Top Ten Uses for an Unworn Prom Dress (4 page)

Wad up a fistful of the pristine crinoline and shove it down your father's throat until he gags, chokes, and becomes as stuffed as a Thanksgiving turkey
.

I
balled my fists at my sides, praying for inner strength. I'd known, deep down, he loved her more, but to hear him admit it, so easily, without shame … wow. It hurt a thousand times worse than any spike drill or lap run Coach Luther had ever put me through.

“Autumn is a toddler,” my dad went on, all steelytoned and paternal. “The only reason she'd need money would be life and death. Copayment on surgery or something.”

I leapt to my feet, tottering a little in my heeled sandals. “This is life and death, too, Dad. Don't you see?
It'll be the end of Mom's sanity and the end of my life as I know it!”

After a long inhale, Dad rose and stared down into my eyes. “And your mother is okay with taking money from me?”

“She has no idea I'm here. I was …,” I said, then reminded myself to think positive, “I am going to take the money to the bank myself. Then afterward, tell her I deposited what I had left over from the money Grandma left me.”

Okay—truth? Grandma's money was long gone, taken out of the ATM in twenty-dollar bills all last year, before I'd blown the rest on The Dress. But I'd known better than to admit all that to Mom, so it was reasonable for her to believe I still had some.

“Look,” I said, speaking over the thundering of my heart, trying to sound adult and levelheaded. “You pay Mom the bare minimum of child support. No alimony. You
owe
us this.” My voice caught. “You owe me this.”

After a moment, he nodded. “You're probably right.”

I was?

Well, of course I was!

He disappeared, then returned with a slender checkbook and pen. “How about I make it out to the bank?”

I tried to feel joy or triumph, but it was impossible to isolate any one feeling. “Yes, the name—”

“I know. I'm the one who secured the mortgage.”

He tore the check out and handed it to me. “Wait until Friday to deposit this. I'll have it covered by then.”

I didn't know from where, or how. I didn't really care.

“Take it into the bank yourself. Get a receipt. And mail it back to me.”

I wanted to get mad at him for trying to take charge, and for demanding proof that I did the right thing with his money, but I was too busy trying to swallow the lump in my throat. Which wasn't easy. Not because the lump was so huge, but because the resentment, relief, and the load of other feelings weren't just in my throat, but teeming throughout my entire body.

I walked back toward the entry hall, managing a goodbye wave at the two-year-old menace. She glanced over, her hair dark and glossy like Caffeine's, her blue eyes dulled by the TV, and for an instant she actually looked cute.

Dad followed, hot on my heels. “Nicki? I really hope you didn't mean what you said earlier, that you think I care more about Autumn than you. What I feel is exactly the same. You're both my daughters, even if I live with her.”

Everything inside me tightened. I knew then why he'd given me the money. Not because of Mom or me or the possibility of us becoming destitute. Because I'd rubbed his nose in his bias—I'd made him acknowledge out loud that he played favorites.

But I'd gotten what I wanted, so I was willing to be nice.

“Okay, Dad,” I managed. “Sure.” I peeked out of
the rectangular window beside his door and saw Jared's car.

“I—I've got to go.”

“Call me. Tell me how this works out.” He squeezed my arm and looked into my eyes. For a second I thought he was going to tell me he loved me. Then he let me go. “And drive carefully.”

I can't remember the walk from the house to the car, but suddenly there I was on the curb, reaching for the door handle. The door popped open as if on its own, Jared inside, stretching over the gearshift.

I slid in, touched by his unexpected chivalry. I looked at him to say thanks, and something puppy-dog warm in his eyes gazed back at me. Implying … I don't know … that he cared about how it had all gone?

And how did I reward this? I burst into tears.

Omigod.

I turned away. Only to feel his hand gently stroke my hair. I wanted to
lurch
away. I mean, this was Jared. The guy who wouldn't talk to me in front of anyone at school. Who made me
pay
him to drive me around.

I was crying. In his car. And he was doing exactly what I was scared of. He was pitying me.

For the rest of the school year, whether on the bleachers or in the halls, whether I was pretending to see him or not—I'd know he'd seen me like this.

Ugh. Suddenly, losing the house and being forced to move didn't seem so bad.

By the time I pulled myself together, we were merging into a sea of red brake lights. Serious freeway
traffic. But that was okay. I needed time to decompress before my face-to-face with Mom.

“So what's the story with that?” Jared asked, pointing at my left hand.

For a crazy moment I thought he was asking about my amethyst birthstone ring. It was a gift from my parents on my twelfth birthday—the last we all spent together—and I had this weird habit of twisting it when I was bored, angry, or nevous. Then I saw I was still holding Dad's check.

