The Possibilities of Sainthood (22 page)

“But he didn't,” I said, sighing. “Which is why I'm washing away all thoughts of boys and kissing from my mind. It gets too complicated.”

“You can't go around proposing that kind of a saint and then be
anti
kissing! It just doesn't add up,” Maria said, her voice reproachful. She put down the mascara to give me her full attention. “And second . . . you're ridding yourself of
all
thoughts of boys?” Maria was skeptical.

“Every last one.”

“Even thoughts about Michael?” Maria let his name hang in the air. I looked in the mirror. Maria was right. This lipstick was the perfect color.

“Yes, even thoughts of Michael,” I said, heading into Maria's bedroom, where dresses, stockings, and other related formal wear were strewn everywhere. She followed me and sat down on the bed. “Especially after overhearing that conversation between Michael and Veronica.”

“So you
do
care,” Maria said, nodding her head like she'd known all along. “Antonia, did it occur to you that he just said those things to get Veronica off his back? Or even as a favor to
you
? After all, he knows that she treats you like dirt.”

“I heard what he said, Maria, and it was not favorable and I am just going to forget about it.” Talk of Michael was making my stomach churn. “I don't want any more run-ins with Veronica. And anyway, they were all over each other at the St. Lucia party. You saw, too.”

“Yeah. She was all over
him
and not vice versa. I noticed
that
part.”

“Same difference.”

“Regardless of what you think,
I
am confident that his eyes are only for you. Are you blind or what?”

“He has eyes for everybody.”

“Well, whatever. He has special eyes for you, then. And you have to admit, they are
very
nice eyes. Not as nice as John's, but still.”

At the mention of John, I leaped at the opportunity to change the subject.

“Speaking of John—”

“Nope. Last time I checked, we were talking about Michael. Don't even try to get out of this conversation. Come on. Let's be honest. I'm your best friend. And you like him, right?” She pulled me up off the bed so we were face-to-face. “I know you, Antonia. I've known you for ten whole years and there is something between you guys that I haven't seen between you and anybody else. Isn't that enough?”

Instead of answering, I walked over to the closet where my dress was hanging, the dress that I was going to wear to my first formal dance. It was beautiful, I thought, running my hand across the crimson taffeta—beautiful and
old-fashioned. Strapless. Practically an antique and more of a ball gown than a semiformal, but I didn't care. Maria had pulled it from storage in their attic. Her grandmother had worn it years ago.

“It's perfect for you, isn't it,” Maria said, stopping to admire the dress with me. “The way the skirt gathers in those little tufts, and the row of buttons in the back. And the color. I knew you'd love it.”

“I do,” I said, putting my arm around her. “Thank you for finding it.”

“Just part of the best-friend job duties,” she said.

“To be totally honest, Maria, there may be some kind of interesting vibe going on between Michael and me,” I rambled before I lost the courage. “I might like him a teeny bit. But it's so weird, the whole Veronica-Michael thing, and I've spent two years convincing myself that I was in love with Andy Rotellini.”

Maria had a satisfied smirk on her face. We continued to stare at each other in the mirror. “I
knew
you had a thing for him. Maybe you really were supposed to end up with Michael two summers ago and Andy was, I don't know, this unfortunate detour or distraction. And all this time you've been petitioning the saints for help with Andy when really
they
knew what was best for you, but you were so persistent about him that they finally realized you needed a major wake-up call—shock to the system or something. And now that this has all been made clear, you can finally end up with the guy who really knows you and respects you. And maybe even
is in love with you
: Michael.”

“Maria,” I said, getting goose bumps, “I think you might be going a bit overboard . . .”

“Antonia,” she said, still serious, “you know how there are these guys who can't settle on one girl. But it's not so much that they want to be with a bunch of different girls and more that they can't find the
right
girl. And once they do find the right one they're done with all other members of the female species.” She turned to look me in the eye. “
You
are
that
girl for Michael. You are the girl who converts his wild ways. All other girls pale in comparison to you. And I think it's romantic,” she added, sighing. “You should start praying to one of those saints you love so much for, I don't know, some grace for the evening ahead of us. Isn't Teresa the Patron Saint of Grace?”

“Yes,” I said, impressed by Maria's memory. Maybe my saint knowledge was rubbing off on her. “But no way,” I continued, “am I going to ask another saint for help with a boy after what I've been through.”

“Well, there must be
somebody
you'd trust to help,” she said, thinking, tapping her index finger against her chin. “Actually . . . you know what?
I
can think of one! St. Anthony of Padua, your favorite. St. Anthony, if you are listening, please help Antonia find her senses about how Michael really feels about her and how she feels about him.
There.
”

“Maria, I think you're getting ahead of yourself. Though that's really sweet of you to pray to St. Anthony on my behalf, especially since you're not the praying type and all,” I said, touched by the gesture. “But just because I
admitted a little
like
for Michael doesn't mean I'm going to run out and kiss him or something.”

“Why not, Antonia?” Maria interrupted, passionate. “Michael is
not
Andy. And, I mean, are you never going to let anybody touch you? It's going to happen sometime. Why not kiss him tonight? Why
not
Michael?”

“It's just—”

“Antonia, come on.”

“You really think Michael's the perfect boy for me?”

“Not as perfect as that dress you're about to put on,” she said, cracking a grin. “I don't know about you, but I'm definitely not going to this dance in just stockings and a bra.”

“Bet that would make John happy,” I said, laughing.

When we were finally dressed and zipped and buttoned and ready to go, Maria and I stood in front of the long mirror in her room, admiring the results of our hard work. Me in my old-fashioned red gown and Maria in her sophisticated black cocktail dress.

“I'm glad I convinced you to wear your hair down,” Maria said.

