Dancing with Molly (6 page)

I was actually having fun. With my mother. And my sister. Doing girly stuff.

I picked a deep red nail color called “Passion Pit” for both my toes and fingernails. Mom insisted that I get tips so that there was a little bit of length on my nails, and I didn't argue. Once we were all done at the spa, we headed over to the salon where Mom gets her hair cut.

Mom had called to make the appointments with her stylist Lynette last week when Ashley announced she was going to prom, and when I said I was going to go too, she'd called back and gotten me an appointment with one of the other stylists at the shop. I had to wait for Robin for about twenty minutes, but Ashley sat down with Lynette right away. She'd brought pictures of big swooping updos and a baggie full of dried roses the same pink as her dress and nails. I began to wonder if I was going to end up looking like a cheerleader from Texas in the 1980s.

As I watched Lynette lead Ashley back to the sinks for a shampoo, I saw a tall, handsome guy with close-cropped blond hair and biceps as thick as my waist stop at the front desk and glance down at the clipboard, then call my name. I stood up and he said, Hey. I'm Robin, and held out his hand. He had an
Australian accent, and I almost fell down. Something about him made my knees a little weak, and it wasn't just his strong grip, or his gorgeous pecs straining against the snug black T-shirt, or his perfect smile. It was the way he said “Robin.” I must've looked sorta surprised because he smiled and said, Yeah, everybody thinks I'm gonna be a chick before they meet me. My boyfriend insists on calling me Rob. Let's get you shampooed.

I had a huge smile on my face while Rob/Robin washed my hair. I felt so relieved that I didn't have some old-lady stylist—like there was possibly hope that I might end up with something cool. It was worth a shot anyway.

When I got back to Rob's chair he asked me what we were doing today, and I told him I wasn't sure. I explained that I was going to prom. He asked me if I had anything in mind. At that moment, I caught a glimpse of Ashley in the mirror. She was sitting in a chair a couple of stations down and on the opposite wall of the salon. Her blond hair was teased and curled, and half of it was pinned in a wild swoop of ringlets. Lynette was pushing the dried roses in at strategic places. The whole thing looked like something straight out of a ball in Victorian England.

Rob followed my eyes, and turned around to take in the full effect. When he turned back to me I said, That's my sister. He nodded and I said, I pretty much want the opposite
of whatever . . . that . . . is. This totally cracked Rob up and he paused to wipe a tear out of his eye and said, Attagirl. He ran his fingers through my wet, poodle-tight curls, which were dripping on my shoulders, and told me I have “really good hair.” Then it was me who was laughing. Yeah, right, I told him. It's awful. I can't do anything with it.

Robin said I could certainly have cut bangs into it, which he was very happy I had not yet done. Then he bit his lip, narrowed his eyes, and asked if I had a picture of the dress. I did on my phone. Mom had insisted that I let her take a picture when I tried it on. She thought she'd use it to convince me that other dresses looked better. I fished my phone out of my purse and showed Robin. He smiled and nodded, then told me I had really good taste. For some reason this made me blush a little. He continued by saying that he thought we should do something simple and sophisticated—like the dress. I just said, Go for it. I trusted him completely.

I will not lie and say that it was a fun experience. Rob spent about thirty minutes blow-drying my hair with a giant round brush, which felt like it was going to tear all my hair out by the roots. He turned me away from the mirror to do the back of my head, and I briefly wondered if “simple and sophisticated” was code for “bald” in Australia. But then he turned off the blow
dryer and grabbed a pair of scissors. He told me he was just going to trim off some split ends and straighten out a couple of layers to “frame my face.” He made a few snips here and there and turned on his straightening iron.

Rob/Robin spent another fifteen minutes sectioning off a strip of hair, spritzing it, then clamping it between the flat blades of the iron. When he whirled the chair back toward the mirror, I gasped. I couldn't believe it. My hair was COMPLETELY straight. Not a single curl. I looked like one of those girls on TV. My hair fell in glossy layers that framed my face and flipped under just past my shoulders. Rob smiled and said, See? Told you you have good hair.

