get it from?” I breathe.
“It was Mama’s,” Celia says. “I found it in one of her old trunks.”
“Where are you gonna wear it?”
“I’m not wearing it, dummy. You are.” She holds the dress out to me. “You’re going to that dance, Shug.”
I can’t stop staring at the dress. It is perfect, just right. “I told you I wasn’t going.”
“Shut up and try it on.”
“It’ll never fit me.” I reach out to touch it, and I listen to the way the fabric whispers.
Celia says, “We’ll make it fit.”
“Does Mama know you have it?”
“No. Who cares? She’s not gonna need it tonight. What, does she need a party dress to drink? I don’t think so.” We giggle, and she hands me the dress. “Try it on, Shug.”
“But I don’t have a date.”
“So?”
“So I’m not like you.” I stare at the carpet, then look up
at her. “Celie, nobody asked me.”
She shrugs. “So what? You should be grateful you don’t have a date. This way, you can work the whole room and you won’t have some little dweeb hanging on to you. Now try it on, for God’s sake.”
I try it on. It hits just below the knee. It fits.
Celia decides that my hair should be down. She curls it and brushes it till it shines. She puts mascara on my lashes and peachy pink blush on my cheeks. She dabs lip gloss on my lips and shimmery powder all over my face and collarbone. Last of all, she sprays me with her perfume. She never lets me use her perfume. It smells like ripe pears and vanilla.
Celia’s all smiles, and she keeps saying see? See? I do see. Celia can make anything come true. When I see myself in the mirror, I can’t believe it. I don’t look like me at all. I look pretty. I look like the kind of girl who deserves to go to a dance. Celia’s lent me her red wool dress coat with the Peter Pan collar, and I’m even wearing heels! Celia borrowed a pair from Margaret for me—they are black with high, high heels and a dainty toe. She tells me to be careful with them, because they are Margaret’s lucky shoes. They’ll bring me luck too, she says.
When I am finally ready, Celia calls Park to come pick
us up. We wait for him in the kitchen. Then Mama walks in, and Celia and I both stiffen. I feel like I’ve been caught going through her purse.
She stares at me. At the dress, and then back at me. “Nice dress,” she says.
“Thanks. It’s yours.”
“I know.” We look at each other some more. Then Park’s car honks, and Celia says it’s time to go.
Mama hesitates, and then she says, “Shug.”
“Yeah, Mama?” I hold my breath.
Please don’t let her try and come too. Please don’t let her ruin this for me.
“I’ll pick you up after the dance.”
“Okay,” I say.
I hope that she can see the thankfulness I feel in the way I smile at her, but I don’t know.
Celia and I run out the front door, and as I’m climbing into the backseat of Park’s car, I look back. Mama is standing on the front porch watching us. Beautiful, she mouths. I feel like I could cry. For the first time ever, I feel it. Beautiful, I mean.
The gym looks like a Christmas tree. Elaine’s done a really good job. Twinkle lights are strung all around the room, and sparkly streamers and glittery confetti too. There’s a shimmer in the air, and I know that this is my night.
Elaine rushes over to me as soon as she sees me come in. “Annemarie! You’re here! I love your dress!” she shrieks. She is wearing a strapless yellow dress and a flower in her hair. It is a white calla lily.
We hug. “I’m so glad you came,” she whispers.
“Me too,” I say. She takes me by the hand, and we walk over to Mairi and Hadley. They are standing by the punch bowl. Mairi is wearing that black and red polka dot dress Mama wanted me to wear, and Hadley is in a hot pink halter
dress. It’s tight, and it shows off every curve she’s got. They both look suspiciously tan.
Mairi looks me over and says, “I like your dress. Where’d you get it?”
Hadley says nothing, just watches me with narrowed eyes. Her silence is proof positive that Celia did somethin’ right.
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s vintage.” I don’t know if it’s vintage or not, but it sounds good and Mairi looks impressed.
“So where are the guys?” I ask, supercasually.
Mairi rolls her eyes and flicks her hair in the direction of the basketball court. I look over. Mark, Jack, Hugh, and Kyle are trying to slam-dunk balloons into the hoop. I laugh, and Mairi frowns.
