Geek High (21 page)

I
spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon dealing with one crisis after another. First there were the balloons. We'd ordered equal numbers of black and white balloons, but the party store had mistakenly given us black, white, red, and silver, and we didn't have time to go back and swap them out. Then, the glamour posters of Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Lana Turner, and other Hollywood stars, which had been blown up to fit on the gymnasium walls, ended up being way too big for the much smaller Oar Room. We had to prop them against the walls at an angle, just to get the movie stars to fit. And then we found out that the Yacht Club had a rule against bringing in outside food, but we didn't have a budget to order food through them, so the only way we'd have a snack table was if we sneaked the food in.

“No problem,” Finn said. He'd shown up after all, although I wasn't so sure that was a good thing, since he and Charlie continued to snipe at each other. “I'll smuggle in the snacks. You can count on me.”

That was at least one detail I didn't have to worry about. When it came to breaking the rules and defying authority, Finn was a pro.

And when I finally got home that afternoon, exhausted and my fingers aching from tying off balloons, I had even more bad news.

The phone was ringing as I walked in the door.

“It's for you,” Hannah called out, tossing me the cordless phone, which I took back to my room.

“Hello,” I said, kicking off my sneakers, and hoping upon hope that it wasn't Felicity calling to notify me that someone had inadvertently opened a window in the Oar Room, allowing all of the balloons to escape.

“Hi, Miranda, it's Nicholas,” a miserable voice bleated.

My date. And, sure, Nicholas wasn't the guy of my dreams, but that was okay. We were just going as friends, after all, and he was nice. I was sure we'd have fun together. Well…pretty sure.

“Hi, Nicholas,” I said, keeping my voice upbeat. “What time are you planning on picking me up?”

And by
you
, I meant
your mom
, since Nicholas had already informed me that she would be our chauffeur this evening.

“That's just it…I'm not going to be able to go tonight. I have chicken pox,” Nicholas said miserably. He sounded like he was about to burst into tears. “I'm so, so sorry. I feel terrible about canceling on you at the last minute.”

“It's okay,” I said soothingly.

“No, it's not. I was really looking forward to going, and it was going to be our first date, and now it's ruined.”

First
date?

“Really, it's okay,” I said, starting to realize that as mortifying as it would be to show up at the Snowflake dateless, that might actually be better—much better—than Nicholas thinking that this was going to be a romantic date, and not just two friends going together.

“I got you a corsage and everything,” Nicholas said, and then his voice broke. “Do you want my mom to drive it over to you? She said she would.”

“No, that's okay. Really. You just…get better soon,” I said.

When I finally got off the phone with Nicholas—he insisted on apologizing seven more times, and I think he had actually started to cry by the time we hung up—I slumped back on my bed, lying down on the plush white comforter. I was so tired, all I wanted to do was sleep until it was time for my plane to take off the next day.

What I did not want to do was peel myself up off the bed and start getting ready to go to the Snowflake. And now that my date had canceled, why did I have to go, anyway? I was only in charge of planning the dance. And I'd done just that—I'd planned it. Everything was taken care of; all of the details were sorted out. And as for anything that might go wrong…well, there were four other people on the committee who would be there to deal with last-minute problems.

And yet…I couldn't bail, as much as I might like to. The Snowflake was my responsibility, and I had to go and make sure that everything ran smoothly. Even if it did mean showing up without a date. And even if during the slow songs, I'd have to stand by myself off to one side, looking like a complete loser. Although, come to think of it, what were the chances that Snake House knew any slow songs? Everything I'd heard them play was loud, fast, and incoherent.

“Knock, knock,” Hannah said, opening my door. Her eyes sparkled, and she was grinning. “Are you off the phone?”

“Yup. Come on in,” I said.

“First you have to close your eyes!”

“What?” I asked.

“Close your eyes!” she insisted.

So I did. I heard a plastic rustling noise as Hannah padded in.

“Okay.
Now
you can look,” she instructed me.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Hannah standing at the foot of my bed, holding up a dress. A
beautiful
dress. It was simple—black, strapless, and knee-length—but very elegant and very sophisticated.

“Wow,” I breathed. “Is that what you're wearing tonight?”

“No! It's what
you're
wearing!” Hannah announced. Her grin grew even broader.

I looked from the dress to Hannah and then back at the dress again. “You got me a dress?” I asked, stunned.