I was still so shocked that I didn't even know what to say. He said, I'm gonna put this up now in a loose French twist—I call it the Modern Grace Kelly. He gathered it all up and twisted it into a loose wrap that created a knot, which he tied up with a few hairpins. Then he told me that I could come get a blowout anytime I wanted for twenty bucks, and said, I'm going to give you some makeup now.

When he turned the chair around again, I didn't recognize myself. My eyes were perfectly lined and he'd given me a smudged silver eye shadow that wasn't too dark and gave just a hint of sparkle under my eyebrows. My lashes were curled; my
lips were a deep crimson that matched my nails. I caught my breath. Who was this creation in the mirror? Certainly not a band geek.

When I stood up out of the chair, I hugged Rob/Robin. Hard. He smiled and pressed the lipstick he'd used into my hand. He whispered, On the house. Have fun tonight.

The best part of the whole day so far? When I walked over to meet Mom and Ashley, who were waiting up front for me to get done, neither one of them realized it was me until I spoke. Ashley's jaw dropped open, and Mom gasped like she'd been smacked. Then of course both of them started gushing at the same time about how amazing I looked and neither one of them could shut up about it all the way home.

Jess just texted and said she and Kelly are on their way over.

I feel ridiculous, but I can't stop looking at myself in the mirror. I'm actually really glad we decided to get ready here now. I don't know who this girl is Carson is bringing from his church, but I can't help but wonder how she'll look. I'm feeling pretty confident all of a sudden.

Kelly and Jess were amazed when they saw my hair and makeup. Kelly told me I looked like a movie star. Jess made my mom
write down the name and number of the salon so she could go see Rob/Robin as soon as possible, then they set up shop in my bathroom. They're in there now doing each other's hair, and I'm sitting here writing in this journal because I'm sort of bored, and as good as my hair looks, I'm worried about feeling left out tonight. I mean, I already sort of feel left out and we haven't even gotten to the dance yet.

I didn't want to tag along with Jess and Kelly because I don't want to feel like a third wheel. And now, that seems to be exactly what is happening. And what if they actually do a bunch of that molly tonight? Then I'll end up REALLY being left out. Or worse, I'll end up having to get Ashley and Reid and Carson and Church Girl to let me hang with them.

Okay, I'm going to take a deep breath and just try to remember what Dad said this morning about not wishing this away. I'm just going to put on some music and go into the bathroom, sit on the toilet, and talk to them while they get ready. This will be as fun as I make it.

I am still lying in bed. I want to write about everything that happened last night, but before I do I must hunt down some Advil or Tylenol. My head has a bass drum it. Maybe my brain
is literally blown. It is definitely figuratively blown. I. Cannot. Believe. What. Happened. Last. Night.

Especially the Carson part.

Maybe that's the drum in my head beating: CAR-SON, CAR-SON, CAR-SON.

Oh my god. I'm losing it. I have to get Advil. And water.

I just got back from the kitchen, where I went to get a bottle of water after I got the Advil. My mother was there on her way out to Jazzercise at the gym. She and her friend Joyce always do Jazzercise on Sundays.

Mom was very perky. Very. Very. Perky. She was full of reminders for me just now—and for Ashley, who was also in the kitchen, drinking orange juice out of the container at the fridge. It would appear that my younger sister is very hungover. Mom seems to be all business this morning, but I know that she is only acting that way to keep from sitting both of us down and trying to interrogate every single lurid detail about the night right out of us. I'm sure Dad made her promise not to give us the third degree first thing this morning.

The big reminder was that Ash and I both need to bag up our old clothes for the big band garage sale Mom is helping to
organize this week as a fund-raiser for the Thanksgiving Day Parade trip. I could barely form complete sentences. Mom said we'd talk about it more after Jazzercise. Ashley said, The eighties called. They want their exercise regimen back. Mom ignored this but looked at me and said that my hair still looked amazing, even though I'd slept on it. She said we both looked beautiful last night, then she turned to me, raised an eyebrow, and said, And I'm not the only one who noticed. She said it seemed like Carson thought I looked very beautiful too.