“I want to dance,” Mairi says, her lower lip sticking out. “Come on, girls. Let’s go make them dance with us.”
She marches over to the boys, and Hadley and Elaine follow her. Elaine gestures for me to come too, but I shake my head no. They pull their dates by the arm and onto the dance floor, and soon they’re all dancing in a circle.
Pouring some punch into a paper cup, I remind myself that I wanted to come, that being alone isn’t really that bad.
Then Jack walks over to the punch bowl. “Hey,” he says.
He is wearing a white button-down shirt, black pants, and sneakers. And a tie that says, “Eat my shorts.”
“Hey,” I say.
“I thought you said you weren’t coming.”
“I thought you said
you
weren’t coming.”
He shrugs and tosses a cookie into his mouth. “My mom made me,” he mumbles, his mouth full.
“You’re gross,” I say, curling my lip at him. “Learn some manners.”
“You’re gross,” he mimics.
And then we stand there and eat cookies. Occasionally we laugh at people dancing, and Jack imitates their moves with a deadly serious expression on his face. He moves back and forth, shuffling his feet and waving one arm in the air. “I’m Kyle, and I’m cool,” he says. I can’t stop laughing.
I also can’t stop watching Mark. He and Hadley seem so comfortable with each other. She keeps giggling and messing with his hair, and he lets her. He actually lets her. I know for a fact that he doesn’t like anyone touching his hair.
Every so often Elaine raises her eyebrows at me, and motions that I come over and dance too, but I shake my head. I’m fine where I am.
Then Ms. Bickey gets on the microphone and
announces that it’s the last dance. I haven’t danced with Mark once, or anybody for that matter. This is my last chance. He’s standing across the room with Kyle and Hugh. I think all the girls made a group trip to the bathroom, and I figure I have a few minutes at least.
To Jack I say, “I’ll be right back.”
He just shrugs, and I make my way over to the boys. Kyle looks at me with wide eyes. His eyes flick up and down like he doesn’t recognize me. I almost say it’s me, Annemarie, you big dummy. But the fact that he notices, that feels really good.
Kyle clears his throat. “Wow, you look nice,” he finally says. He is wearing a pink tie with light blue stripes. Only Kyle Montgomery could wear a pink tie.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
I look only at Mark when I say, “You wanna dance?”
Mark looks surprised, but he nods. I take his hand, and we walk out to the dance floor, and it’s just like I imagined. I’m careful not to look in Jack’s direction; I don’t want to see him making fun of any of
my
moves. My arms are around Mark’s neck, and I’m careful not to let any part of me get too close to any part of him, but it’s nice. He’s wearing his father’s cologne, and his shirt feels crisp against my fingers. We’re swaying more than we are dancing, but it’s
still nice. I’m also taller than Mark, taller than I’d realized. But like I said, it’s still nice.
It’s nice until I feel the tap on my shoulder. It’s Hadley. “Excuse me, but I’m going to have to cut in, seeing as how Mark’s my date and all,” she says. She smiles without opening her lips.
Mark doesn’t say anything; he just shrugs. I don’t know what to do, so I back away.
As I lean against the bleachers, I watch them dance. Hadley’s a good head shorter than Mark. Her arms are wrapped around his neck, like she’s hanging on for dear life. She looks up at him, and then he kisses her. Just like that, they’re kissing.
I feel dizzy and sick to my stomach. We were supposed to be each other’s first kiss, and now everything’s ruined. And the way they’re kissing, it doesn’t look like it’s the first time. Ms. Bickey goes over and says something to them, and they stop. For the second time that night, I feel like I might cry. When did Mark stop being mine?
I just want to go home. My feet hurt. So much for Margaret’s lucky shoes.
After the last dance everyone’s scrambling to get their coats from the bleachers. I’m in the very back, sorting through a pile of coats when I hear his voice, the voice I’d know anywhere.
“Annemarie? Come on, she’s barely even a girl.”
“She looked like a girl when you were dancing with her a minute ago.” It’s Hugh. He’s making kissing noises. “Oh, Annemarie, I love you, baby.”
“Shut up. I only danced with her because I felt sorry for her. She doesn’t even know how to
dance
like a girl.”
Laughter.
It’s Mark, my Mark. He’s standing with Kyle, Hugh, and Jack.