How I Found the Perfect Dress (23 page)

 

 

Coordinated separates? There were pink T-shirts. Pink sweaters. Pink yoga pants. Pink knit hats. Pink camisoles, pink oxford button-downs, pink skirts, pink jeans, pink hoodies and a really nauseating pink fake-fur coat.

And—the dress.

With only two and a half hours to get ready, I considered my options.

For me, there was no choice, really. Option B was the only thing a semi-goddess
would
do.

I set my alarm, found a cozy pink nightgown in my dresser drawer, stretched out on the bed and fell asleep.

 

 

tammЧ, of Course, loved mЧ outfit—“it's perrrrrrrrfect! Just like a princess!” she squealed—and my parents were more or less speechless, but Mike's reaction when he came to pick me up practically made the whole dress-tastrophe worthwhile.

“Whoa,” he said, taking it in. “
Whoa.
You look—Morgan, may I say something?” He got down on one knee, which cracked me up. “You are, without question, the most ironical girl ever in the history of girlness.”

“Thank you.” I curtsied with maximum irony. “That is an awesome compliment.” My hair was still too short to do much more with than wash and fluff, but I'd added a dozen of Tammy's most sparkly barrettes and some hair product to spike it up in a few spots. Overall effect: Tinker-Bell punk. The see-through, high-heeled Cinderella sandals I'd found in my closet added a nice glass slipper effect. Naturally the shoes fit me perfectly.

And speaking of shoes, the box with Colin's new boots was too bulky to carry, so I'd put the boots in my school gym bag, an oversized duffel with the East Norwich High School emblem printed on the side.

“Got my purse,” I said, swinging the gym bag over my bare shoulder. “Let's go do prom.”

“Like it's never been done before.” Mike grinned and held the door open for me.

“Oh! Hey, Mike,” I said, before I forgot. “You look great too.” And he did, naturally—what guy doesn't look great in a tux? But it was the hideous boots in my duffel bag that I most longed to see modeled on someone's feet.

 

 

the junior prom had a “no limo” rule to help keep the insanity in check, so Mike's dad dropped us off at the East Norwich Country Club. The other attendees were climbing out of cars too, a sea of familiar faces in a weirdly unfamiliar context. The guys looked a comical mix of proud and embarrassed in their formalwear, and the girls were squealing and hugging each other—gently, so as to not wreck the outfits—and exchanging compliments.

I got plenty of stares, but honestly, after the “what's up with the bald chick?” treatment I'd endured in September, nothing fazed me. My more urgent problem was figuring out how to transport my butt from the junior prom to the Spring Faery Ball. I was also keeping an eye out for Sarah, but Clementine and Deirdre saw me first, as Mike and I approached the entrance to the club.

“Oh my God,” Clementine squeaked.

“Oh my
God
!” Deirdre shrieked. “You look—pink!”

“Yup,” I said.

“Except for the corsage,” Mike chimed in. The corsage was white, thankfully, which at least didn't clash.

“Nice—corsage,” the girls both said at the same time.

Sarah, who was tall enough to see above the crowd and spot me from a distance, took one astonished look, screamed like she was on fire, and then sprinted over in her high heels and slapped me high fives, just like we were standing on the centerline of the basketball court.

“This is
subversive
!” she cheered, jumping up and down. “You are both stunning
and
hideous! You are embodying prom
and
mocking prom, all in the same moment! And the gym bag for a purse, it is
so
brilliant, Morgan. I love you forever and ever for this, and oh my God,
happy birthday
!” Sometimes Sarah went off the deep end with her theoretical musings, but that was part of her charm. Then she grabbed me by the shoulders. “But what happened to that killer dress we found at Strohman's?”

I wish I knew,
I thought. “I'm saving it,” I said, “for a special occasion.”

 

 

 

as i entered the lobbЧ, the Compliments on mЧ outfit were nonstop. Apparently, being Mike Fitch's date was giving me enough starter cool that this mind-bogglingly geeky getup was being seen as the last word in hip. Mike loved every minute of it, and beamed at everyone we passed.

“Awesome color.”

“Love the barrettes.”

“Oh my God, are those
really
glass slippers?”

The swirl of tuxedos and dresses was dizzying. I shifted the gym bag to my other shoulder and felt the weight of Colin's new boots. Every minute I stood there sopping up my new princess-for-a-day status was another minute poor Colin was stuck squiring real faery princesses around the dance floor.
Enough of this,
I thought.
I need to find the entrance to my
real
prom.

Please enter by the lobby fountain,
the invitation to the Faery Ball read. Finding the fountain was a cinch. Right in the center of the lobby, lit by a thousand tiny halogen pinspots, was the pride and joy of the East Norwich Country Club—the Kappock Fountain, donated by Kar-Krazy Kappock himself, according to the brass plaque mounted on the fountain's base.

Above, two life-sized, arching dolphins squirted water high in the air. The area around the fountain was bathed in cool mist, which meant all the newly fussed-over hairdos were being kept at a safe distance.

I walked in a wide, slow circle around the fountain, looking for a crack, a seam, a knob, a trapdoor in the carpet—anything that might be an entrance.

“Everything okay?” Mike asked. “You're, like, orbiting.”

“Fine, fine,” I said absently. “I was just wondering—you know, where does the water come from? Where does it go?”

“It's called plumbing,” Mike said, giving me a puzzled look. “Pipes. Drains. Like in the bathroom.”

“Drains, right,” I said, smiling dumbly. “Duh. I think I must have inhaled too much hairspray.”