Hannah nodded. “I borrowed it from Tiff. She wore it to the senior prom last year. She went with this total dork, and she only said yes because she wanted to be able to say she went to the prom as a freshman,” Hannah said.

“And she doesn't mind if I borrow it?” I asked.

“Not at all. It's not like she'll ever wear it again,” Hannah said. “You can't wear the same prom dress twice.”

I got up off the bed and took the dress from Hannah. I held it up in front of myself and turned to look at the reflection in the mirror, wondering if it would transform me into a princess. It didn't. I just looked like me standing behind a really pretty dress.

“What are you going to do with your hair?” Hannah asked.

“I don't know. I'll probably just wear it like this,” I said, brushing my shoulder-length hair back with one hand.

“Like that?” Hannah sounded horrified. “You can't wear it like that. Look, I'll just do it for you.”

“What will you do?” I asked, trying not to sound as suspicious as I felt. Because although she was acting incredibly—and bizarrely—nice to me, I didn't have the best track record with Hannah. I hoped this wasn't some elaborate practical joke that would end with my hair standing straight up on end, looking like I'd been electrocuted.

“Have you ever tried straightening it?” she asked. I shook my head. “I think that would be the best thing to do. I'll blow it out for you, and then run over it with my straightening iron. Trust me; it'll look great. Very chic.”

“Thanks, but…” I trailed off.

“But what?” Hannah asked.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I blurted out.

Hannah looked down at her pink-polished toes for a moment, and then shrugged. “I don't know. I guess…well…I should have told Peyton about Avery taking her sweater. I should have told her that first night she accused you of taking it,” Hannah said.

“But you didn't know then,” I said. I had no idea why I was trying to excuse Hannah's behavior. She just looked…so sorry.

“I had a pretty good idea it was her. Or, at least, I should have,” Hannah confessed. She looked up at me, her lovely blue eyes contrite. “I'm really sorry, Miranda.”

Wow.
Hannah, who I'd always thought hated my guts, was apologizing to
me
. It was too weird for words.

“Well…thanks,” I said. “I really appreciate that.”

There was an awkward pause.

“And if you really don't mind, I'd love some help with my hair. I'm hopeless with it,” I said.

Hannah brightened. “Oh, good! It'll be fun. And your date will die when he sees you all glammed up.”

“Actually, my date just canceled,” I confessed. “That was him on the phone. He has the chicken pox.”

Hannah wrinkled her nose. “Chicken pox? Isn't that what little kids get?”

“I guess he never had it before. It's okay, though. I'm not that upset. We were just going as friends,” I said. Or, at least, I was just going as a friend. Better not to think about what Nicholas had thought it was.

Hannah looked thoughtful. “Hmmm,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing. But date or no date, you're still going to look great tonight,” she assured me. “I have some Stila lip gloss that will look amazing on you. Come on; I'll show you,” she said.

And as I followed her to her room—which featured an enormous canopy bed swathed in armfuls of tulle and an art deco vanity—I wondered…was this what it was like to have a real sister? And then I thought about Charlie and her two older sisters, who were both now in college, and how they'd all have screaming fights one day over something completely stupid, and then the next day would be best friends again. Sisters always seemed like they had such a love/hate relationship…and I'd always wished I had a sister to love/hate.

“Here it is,” Hannah said, whipping out a tube of lip gloss and dabbing a berry pink streak of it on the back of her hand. “Try it on!”

“Okay,” I said, taking the lip gloss from her. I slicked the gloss over my lips, and then pouted for Hannah. “What do you think?”

“Fab-u-lous!” Hannah pronounced. “When I'm done with you, you won't look like a geek at all. You won't even recognize yourself.”

“Um, thanks. I think,” I said.

But I laughed. Because here's the thing: Hannah and I certainly didn't love each other. Maybe we never would. But maybe, possibly, we could learn to like each other. And that might be as close to having a sister as either one of us would ever get.

T
hree hours later, I stood in front of the mirror in my room, staring at my transformed self. I'd been buffed, tweezed, polished, and glossed, and my hair had been straightened into submission. And while I didn't look like a completely different person, I certainly looked different from the normal me.

I'm pretty,
I thought, amazed. It was the first time I'd ever thought that about myself. But I
was
pretty. My eyes—lined and mascaraed—looked large and luminous, and my brown hair fell in a sleek, shiny cascade to my shoulders. My lips were full and amazingly pouty with Hannah's berry lip gloss. And the dress…it was the sort of dress a movie star would wear. And it fit perfectly, skimming over my chest and torso before flaring out into a knee-length skirt.

