Eleven Things I Promised (18 page)

“It's the stupid dress I was trying on at Flanberger's when you—when your dad called. I ran out of the store and—do you remember me standing in your hospital room with it on?” I asked.

“God, no. You didn't
buy
this, did you?”

“Not exactly,” I said.

“So why do you still have it? And why does it feel like a curtain?”

“Phyllis said it was magical,” I said.

“Phyllis has been working at that store since 1842,” Stella said, and we both laughed.

She reached up, holding the dress in her hands, pushing
with her good leg, forcing the material through the sunroof. Before she could even let go, the wind grabbed the dress, sucking it into the air, and I watched it billow out behind us like a sail that had snapped loose from its mast.

Fly like you mean it, bad-luck dress.

“Looks like you need another prom dress,” said Stella.

“Or not,” I said. “Because were we really going to go, anyway?”

“Yeah. Of course we're going,” she said. “Just not wearing that nightmare.”

“This isn't a date,” Cameron said
when I came out the garage door, walking my bike to the curb. He was dressed in a black vintage suit jacket with a white shirt, classic skinny tie, skinny jeans, and gray Converse sneakers.

“Nope,” I agreed, carefully getting onto my bike.

“But we are riding into the sunset on bikes,” Cameron pointed out, “wearing semiformal clothes, so some people could construe this as something completely different.”

“They wouldn't do that,” I said, “would they?” My long, striped, stretchy dress was going to get in the way of the pedals, so I cinched the bottom into a knot at knee length. The
three-inch heels of my strappy shoes dangled off the back of the pedals, while I wore my beaded black mini purse across my body like the world's smallest messenger bag.

Even tonight, I had to wear a helmet. I knew that my hair would spring right back into a semi-decent style once I got to school and put a little water in it. My neck was bare, which felt odd as I started riding. This dress did not cover me nearly enough, I realized, with its tie at the back of the neck, open back, and the questionable lingerie I had on underneath. I needed one of those billowy scarves that I'd seen in prom photos, but getting the dress at the last minute had been hard enough. Overnight shipping had saved me.

“God, I hate prom. I hate anything resembling prom,” Cameron complained as we rode down the bike path, front bike lights flashing. We were the only ones on the path, which I didn't mind. It meant we could ride side by side.

“You're making a huge sacrifice. I get it,” I said. “But it's for Stella. Which is why I'm about to get bike grease on this dress, catch it in the spokes, then tangle my shoes in the pedals.”

“I don't do prom.”

“No, I don't either,” I said. “Usually.”

“Actually, I've never even been before, but I already know I hate it.” Cameron laughed. “I don't even like looking at
fashion spreads of formal wear, and this is like ten thousand steps above that.”

“Why
would
you like it? It's a dance. And you don't dance,” I said to Cameron. “As a rule.”

“A very good rule, I might add.”

We kept on pedaling to school. I'd thought Stella would be doing this tonight, not me. She was the one who'd planned for it.

Instead, I'd wanted to drive and pick up Stella, but Mom didn't want me to drive on prom night, afraid of the worst, and Stella's parents insisted on bringing her and on picking her up. It made sense. They'd offered to give me a ride, but since I was trying to make sure everyone on the bike trip team went to prom, I had to go this way in order to convince Cameron to go.

Ten minutes later we zipped into the high school lot, which had a large sign—Mighty Sparrows Parking Only—in our school colors. Invariably, pigeons were the birds that liked to sit on the sign, leaving their marks on the cars that dared to park directly beneath it when all the other spots were taken.

A few limousines idled at the curb by the gym entrance. Cameron and I coasted to the bike rack near it. I carefully scooted off my bike, undid the knot, and let my dress fall to its full length. Then I took off my helmet and shook out my
hair before crouching down to lock my bike. I had just finished when I heard a familiar voice ask, “Frances? That you?”

“No,” I said calmly, “it's not.” I stood up carefully and faced Oscar. He was on his way into the gym, with a girl I didn't recognize hanging on to his arm. I wondered if there was a way I could take her aside and warn her about Oscar, without ruining her night. Probably not.

Oscar laughed. “You biked to prom? Who
bikes
to prom?” He gestured to Cameron with his chin. “Nice helmet hair.”

