Top Ten Uses for an Unworn Prom Dress (6 page)

I watched him flip his visor, grab hold of his sunglasses, and slip them back over his eyes.

“We're outta here,” he said, “and with time to spare. I think you should be thanking me.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Totally. What would you do without me, Nic?”

“I'd get by, I think,” I said, biting back a grin.

His tone went flip. “Don't mention it.”

I lifted my hand to give him a playful punch. Like I had the other day. Then dropped it back in my lap. Because I realized—not that I had a crush on him or anything—that touching Jared was nice. Too nice.

•

Minutes later, Jared was turning into the BK driveway. But instead of continuing to the drive-thru, he parked and got out.

As we headed up the walkway, he fell into step beside me.

“We have time to eat inside. You
are
going to eat something, right? You're not one of those idiot girls who doesn't eat in front of a guy?”

With the mortgage paid, I did feel a little hungry. But Jared wasn't getting off that easy. “Actually, I am. I totally freak out around cute guys. But at the moment, I'm hungry enough to eat a horse.”

He shot me a dirty look, and I smiled back.

Things were returning to normal. I could finally take a breath and relax. Or so I thought.

When we actually entered Burger King to see Rascal and about five of his friends occupying a front booth, I knew my troubles weren't over at all.

Crap. A coincidence? Maybe. All those people had seen us leave together. But this
was
the only fast-food place within walking distance of school.

Six pairs of eyes turned on us. Their voices silenced.

I would have
loved
to have taken credit—to believe the shimmering tension was all about me. But the eye daggers Rascal and Jared were throwing at each other had entirely too much depth, too much history.

“McCreary,” spat Rascal.

“Rascal,” replied Jared, with venom.

Both guys were seeing red and practically scraping their hooves for a fight.

Push between two idiots and crack The Dress like a matador's cape—even though two cows do not make a bull, the BS is sure to start flying
.

What was this about? Had Jared messed with Kylie at some point?

Nah. Alison would have mentioned it.

A smile must have taken over my face, because suddenly Jared turned his iron gaze on me, then made a hard turn into the line to order.

I followed.

“What are you so happy about?” he snapped. “Did you know he was going to be here?”

“No,” I mumbled with more frown than voice. “You're the one who suggested this place.”

His jaw clenched as if he wanted to say something,
then decided to keep it inside. “Okay. What do you want?”

“A cheeseburger. Diet Coke.” I went for the ten in my front pocket.

His hand stopped mine in midair, touching me for just an instant. A nice instant. A really confusing instant. “It's on me.”

“But you said—”

“I'm paying, Nic.”

He retrieved his wallet from his back pocket, and I swear he threw a look over his shoulder at Rascal, as well. A look that said:
She's with me
.

Okay, so while I got that this weirdness had nothing to do with me, I was also pretty sure Jared was using me to his advantage. Which meant I had a right to know what this was all about.

And hey, I'd fessed up about my mother and the mortgage, so fair was fair.

He told the cashier we wanted the food to go, paid, and grabbed the paper sack. I grabbed the cups, filled up the drinks, and followed him toward the exit.

My heart went into a giddyup as we approached Rascal and his friends. Rascal, now outside the booth, was lounging with his backside against the table. His feet could easily reach out and trip a passerby. If he wanted them to.

Did he dare? Would World War III break out here in the restaurant?

Just stay cool
, I said in my head.

Or at least I
thought
it was in my head. But suddenly my words were hanging in the air. And Rascal, whose gaze I was holding, was shrugging.

“I am cool, Nicolette. I'm the coolest guy you'll ever know.”

I could feel Jared's muscles tighten beside me.
So
not good.

“Well,” I said, thinking fast on my unsteady feet, “that makes you and Jared exact opposites, then.”

All eyes moved to me like I was the center of a french fry-smelling universe. The Burger Queen.

“Yeah, Rascal,” I said, my thoughts racing, “you're definitely the coolest guy I know. But Jared?” I said, forcing a smug smile. “He's the hottest.”

Silence. Except for a lady and some kids at another booth who didn't seem to understand the dire necessity of defusing this situation.

Then one of Rascal's friends chuckled. Damon or Harrison or someone. Then another. Then Rascal himself.

I couldn't even
think
of looking over at Jared. Who might like the fact that I'd called him hot. But also, might not.