I folded the check in half and tucked it into my pocket. “Oh—I need to deposit it. On Friday.” My thoughts scrambled. “But I can't get out of practice twice in one week, so I don't suppose you could run me to the bank during lunch?”

He threw a look in his rearview mirror, then at me. “My lunch hour fee is double.”

For real?

“But,” he said, disrupting my disbelief, “I'll settle for a Whopper, fries, and a drink.”

After the crying jag, calmness had crept through my body, making me oddly comfortable sitting there in the car. Relaxed, almost. A relieved laugh bubbled inside me, but for some reason I couldn't let it out. Or him off so easily.

“Yeah, Jared, but everybody at school goes to Burger King. We could be seen. The Extra-Hot Senior,” I said, making little quotation marks with my bent fingers, “and his little sister's friend. Think of the gossip.”

A confident smile blazed across his mouth, which
not only touched his eyes, but strangely touched something in me, too. I didn't know what exactly—and I didn't know if I liked it, either. But the guy was not without style, whether I wanted to admit it or not.

He threw me a look. “Among other things, I'm thinking it will piss Rascal off.”

“Rascal?”

“Yeah. After yesterday at your locker, he thinks we're getting together. And it's bugging him.”

I felt my jaw drop. “He
told
you that?”

“He didn't have to. It's all over his stupid face.”

“So … you think he's jealous?” I held myself in check while the “Hallelujah Chorus” played in my head.

“What did I just say?” He turned and glared at me. “Oh, come on, you don't actually still
like
him, do you?”

(Did the joyful notes reflect in my eyes?) “No. No, of course not.”

“I mean,” his voice noticeably raised, “not after what he did to you?”

I gave my head a firm shake.

“Good. Otherwise you could
walk
home.”

I nodded, my thoughts all over the jealous thing. Maybe that was why Kylie had scowled at me during morning break. Maybe she was feeling the vibes he sent out. Maybe—

“So,” Jared said, rudely changing the subject. “Are you going to fill me in on the check and the bank deposit, or what?”

Check. Bank. Ugh.

Couldn't we talk more about Rascal being jealous?

But as much as I didn't want to tell him, I figured Jared deserved some kind of explanation for being forced to drive to Ventura. Even if he was getting paid for it. So I spilled.

“My mom hasn't closed on a house in months,” I blurted out. “She hasn't made any commissions. And it turns out she's fallen behind on the mortgage.”

There—I'd said it. I snuck a look his way. Nope, no arrogant smirk. In fact, his brow was heavy, as if in deep thought.

“So she sent you to your dad for money?”

“No, no!” I slipped my ring back and forth over my knuckle. “She'd
kill
me if she knew. That's why all this is top secret. I'm going to make the payment first, then tell her I paid it with the last of my inheritance money from my grandmother.”

“Which actually went to …”

“Oh, clothes and volleyball shoes and movies,” I said, leaving out the chunks I'd dropped on hairdressers who'd promised to make my hair straight and silky. “The rest to the prom dress. And to you.”

“Why didn't you return the dress and get your money back?”

“Final sale,” I said automatically.

“At a vintage clothing store? Aren't they all about resales?”

Smart boy. The truth was, once I'd zipped myself inside its silkiness, had watched in the mirror as my
boyish figure transformed into the body I'd always dreamed of… well, there was no going back. Date or no date. Returnable or not. That baby was
mine
.

“Yeah, well,” I said, “I just like it, okay?”

He nodded, as if he'd fully processed the data. Then shrugged. “Sorry about your mom. I'd hate to see her lose the house, for you guys to have to move somewhere.”

“Thanks,” I said, a little flattered, and a little embarrassed, too. My heart sped up, almost in sync with the rhythmical ka-thump of our wheels rolling over the uneven seams in the pavement.

“I mean,” he said, “if Alison didn't have
you
to whine to all the time, she'd turn on me. And then I'd have no choice but to grab early admission at any college that would take me and get the hell out of here.”

He laughed, and I joined in. Not because what he'd said was particularly funny, but because I wanted to stop feeling miserable. Or at least to pretend.

“But before you try to put one over on your mother, do yourself a favor, and think it all through.” He shot me a serious look. “Don't do anything stupid.”

Ah, yes. And there was Jared—my big brother.

S
itting in geometry the next morning, I made a startling discovery about my life. About life in general. (Besides the obvious that learning geometry was a waste of perfectly good brain cells.)

I decided that life was like that Chutes and Ladders game you played when you were little. You spin the wheel and move your Mini-Me in a slow and steady progress toward Ultimate Happiness. Unless you land on a ladder that sends you racing to new heights. Or on a slide that tumbles you down, down, down …

It seemed that for nine days last June, I was close to
the finish line. Then came the News that sent The Dress to the Back of the Door. My butt had hit that super-long slide, the one that ran almost the full length of the board. And now here I sat, a million miles from victory.