“Shut up,” Cameron replied. He held out his arm and I took it, walking into the building. I felt like a different person. I didn't care what anyone else said or thought. We handed over our tickets to a friend of Margo's on the prom committee, and I briefly wondered where Margo was. Then I ducked into the bathroom to fix my hair and check my makeup. I was wearing more than usual, and I needed to put on a fresh coat of lipstick.

When I came out, Cameron was waiting for me. “Dude, I can't walk in there
alone
,” he said.

We paused as we walked below an archway of balloons. “This feels familiar,” I said.

“Should we get our picture taken?” he asked as we passed the portrait setup, with its fake-looking outdoor backdrop and giant school logo.

“Nah,” I said. “We can get better pictures on our own.” If Stella did show up, I might get my picture taken with her, I thought.

Once inside the gym, we nearly sprinted to the refreshments table for punch. On our way, I spotted Elsa dancing with friends. Beside her, Oxendale was jumping up and down, or what he called “dancing.”

Cameron pointed to a banner on the wall, with the junior class prom theme printed on it: Embrace the Future, Today. “This is so awful.” He looked miserable. I almost wanted to tell him to go ahead and go home, but not yet.

“It's pretty bad,” I agreed.

“Embrace the future. I'm not embracing anything,” Cameron said. “Or anyone, actually. How about ‘No Group Hugs, Starting Now!' Could that be our theme?” he asked.

We both started laughing, just as Margo walked briskly past us. I grabbed her wrist, and she spun around with an irritated look. “Oh. It's you guys!” she said, her expression softening a little.

“How's it going?” I asked.

“Good. You look really nice,” she said, stepping back to take a look at my dress.

“Thanks. You too,” I said. I didn't do hugs, but I reached over and gave her a quick one anyway.

“I have to straighten out something with the DJ. I'll be back,” she promised, before she strode off toward the stage.

“Don't look now, but I think Max is here,” I said, gesturing over Cameron's shoulder.

“Impossible. He hasn't been at a school event since sixth grade,” Cameron said.

We both started laughing, and that was when our vice principal, Ms. Bonaventure, called everyone's attention to the stage for the prom voting announcements.

Naturally, Autumn and Alex were in the running. As they stood onstage, they made eye contact with me, Cameron, and the rest of the group, who had all gathered around us. Oxendale was throwing them the tallest thumbs-up ever when he suddenly moved over and stood beside me. “Stella's here,” he whispered.

I made my way through the crowd, not being able to see at Oxendale sky level. Then, once on the edge, I glanced over at the balloon arch and saw Stella on the far side of it. She was on crutches, wearing the elegant black dress she'd bought way back when. She'd gone to a salon and had her hair styled into an updo. As I got closer, I saw that she was wearing one black sandal, and her crutches were decorated with black and red ribbons. Her makeup was perfect. You couldn't even tell her face had been scraped up or that she'd been in the hospital for
several days. She looked amazing, actually.

Behind me, the nominees for prom king and queen were being announced. “Ready to go in?” I asked.

“No. Is everyone looking?” she asked. “Is this the part where you make your big entrance and they announce you, like in old movies?”

“Like . . . Miss Stella Grant, the Duchess of Sparrowsdale? No, they don't. It's just an obnoxious balloon thing,” I said. “Everyone's on tiptoes trying to see who's going to win prom king and queen.”

“Pfft,” she puffed. “Like we don't already know. Come on, let's get in there while everyone's distracted.”

“Sure,” I said, but I paused just after we started in. “Hey, hold on a second. We're here. We should celebrate. You're the one who decided we were coming, back in February. The fact that we're here—whether we have a good time or not—it's thanks to you,” I said.

“It's no big deal,” she said.

I knew she didn't like to make a big deal out of victories. The point was to have them, not to talk about them. “Right. I know,” I said. “But thanks. Now, let's find a table.”

As we wove through the crowd to a table near the front, more than a few people glanced at Stella, and whether they noticed she was missing a leg or not, I couldn't tell. I didn't
care, and I hoped Stella wouldn't, either. People smiled or waved or looked surprised to see her. The accident had been in the newspaper, of course, and she hadn't been back to school since. No doubt there had been lots of rumors.