Rascal's mouth bunched into an all-knowing smile. “I think you're going to change your mind about which one of us is hottest, Nicolette. Sooner, if not later.”

I swallowed—hard. Was he implying there'd be an “us”—a Rascal and me—in the future?

Jared took a long, hard stride forward. “I'm more
than happy to take Kylie into my backseat and let her be the final judge of who's hot and who's not,” he spat at Rascal.

Okay … not so good anymore. Besides the fact that the level of testosterone had me gasping like an asthmatic, I knew I had to get Jared out of Burger King before something bad happened.

I grabbed his hand, and to my shock, he didn't fight my grasp. In fact, he laced his fingers through mine.

Rascal's eyes took on a death-ray-like glare. “Kylie's off-limits.”

“Yeah?” Jared said. “Well, so is Nicolette.”

I was?

I was!

The room went spinning. As much as I wanted this to last forever and ever and ever, I knew this was dangerous territory.

“Come on, Jared,” I said, in a fake girly whine. “We've got to get back to school.”

The guys glared at each other, and then Jared turned, all red-faced, and walked out with me.

He didn't drop my hand until we reached the passenger door of his car, when he used his key to turn the lock for me.

Moments later, we were zooming out of the lot.

“So I—I'm off-limits?” I stammered over the blast from the air-conditioning vents.

“To him, anyway. He's got a girlfriend. And you're too smart to let him sniff around you again.”

Huh. I was a little disappointed. Although I wasn't sure why. His answer was so logical.

“And I didn't need your help in there, Nic,” he continued, squinting at the windshield, so obviously preoccupied and ticked off that he'd forgotten to put his shades back on. “I can fight my own battles.”

“I know that. But you stepped up for me at the bank,” I defended myself lamely.

He ground his teeth. “That was different.”

“Yeah, but somehow I'm involved in this, so I deserve to know what's happening.” I pulled the wrapper off a straw and plunked it into my Diet Coke. “Is this about … her? Did you go out with her at some point?” (For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to say Kylie's name.)

“I've never touched Kylie.”

“Did something happen at school?”

“We're not even in the same classes.”

Oh, yeah, Jared was all AP. And Rascal … well, he was known more for his feats on the football field and in the hallways.

Jared grabbed his burger, took a bite, and swallowed, ignoring me. Then, finally, he broke. “The fact is I hate him as much as he hates me. And since I've been driving you around again, and you seem to be the only girl at school who doesn't quiver in his presence, it's making him crazy.”

He veered around a car, then looked at me, his voice losing its hard edge. “Okay, I guess I should thank you.
You kind of kept me in check back there. Especially taking my hand like that. It distracted me.”

I reached for the air-conditioning vent and tilted it toward me, suddenly all kinda warm. “You're welcome.”

“And from here on, I'll keep you out of it. You've got enough on your mind.”

I took a bite of my burger before my thoughts fell out of my mouth again and got me in real trouble. If I'm not mistaken, I think I kind of liked being in the thick of this thing.

•

When I stumbled in from practice, Mom was soaking in the tub.

“There's a chicken Caesar in the fridge!” she called through the slightly open bathroom door. “Help yourself!”

I was starving, but before I could eat I needed a short pit stop. It was silly and flat-out embarrassing, but I really, really wanted time with The Dress.

Needed it.

I'd done the shower thing in the locker room, so I didn't have to worry about sweat or anything unseemly defacing its perfection.

I unzipped the bag and inhaled the fabric's sweetness. I could swear the soft rose color and the tiny embroidered flower buds gave off a scent all their own. I shed my shorts and tee, zipped myself inside its elegance, and turned to gaze in the mirror. The waistline somehow gave me an hourglass shape, and the color
looked rich against my fading summer tan. But most of all, the pure enchantment of The Dress showed in my eyes. They were almost gleaming.

I moved to the bed, turned, and did one of those trust falls. Hard enough to set the springs of the bed screaming, but hyperaware not to harm the fabric or stitching on The Dress, of course.

A single ring from the cordless phone broke my musing. Mindlessly, I reached for it and pressed on. And heard a male voice.

“Hey, Nic.”

Rascal?

Jared?

Fire lit my face.

“Hey,” I managed, sitting up, telling myself to get a grip.

“Something I wanted to talk about,” he said.

The voice sounded deep, like Jared. Besides, why would Rascal call me? There was no date to break.

“Something I thought about after we went to class.”