“You look
amazing
,” Hannah said.

She had appeared in the door, and as I turned to look at her, my mouth dropped open. Because if I was pretty, Hannah was
gorgeous
. She was wearing a floor-length white satin dress that looked like it had been designed just for her. The fabric hung slinkily along her perfect curves, with a modest rounded neckline and an entirely immodest low-cut back. She was wearing her hair up in a smooth French twist, and had done her face up in what she called her Marilyn Monroe look—lots of mascara and creamy red lipstick.

“Wow!”
I said.

“You like?” Hannah asked. She pirouetted. “Is the back too slutty?”

“No, it's perfect. Just slutty enough,” I said, meaning it as a compliment. Hannah smiled, understanding what I meant.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

“That's probably Emmett,” Hannah said. She smoothed her dress down and giggled. “I don't know why, but I feel a little nervous.”

I shook my head. “You have nothing to worry about. Well. Other than that Emmett's probably going to pass out when he sees you.”

“You think?”

“Definitely. Just be careful. He'll hit his head on the marble floor, get a concussion, and you'll end up spending the night at the ER. It could be bad,” I said.

Hannah laughed again, and pleasure lit her face. Clearly, the idea of Emmett finding her so breathtaking that he'd actually keel over thrilled her. It made me wonder…did Hannah have any idea of how lovely she really was? Or was she one of those girls who truly wasn't aware of her own beauty?

“Do you want to ride with us to the dance?” she offered.

“No, that's okay. Dad already said he'd drive me,” I said. Even if I was over Emmett, it didn't mean that I wanted to sit with him and Hannah, a third wheel to their romantic date.

“Okay. I'll see you there, then,” Hannah said. She smiled one more time, and then she was gone, leaving behind a cloud of floral perfume.

When my dad dropped me off at the Yacht Club, I felt nervous, too. Not about seeing anyone in particular, but about showing off this new side of me to the people who had grown accustomed to seeing me every day in my normal, slightly disheveled, frizzy-haired state. It made me feel vulnerable, almost like I was a new foal, still unused to my legs. (Although that may have had more to do with the fact that I was wearing high heels for the first time, and could hardly walk across the room on them without tripping.)

“Here you go, Cinderella,” Dad said.

“Cinderella?” I asked.

“That's right. Just think of my car as your own personal pumpkin coach,” Dad said.

Except that there wasn't a Prince Charming waiting for me inside, I thought. But I quickly shook off that gloomy thought. It didn't matter. I was going to have fun on my own tonight.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said.

“Have I told you how great you look?” Dad asked.

Even though I knew that he was obligated to compliment me, I still blushed.

“Yeah. You did. In fact, you've told me ten times,” I said. “You're embarrassing me.”

“Good. I wouldn't be doing my job as your father if I didn't embarrass you. So what time should I pick you up?”

“I'm not sure. Can I call you?”

“Of course. Do you have your cell phone?”

I patted the little bejeweled bag, also a loan from Hannah. “Right here. Cell phone, lipgloss, credit card. All the needs of a modern girl encased in a purse the size of my hand. Life is truly miraculous.”

Dad laughed, and I opened the door to climb out. Just before I shut the door, my dad leaned over across the seat.

“Hey,” he said. “Have a great time.”

“Thanks,” I said, smiling. “I think I will.”

Dad drove off, and I turned to walk toward the Yacht Club. I wasn't the first one there. Other students had started slowly streaming in. I saw Finn up ahead, dapper in his rented tux, walking with Leila. She looked adorable in a black-and-white striped knee-length dress. Sanjiv was there with a girl I didn't recognize. He was talking to her animatedly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. Alex Bendell and Guy Parkinson, both seniors and Geek High's resident golden couple, arrived holding hands.

That's a good sign,
I thought. The senior class always skipped the Snowflake. If Alex and Guy showed up, that meant other seniors were probably coming as well.

“Well, here goes nothing,” I said to myself. And then I took a deep breath and walked into the Oar Room.

The decorations looked especially nice, I thought. We'd strung balloons up everywhere—bobbing along the ceiling, tied in bunches as centerpieces on the tables, wound around pillars. I was glad that we'd used the red and silver balloons that had been sent by mistake. The red popped out and the silver shone against the black and white balloons. And the movie-star posters looked fabulous, giving the room an elegant air, as though it weren't just a high school party, but a Hollywood soiree.