I summoned all the strength I had left and physically pushed her out the kitchen door to the garage before Ashley could say anything. Not that I needed to worry, since Ashley was glugging more OJ from the jug. My mom was laughing really hard as I pushed her toward the car. She patted my head and said I should drink plenty of water and go back to bed, then got in her car with this big grin on her face and waved as she pulled out.

This whole thing is so bizarre—especially that Mom seems . . . somehow . . . happy? . . . that both Ash and I are OBVIOUSLY hungover. The clincher is that I didn't even have much to drink. I suppose I should write about how I got this way, but I have to sleep for a little longer first.

I never intended to do any of this molly stuff.

Really.

I mean, part of me was totally terrified of it. And why? I think because it was a powder, not a pill—which sounds lame even as I write it down. I mean, pills are just powder that's been pressed into a pill. Still, there was something about seeing that bag of powder that Kelly slipped into the little side pocket of her clutch that freaked me out. It was like seeing a bag of cocaine or heroin on a TV show. In my mind, doing a tab of ecstasy was one thing, but dipping into a bag of powder like a junkie or something, well, that was different. Until last night, I guess. . . .

I even said this to Jess and Kelly last night while we were getting dressed in my room. After they finished their hair and makeup we all put on our dresses. Kelly's dress was a silver spangled, sequined tube that made her look like a giant disco ball, which, she informed me, was exactly the point. Jess was superexcited about doing molly because she wanted to see how it was different from ecstasy and also because it was our ticket into the after party at Derrick's place. I love Jess and her enthusiasm for adventure of all kinds. It started when we were in eighth grade with sneaking cocktails at her house, and then smoking
weed with Brandon, but something about this made my stomach jumpy.

Jess asked me how I could NOT want to try it, and I found myself telling her and Kelly about how I went online and looked up all this information about pure MDMA. As I was pulling on a pair of sheer black pantyhose with a sexy black seam up the back of each leg, I told them I'd read news stories about molly that said it had been cut with this crap called “bath salts” and how club kids in London had dropped dead after doing a “bad batch”—whatever that meant. I said I didn't want to get my brain fried at a party after prom, as I carefully stepped into my dress and zipped it up the side. As I pulled on my heels, I realized that neither Kelly nor Jess had said anything. Maybe they were really listening to my objections about this drug experiment.

I turned around and they were both staring at me, completely wide-eyed. I stopped short and looked at them and said, What?

Kelly softly whispered, Holy shit. And I realized they hadn't listened to a WORD I'd said. Jess shook her head and said she never should have invited me to prom with them. I was surprised and asked, Because I don't want to do drugs at the after party? She collapsed into giggles, yelled, NO, YOU MORON, and spun me around to look in the mirror on my closet door.

Looking in the mirror with the two of them over my shoulders, I saw what they were seeing, and I froze. I looked SO HOT. I couldn't believe it. Jess said, SEE? I shouldn't have invited you because NOBODY is going to look twice at me because you look so freaking unbelievable. And you know what? She was right. For the first time in my life I felt like I was looking at some crazy future adult version of myself. I was standing there staring at myself in the mirror like an idiot when the limo pulled up in the driveway.

Jess and Kelly wanted to race downstairs, but I stopped them and asked if we could just take a second. Jess said that she needed to talk to Reid about the after party, and I was like, Um, you cannot march downstairs in front of my PARENTS and tell him you have drugs and that he needs to tell Derrick to let you into the party. She rolled her eyes and I was like, Don't roll your eyes at me. Seriously? This was her plan? Sometimes Jess can be such a dummy. Her enthusiasm gets in the way of her common sense. Then Jess narrowed her eyes and said, OH! I get it. Then she explained to Kelly that the reason I didn't want to go downstairs was because of Carson.

I spun around and started denying that up and down, but this only made Jess laugh and she filled Kelly in on the whole situation last week in the hallway. As Kelly listened to Jess tell
her how I'd shared a little “moment” in the hallway by our lockers, she did a last look in the mirror. Then she grabbed her clutch and sheer hot pink scarf that matched the hot pink streaks in her hair and took my hand. She said that Carson's date was the one who should be nervous because once he saw me, Carson wouldn't be able to look at anyone else all night. Then she smiled at Jess and said, Let's go.