Class. Oh,
definitely
Jared.

“You doing anything tomorrow?” he continued.

“Not really,” I said, thanking God there wasn't widespread use of video phones yet. How would I explain to Jared—how would I explain to
anyone
—why I was sitting in a pink crinoline gown at six o'clock on a Friday evening? Alone?

“Good,” he said. “I'll pick you up at around noon, all right?”

“Okay, Jared,” I said, just to be sure.

“Bring one of your mother's business cards. And a picture of her.”

“Huh?”

“I'll explain tomorrow.” He paused and sort of laughed. “And it'll give you something to think about.”

I didn't need anything to think about. My brain was already overloaded. What I needed was to get
off
the phone and
out
of this dress.

“So, yeah, tomorrow,” I said, looking down at myself, caught in a weird net of fantasy and reality. “Okay, see you then.” I hung up and shuffled toward the hanger on the back of my door, and with a hot face and a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, retired The Dress to its home.

T
he next morning, I did my usual Saturday sleep-in and long, lazy shower. Then I broke with tradition. I reached under the sink for the blow-dryer. Luckily, Mom was sitting an open house for some other realtor or I would have gotten Twenty Questions from her. She'd grill me about boys, ask me who I was trying to impress.

Ugh.

Anyway, I
hated
blow-drying my hair. Not only did my arm get achy, but no matter what I did, my hair never looked any better. Tight blond curls turned to
yellow frizz. But for some reason, that morning, I felt like breaking new ground. I told myself if I only tried hard enough … But after a good forty-five minutes, no luck. I got the totally predicted result.

I did my thing with a palmful of gel. Then I dug up my favorite clips, pulled back the loose strands from my face, and went to my closet. No dress code to worry about, so I went with low jean shorts and a peachy crop top. I would have killed for a belly ring.

I topped off my look with some mascara and this really pretty pink lip gloss. You'd almost think I was trying to impress someone. I was only going somewhere with Jared, to do something with my mother's picture and her business card—but you never know, right?

I'm not sure why, but my pulse did a little jump when the white Camaro rounded the corner. I locked the front door and moved to the edge of the curb. Only to see a silhouette in the seat beside him.

Several inches shorter than Jared. With longish hair. A girl.

A girl?

He'd never mentioned anything about a girl. A girl friend. Or girlfriend. Alison had never said anything—

Of course. Alison.

God, was I an idiot, or what?

My best friend's face came into view as Jared rolled to a stop. She pushed the door open and leaned forward so I could crawl into the back.

“Hey, Nic,” she said, and smiled.

I felt relieved. Foolish. Embarrassed. But when Alison swiveled around to take in my look, embarrassment won hands down.

“I like what you did with your hair,” she said, and slammed the door.

I shrugged. “I was bored this morning.”

“You should be bored more often. Seriously.”

“Thanks. Hey, I didn't know you were coming today,” I said, hoping to sidetrack the conversation away from why I'd picked this morning, of all mornings, to spiff up. Then realized my comment was exactly the wrong thing to say. It probably seemed like I wanted to spend time alone with her brother.

“Her idea,” Jared said, eyeing me in the rearview mirror.

“Well, someone has to keep Nic company at the mall.”

“I told you,” he said. “Mom could have dropped you off
later
, after we were done.”

“Okay! I either need a translator,” I said, “or someone's gotta start speaking my language.”

“We're going to the print shop,” Jared said. Our gazes connected in the mirror. No sunglasses this time. Just dark eyes, looking slightly amused.

“My uncle's got tons of extra paper lying around. I thought we'd make some promotional stuff for your mother. Flyers. Notepads. Things she could hand out so people get to know her name.”

“Wow. Great. But how much is this going to cost?”

“
Nada
. My uncle said we could use the paper for free,” he went on. “And he'd overlook the toner charges as long as we don't go crazy.”

“The thing is,” Alison said, turning around, her green gaze brightening, “at around two o'clock, some rush-rush project is coming in, and Jared's gotta help. So you and I can bum around Fashion Square till he's done.”

“Cool,” I said, because it was. Though I felt kinda weird leaving Jared to do all the work, and kinda curious and thankful that he'd go out of his way to help me at all—shouldn't I maybe stay with him and offer to help?

But something told me to keep my mouth shut. That giving off the impression that I preferred to be with Jared—even just out of gratitude—wouldn't sit well with Alison.