We sat down and one by one Elsa, Cameron, Oxendale, Max, and Margo joined us at the table, each giving Stella a hug and eagerly talking to her about everything.

“Drum roll, please,” Ms. Bonvanture said. “And now, announcing your prom king and queen . . . Autumn Daye and Alex Nelson!” she cried. She tended to get overly excited about school royalty and things like that.

“Big surprise,” Stella commented.

“I'm shocked. Utterly shocked,” said Cameron.

“They really
should
get a tandem bike,” Margo commented as we watched Autumn and Alex step off the stage and prepare to dance.

But before they danced, they ran over to hug Stella. Autumn even started to take her sash off and hand it to Stella.

“Giving up your throne? Already?” Cameron teased.

“Please—I know you mean well, but please don't do any of that honorary royalty crap,” Stella said. “I just want to sit here.”

“Got it. No problem.” Autumn nodded, looking relieved, almost. She slipped her sash back on, and she and Alex twirled
away in the middle of the gym while we all looked on.

Well, all except for Oxendale. He headed out to join them. Apparently prom royalty was not a thing where he came from.

“He has a bike jersey on under his suit,” I commented to Stella.

“No, that's a soccer jersey. Please. He knows his formal wear,” Stella said. “You wish Mason was here so you could dance, don't you?”

“What?” I laughed. “No, not at all. Why would we want him to suffer?”

“Come on. I know what's going on.” She gave me one of her classic
I'm onto you
looks.

“No, he's—he's too old for me.”

“Don't be stupid. He's only two years older than you,” she said. “You'll be eighteen this summer, anyway, before he's even twenty.”

“I will?”

“Do I
always
have to do the math? Yes, you will,” Stella said. “And even though it's pretty weird considering your history of endlessly giving each other grief, you guys seem to have something sort of . . . cute. I'm not sure how.”

“I could say we spent a lot of time together lately. And that's true. But I think it started before then,” I said. “I'm
sorry. Is it too strange? Because we don't have to—”

“Do you seriously think I'd want to get in the way of your relationship?” Stella asked. “I know I haven't been peachy lately, but I want you to be happy.”

“Okay. But don't call it a relationship. It's more like a relation . . .”

“Bike?” she suggested.

“I was going to say dinghy, but that sounds horrible. Relationdinghy.” We both cracked up laughing.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Mason said when I climbed into the cab of his pickup truck an hour later. He'd put my bicycle into the back. “But nobody should have to ride their bike home from prom.”

“Cameron is. Oxendale is,” I said. “Of course, Oxendale's already dressed for it, and Cameron can't wait to get out of the gym.”

“Would you rather go with them, then?” he asked. “I thought you texted me.”

“I didn't,” I said, sliding out of my high-heeled shoes. My feet were killing me. “Stella did.”

“Oh?” Mason's left eyebrow shot up.

“Yeah, she used my phone while I was getting us punch. When I came back, she informed me you were picking me up
in half an hour and that I couldn't even try to get out of it.”

“You're disappointed?”

“No! Not at all.” I scooted over to be closer to him on the bench seat as we drove out of the high school parking lot. “I mean, I didn't want to leave her there, but she said she was fine. She's having a great time.”

“So . . . she knows about us,” Mason said slowly.

“Oh, yeah.” I nodded. “She says she's okay with it. And since she's plotting and scheming to get us together on my stupid prom night, I guess I'm going to believe her.”

“Why is it
your
stupid prom night?” He braked at a stop sign and looked over at me. “By the way, you look incredible.”

I glanced down at my dress, embarrassed. I didn't usually bare my shoulders, or wear anything this kind of . . . sexy. “Thanks.”

“Huge improvement over that thing you wore to the hospital,” he went on.

“It'd be impossible
not
to be,” I said.

“It suits you,” he said.

We were both looking at each other intensely, and I had that same kiss-me-now-or-I'm-going-to-explode feeling.

“Do you think we should move on from this stop sign sometime?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.” He reached over and pulled me toward him, knocking my little purse off my lap and onto the floor. “Where do you want to go?” he said softly, twirling my hair around his finger while he kissed my neck.

“This is . . . here . . . this is good,” I whispered.