There was already a good turnout, from a pack of runty freshmen grouped together against the wall to the cluster of seniors who were joining Alex and Guy in the center of the room. It looked like everyone was already having a good time. Faces were flushed with excitement, and friends were chattering. I waved at Hannah, who was hanging out with Emmett, Emmett's best friend, Isaac, and Isaac's girlfriend, Jenna. Hannah grinned and waved back at me.

There was just one thing missing…there wasn't any music. Where was Snake House? Their instruments were there, set up in the far corner next to the dance floor. But I didn't see any of the band members.

“Oh, good, you're here, Miranda.”

I turned and saw Felicity bearing down on me. She was wearing a short, tight, sparkly black dress, and her hair was piled on her head, secured with chopsticks. Felicity's face was screwed up in a frown.

“We have a big problem,” Felicity said. “Bigger than big. Hugely big.”

Felicity, Morgan, Charlie, and I convened in the ladies' room five minutes later. (Finn couldn't join us because of the locale, but he was busy anyway, surreptitiously putting out the snack bowls filled with candy and bags of chips). Charlie had dyed her hair purple for the night, and wore a vintage fifties black tulle dress. Charlie, being Charlie, pulled it off beautifully. Morgan, on the other hand, had made the mistake of wearing a long, puffy, bridal-looking white dress that made her look even more square and squat than usual.

“Morgan, where is the band?” Felicity asked severely.

“I don't know,” Morgan bleated. “Snake came with me. And the drummer and bassist showed up. But none of them know where Doug is.”

Doug was the lead singer of Snake House. If you could call what he did singing. He was really more of a lead wailer.

“Does he know that the venue changed?” I asked.

“I think so,” Morgan said. “I mean, I told him, but…I'm not one hundred percent sure he was listening.”

“Morgan!” Felicity said, her eyes narrowing into angry slits. “It was your job to notify the band!”

“Can't you call him now?” Charlie asked.

“He doesn't have a cell phone,” Morgan said miserably. “He thinks they're fascist.”

“How can a cell phone be fascist?” I asked. “It's an inanimate object.”

“Well, it is sort of fascist,” Charlie said. “In an oblique way.”

“You guys! This is serious!” Felicity said, rounding on us. “We can't have a dance without a band.”

“We have most of a band,” Charlie said reasonably. “We're just missing a singer.”

“Well, that's sort of a major part, don't you think?” Felicity snapped.

“Well…” I said, looking at Felicity.

“What?” she said.

“We
do
have a singer,” I said.

“Who?” Felicity asked, narrowing her eyes with suspicion.

“
You
,” I said.

Felicity stared at me for a moment, her mouth falling open. “No way. I can't do that,” she finally said.

“Why not?” Charlie asked. “It'll be very Blondie meets the Sex Pistols.”

“I am a classically trained opera singer,” Felicity insisted. “I can't sing with a rock band.”

“Singing is singing,” Charlie said. “Just don't do any of those weird, high-pitched screechy noises. I think it might freak out the crowd.”

“
Charlie
, you're not
helping
,” I hissed.

“Look, you're going to have to think of something else. I can't do it,” Felicity said. “I mean, I have a date. My boyfriend—you know,
Justin
from
Yale
—is here.”

“You have a boyfriend who goes to Yale?” Charlie asked in mock surprise. I elbowed her. Taunting Felicity, while fun, was not helpful at the moment.

“I'm supposed to leave Justin all alone while I sing? He'll look like a loser just standing there by himself,” Felicity said.

“Hey!” Morgan said, rounding on her friend.

“What?” Felicity asked, crossing her thin arms over her low-cut dress.

“Snake's going to be performing while I'm alone. Does that make me look like a loser?” Morgan asked hotly.

Charlie and I exchanged a look. Under any other circumstances, a Felimonster-Toady catfight would be a real hoot to watch, but, unfortunately, right now we had to stay focused on the task at hand.

“Felicity, you have to do it. Because if you don't, we won't have a band. No band means no music, and no music means that everyone is just going to leave,” I said.

“Besides, just think how cool you'll be as Rocker Girl,” Charlie said, with a flash of brilliance. When dealing with Felicity, you could never go wrong playing to her ego. “It'll be totally hot.
You'll
be totally hot.”

“Well…” Felicity said, considering. We all waited hopefully while she deliberated. Finally, Felicity looked at Morgan. “Does Snake House know any Jessica Simpson songs?” she asked with a resigned sigh.