Or maybe Jared, either?

•

Their uncle's shop was in the back of a minimall just a couple of blocks from the sprawling Fashion Square—where everybody in and around our school chose to shop.

Jared fired up the computer and found a layout program while Alison scanned in my mom's picture and her logo. On top he typed “EVERYTHING I TOUCH … TURNS TO
SOLD
!” which he said he'd dreamed up while bored in class. My contribution was a line across
the bottom calling Mom “Thurman Oaks' Top-Selling Realtor,” which we all agreed had a real ring to it. Then we printed it out on eye-catching neon-pink paper.

By the time their uncle came in with the do-or-die project, we'd printed a huge stack of flyers—like five hundred or something.

Now, if
that
didn't generate some business for Mom, what would? I couldn't wait to show them to her.

Alison and I headed out the door, although leaving Jared to do all the work tugged at me like the last bit of Chunky Monkey in the freezer. But he didn't seem to mind, just said he'd call Alison on her cell phone when he was done.

Soon we were pushing through the doors of Macy's, and Alison, whose parents were the opposite of mine— meaning rich—was stopping to admire an adorable purse with outside compartments and a designer name etched into its leather.

“I love it,” she said, and hiked the straps over her shoulder. “But it's so small. I don't think you can get a wallet and cell phone inside at the same time.”

“That's because the kind of person who can afford it brings a servant along to hold her things.”

We laughed as she put the purse back on the rack.

That's when we saw them. Cherry and Natalia, two of Kylie's chief hangers-on. Sitting on high swivel seats at the makeup counter, applying blush and glaring at us.

Or was it just at
me
? If I'd been reading the squinty
eyes of their fair leader correctly, Kylie had recently upgraded me from totally insignificant to number one on her hit list.

I looked right past them.

“Don't look now …,” Alison said, in a small voice under a big, fake smile.

“Yeah, Pretty Parade alert,” I said, covering my mouth with a nose scratch.

“Seriously.” She picked up another purse, a hideous royal blue thing, and held it up, just below her eyes. “Think that means Kylie's nearby?”

I turned my back to the girls. “Only if this is the worst day of my life.”

“And you already had
that
day, right? When you had to see your dad.”

Actually, Jared had done the proverbial “make lemonade out of lemons” thing with that day for me. But this was
not
the time to say that.

“It's safe to say,” I responded instead, “that every day with my dad is a new low.”

Alison laughed, too loudly, to show Cherry and Natalia we were
not
interested in their presence or intimidated. She put the purse down and glanced their way. “Cherry's on her phone now, talking furiously.”

“Calling their queen, probably.” I searched Alison's face. “What's our game plan? Stay here? Go to Bloomie's?”

She shrugged. “We go about our business as if we didn't see them. I don't know about you, but I could really go for an Ice Blended Mocha right now.”

I nodded. Especially since the coffee place was a good thousand footsteps away. Was Alison a friend or what?

Minutes later, we were sucking gobs of frozen coffee and whipped cream through straws, strolling past clothing shops, shoe stores, and places that sold upscale gadgets.

“Omigod, look at that skirt.” Alison had stopped dead in her tracks and was pointing to a mannequin in a doorway. “Seriously. Of course, baby pink is so not my color, but if they have it in green or blue …” She handed me her drink. “Give me a minute, okay?” she said, and rushed past the no food or drink sign posted beside the store entrance.

After standing in the doorway feeling slightly stupid, I moved to a nearby bench and plopped down. I couldn't help thinking about Jared back at the print shop, and whether we should have stayed to help. But then a voice gave me a swift kick back to reality.

“Uh, hell-
oh
?”

I looked up and into Kylie's hard blue eyes.

Cherry hovered at one side. Natalia closed in on the other.

I waited for my life to flash before me and thought of all the hours I'd wasted practicing volleyball when I could have been perfecting something constructive, something that could have helped me at this very moment. Kickboxing. Karate. Projectile vomiting.

No, wait! Time out!

I was in Fashion Square. On a Saturday afternoon. With moms and dads and kids passing by. And security … well, men in uniforms were around somewhere, I was sure. Besides, these three weren't cold-blooded killers. They were just popular.

“Hi,” I said, for lack of anything better to say.

When none of them answered, I tried a smile.

Then I tightened my hold on the Ice Blended Mochas.

Just in case.