“You don't look so bad yourself.”

“Relax, Antonia. Tonight is going to be all about fun . . . and speaking of tonight, it's time to be off for our magical winter evening.”

“A magical evening in the HA gym?”

“Use your imagination,” she said, pushing her head against mine. We smiled together in the mirror, as if someone was about to take our picture or we were posing in a
photo booth. “Besides,
you
are the one who sees miracles everywhere, aren't you? Just close your eyes when we get there and imagine it really
is
a glamorous ball, celebrating your beautification!”

“Beatification,” I said, correcting her, even though silently I agreed with her slight change. “And you think
I
get carried away.”

“How about letting Michael carry you away.”

“Quit it!” I said, but I was laughing.

A car honked outside.

“That's John,” Maria said, excitement in her voice.

“Maria? Antonia?” Mrs. Romano was yelling, having no idea she was playing into a major deception being perpetrated on my mother. “Your ride is here.”

“Coming!” Maria called out.

We took one last look at ourselves and then we were darting down the stairs, yelling goodbye to Maria's mother, and out the door. Butterflies were flitting this way and that, making my entire body feel tingly.

And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I asked nothing from any saint about the evening ahead.

“Do you want to dance?” an unidentified boy asked, nervous. He looked young, maybe a freshman. His jacket and pants were baggy, as if his mother bought them several sizes too big because he'd grow into them eventually. He pushed his thick, black-rimmed glasses up with his index finger, waiting for my response. We were the same height.

Why wasn't Maria glued to my side instead of John's? Then she could rescue me from this uncomfortable situation. Why hadn't Maria prepared me for how to handle random boys asking me to dance?

“Maybe later,” I said finally, feeling bad about rejecting him. But my greater fear of three minutes of awkward slow dancing trumped the guilt.

I crossed the packed, darkened HA gym, weaving my way between dancing couples to the sea of round tables in the back, each with a centerpiece of white flowers. Hundreds
of tiny, sparkling snowflakes hovered above us, as if a snowfall had frozen in the sky. It was actually pretty. But it wasn't enough to make me forget that I was in the Holy Angels gym and not some magical winter wonderland.

My borrowed heels click-clacked even over the music and forced my hips to sway left and right in a way I wasn't used to. My dress swished with a satisfying rustle, and for once I felt beautiful. I reminded myself to keep my shoulders back and my chin up to accentuate the neckline—it was strapless—like Maria had instructed me earlier.

“Hey, Antonia,” I heard someone call out, and I glanced around for the source.

“Antonia!” Lila and Hilary yelled in unison from a table where two Bishop Francis boys sat between them like a divider—not the hockey players I'd seen them with last month, but guys I knew by sight from watching them play baseball with Andy. The reminder of Andy made me feel queasy—I hadn't seen him yet and I hoped we wouldn't cross paths.

“Hi, guys,” I said, plopping myself into the chair next to Lila, who immediately turned to me and said, “Soooo . . .” in a leading voice that implied I should somehow know what bit of gossip she expected was in my possession.

“Soooo what?” I asked, confused.

“Is Andy here?” she whispered, giggling.

“I honestly don't know and hope he stays home tonight,” I said. Lila looked dismayed, so I filled her in—not on what happened in the storeroom, but with enough
detail to explain why I would not be dancing even once with Andy Rotellini.

“You should go back to your guy, Lila,” I said once I'd finished the story, nodding to the cute blond next to her. I could hear Hilary talking on about the finer points of the penalty kick to her guy, who seemed genuinely intrigued by a girl absorbed by sports talk.

“Let me introduce you,” Lila offered.

I stopped her before she caught his attention, and whispered, “I'd rather meet him another night.” When she scrunched her face in confusion I added, “I'm not exactly in the mood to meet one of Andy's baseball buddies.”

This she understood.

“I'll be okay,” I reassured her. “I'm just going to sit here awhile if you don't mind.” And be the fifth wheel, I thought.

“Of course not,” she said, eventually turning back to flirt with the blond boy.

Maria was the only person I'd told the full details about the storeroom debacle with Andy, but as I sat there people-watching my classmates—some in beautiful dresses, some in tiny slips that looked like lingerie they could have bought at Victoria's Secret, it was hard not to notice how many of the Bishop Francis guys were friends with Andy. I wondered what he might have blabbed. I consoled myself that
I'd
rejected
him
, which was not the kind of thing a guy wanted to boast about.

But I still felt uneasy.

I craned my neck to see where I'd left Maria and John thirty minutes ago. They hadn't moved an inch and were making out as if the world might end tomorrow.

Wow. They were really going at it. I couldn't stop myself from staring. Was
that
what kissing was supposed to be? It almost looked, I don't know,
violent
. Like what if they choked on each other's tongues? All I knew was that this was
not
what I wanted out of kissing. At least I didn't think so. It looked so
intense
. But, then again, maybe that's exactly what I'd want if I was with a guy I both liked and was kissing (and who was kissing me back). I was surprised that one of the teacher chaperones hadn't noticed or separated them yet.

They did this at Catholic schools. Separated kissing couples. “Let the Holy Ghost be between you.” That's what they said. Seriously. Sometimes it was the nuns from HA. Sometimes the brothers from Bishop Francis. Regardless, PDA (Public Display of Affection) was not permitted. At least not officially.

I was still searching the crowd to see who else was there when my eyes found Andy. My stomach lurched. The former love of my life had already found a nice HA junior to occupy his tongue and hands. The thought of how much time I'd wasted on this boy who really did have girls lining up to be with him made me feel foolish.

“Hey, love. You made it,” said a welcome voice behind me, the one I'd been hoping to hear since the second we'd arrived. Suddenly two hands were on my shoulders.