“If that's the case, why don't you stay here and detox while I go pick up our seating assignment?”

On the other side of the lobby were tables staffed by parent volunteers. They were giving out the place cards that told everyone where to sit at dinner. At the moment, there were long lines at every table.
Perfect,
I thought.
That'll keep Mike out of my hair while I figure this out.

“Thanks, Mike,” I said. “You are an excellent prom date.”

“This is just practice—wait until next year.” He nodded at my heavy gym bag. “You want me to check that?”

“No!” It came out a little sharply, but I followed it up with a sweet, princessy smile. Mike shrugged and went off to stand in line.

Twice more I circumnavigated the fountain.
Come on, Morganne,
I urged my goddess half.
Open your eyes and see what's in front of you. It's got to be here somewhere.

When I passed the Kar-Krazy Kappock plaque for the third time, that's when the dolphins piped up.

“Welcome!” one of them said, briefly interrupting the jet of water spraying from its blowhole. “May we direct you to the Spring Faery Ball?”

“Yes, please!” I said, barely hiding my surprise. “Where exactly is the entrance? I can't seem to find it.”

“You're already here,” the other dolphin explained. “Proceed straight through the fountain, yield at the yellow light, check all mirrors for oncoming traffic, then carefully merge into the Faery Ball.”

“
Through
the fountain?” I exclaimed. “Are you kidding me? I just did my hair!”

They nodded their great smooth heads, just like the performing dolphins at SeaWorld do when the trainer waves a delicious fish treat in front of their noses. Then they honked and chirped and squeaked some encouragement, in their own strange and beautiful language.

Without daring to glance over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching, I clutched the gym bag holding Colin's magic boots to my pink-taffeta-wrapped chest, and stepped into the spray.

...
a
wet,
pink rat...

Images of what my utterly destroyed outfit would look like when I stepped out of the fountain swirled in my mind, pink and disgusting, like an artificially flavored and colored raspberry milkshake going
down, down, down
the drain.

It doesn't matter,
I thought, as the water hit me like a cold blast from a garden hose.
I am here to save Colin. Not to dazzle him with my ironic fashionista prom outfit.

Inside the fountain, the dolphins were swimming corkscrews around me and smiling their wide, head-enveloping grins. The water was so full of bubbles and froth it was hard to see. It felt like we were spinning and sinking at the same time, but I wasn't sure which way was up anymore. Finally the dolphins stopped and chirped in unison.

“Jump!”

How was I supposed to jump, with nothing to push off of?

“Jump!” they repeated. “Like this!” With powerful swipes of their broad tails, they shot upward.

“Yield at the yellow light!” one of them called in a familiar, parental way, its squeaky voice fading as it soared and breached the surface. “Don't forget to check your mirrors!”

The water spun me around in the wake of the dolphins' sudden exit. Still holding the gym bag, I flutter-kicked my high-heeled feet as fast as I could, and followed.

 

 

There was dry land beneath my feet. Dry marble, to be exact, in a luscious swirl of cream and yellow, like clouds passing over a lemon sky. The stone was worn smooth by centuries of dancing feet, and I noticed that the yellow markings formed a subtle dashed pattern, just like a merge lane onto the highway.

How gross it would be to drip a puddle of water onto this lovely floor,
I thought. I hiked up the bottom of my dress and wondered if there was any chance of finding a towel somewhere, but the fabric of my dress was not dripping.

It wasn't even wet.

It wasn't even
pink
.

“Mor?” The voice I most wanted to hear rang out, echoing off the stone and straight into my heart. “Bloody hell, girl, is that really you? Or are these mischief-makers playing magical tricks upon me eyes?”

It was Colin, looking completely ridiculous in a powder blue tux, with a hugely ruffled shirt and tight bell-bottom trousers.

My Colin, staring at me in openmouthed surprise and pimped out in the top-of-the-line kitsch of seventies disco prom finery. It was the second most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my life.

The first most beautiful thing, if you could believe the silver-framed, full-length mirror propped against the wall near where I was standing, was me. I was in the beige dress from Strohman's, except it was ten times as gorgeous as before and fully goddess-worthy—bedazzled with jewels, bedecked with flowers, trailing a gossamer train that floated as I walked. My hair, a yard long and shiny as polished copper, was piled like a princess's on top of my head, with the softest red-gold ringlets cascading around my ears.

And, okay. My boobs seemed a tad bigger than normal too.

Caution.
My eyes followed my reflection down and saw the words inscribed in small letters at the bottom of the mirror.
Objects in mirror are foxier than they appear.

The gym bag was still in my arms, and it was perfectly dry. I held it out to Colin.

“No time to explain,” I said. “Would you put these on? Please?”

Looking confused, Colin unzipped the bag and gazed with horror upon its contents.

“Ugh! These've been beat with an ugly stick, for sure,” he exclaimed. “I didn't think this outfit of mine could be made any more hideous, but clearly I was wrong.”

“It would be totally excellent,” I said, glancing around for any sign of an evil faery queen approaching, “if you could just put those boots on without us having a big conversation about it.”

“Why's that?” he said. “And, pardon me language—but what the fek are we both doin' here in these fancy getups?” He looked me up and down. “I have to say, lass, I think you take the prize for best frock. My wardrobe's more in the ironic vein.”

“Put on the boots,” I begged, “and let's dance. Now.”

He laughed bitterly. “No offense, Mor, but dancing's the last thing I'd do voluntarily at the moment.”