Overly dramatic? Probably. But with the echoes of Dad's voice, my sobbing, and Jared's warning still ringing from last night in my ears, it was getting increasingly hard to have a glass-is-half-full attitude.

Plus, Kylie—whose cinnamon-apple body spray managed to choke me, even though she sat two rows behind and one over—had given me another dirty look this morning. I mean, eye to eye, with a very clear
Die, Loser
written all over it.

When the end-of-class bell finally rang, I followed the throng through the door. A sixth sense told me to scan the hallway crowd, and yep, there was Rascal, leaning against a wall.

Knowing Kylie was just a few designer-shoe steps behind, and not wanting to give her any more ammunition, I acknowledged his nod with a mere lift of my brow. Why tempt fate?

But he took things a bit further. “You and Mc-Creary, huh?” he said as I passed, his steely blue gaze bearing down on me. “What's with that?”

I bit back a grin and managed a monotone response. “Just friends.”

“Yeah, right.” He grunted as I kept walking. “Hey, Nicolette …”

His voice was like a lasso, circling me and pulling me back. But I kept up my pace, moving away—fast. Before my face was taken over by a disfiguring and revealing smile.

Moments later, I was successfully standing beside Alison at her locker.

“You'll be proud of me,” I announced.

One side of her mouth curled up. “You managed to sell a property for your mother?”

“Not
that
proud.”

“You … you … got tickets to the Lakers' season opener?”

I gave her a thumbs-down, meaning her next guess should be lower.

“You aced your geometry test?”

“More. It's better than that. Last chance.”

She shut her locker with a click. “Prouder than acing a test? Um … my brother offered you another ride somewhere and you told him where to shove it?”

Her response was so out of left field that it made my head spin. Her message, however, was crystal clear, that she wasn't thrilled with me hanging out with her brother.

Well, neither was I, so no harm, no foul.

“You lose,” I said.

“Okay …”

“Rascal was outside my class and he tried to talk to me. But I kept on walking.” I held her gaze, stubbornly, weakly. “Aren't you proud?”

“I am,” she said, and we fell into step together. “Any progress you make toward realizing he's the King of the Losers gets applause from me.”

Okay, so why didn't this feel like a compliment?

•

School buzzed by as my mind turned over all the new data it had collected in the past few days. At the end of classes, I made a mad dash for the locker room. There was no way I could be late for practice today.

Zoe was already there, suiting up. The baggy uniform actually flattered her long body, making her legs look like they went on forever. But I liked her anyway.

“What happened to you yesterday?” she asked, glancing up, dark hair framing her heart-shaped face. “I saw you in the hall, but not at practice.”

Not showing up for practice at Hillside was
big
news in any sport. We were Division A and the administration was determined to keep every gold cup we had in the gym exactly where it was.

“Luther let me skip—I was sick,” I answered simply, and spun the dial on my locker.

She nudged me with a sneakered foot and waited until I looked over. “Was it about a guy?” she asked in a low voice.

“Huh? Why?”

“I pulled the sick thing once,” she whispered. “So I could go be with Matt.”

Matt was her boyfriend, and of course now I
had my answer as to whether she'd faked or not. But that left me in an awkward position, whether or not to come clean.

The thing was, for a casual friend, Zoe was pretty cool. And she'd told me things that she really shouldn't have, so my conscience made the decision for me. “I went to see my dad,” I whispered back.

“Oh,” she said quietly, nodding. “Yeah, Luther would have never gone for that.”

I touched her arm. “You won't say anything?”

She stood up and started toward the gym, then looked back and gave me an are-you-crazy look. “Hey, I'm guilty, too.”

With a sigh of relief, I followed her out of the locker room and caught up with her to start our warm-up laps.

Running side by side took effort because her legs were twice as long as mine. But about a year ago, we'd discovered we liked jogging together. We laughed and rolled our eyes at the same kinds of things.

Not to mention that Zoe had become my personal search engine on all things Rascal and Kylie. She was quite the expert, having once brought up the rear of Kylie's Pretty Parade.

She's the one who told me how Kylie and her mom had had a major falling-out during Kylie's parents' divorce. But how Kylie and her mother had mended fences last spring, so Kylie had decided to give living in Phoenix a try. That Kylie had actually
liked
the weeks she'd spent with her mom, until Rascal got tired of
being a long-distance boyfriend and asked “another girl” to his junior prom.

Apparently, the two then burned up the phone and Internet lines over me. Until Kylie agreed to come home. Taking Rascal, the love of my miserable life, off the market again. Just like one of the prime real estate properties Mom always talked about, that she couldn't seem to get her hands on.

Like mother, like daughter.

“Okay,” Luther said, blowing her whistle. “Positions, everybody. Playtime is
over
.”