Will Work for Prom Dress (10 page)

“I guess. But it’s weird. I can’t figure him out. Right before he kissed me, I just wanted to be done with him. But then he gave this whole speech about how he says dumb stuff when he gets nervous or uncomfortable—which I can totally relate to.” The memory of my stupid Ken-doll remark make my cheeks go hot. “I just know I’d want a second chance if I said something jerky. Besides, he gave me one for saying some really mean stuff about him last week. But then he went and laid one on me! So now, I don’t know if I’m thinking I might like him because of what he said or just because of the kiss.”

“That
is
confusing.”

“And even though I feel like I might like him, I sort of hate him, too. He got into my dream college and he’s turning it down! Who does that?”

“Which was your top choice?”

“It’s silly because it’s such a long shot. But it would be beyond amazing to get into the Art Institute of Chicago.”

“Great school,” Ms. Parisi said. “Have you ever been to visit?”

“No. But I’ve memorized every word on the Web site and have the real-time satellite pictures of Chicago up as my screen saver. The city looks so great with that long green park along the water and all those trees here and there, right in the middle of the concrete-and-steel jungle. Did you know they turn the river green for St. Patrick’s Day? Even the dorm rooms are in big skyscrapers. Can you imagine being in a building filled with other artists. How cool would that be?”

“Chicago is a great town. I’ve done many shows there,” Ms. Parisi said. “I could see you fitting in well there. Solid Midwest values combined with the arts and culture of a big city.”

“I guess I’ll take your word for it. It would be pretty hard to talk my parents into a trip across the country to visit a place that hasn’t even accepted me.”

“Did you send a portfolio?”

I took a long swig of tea to help stop any tears of embarrassment. “Yes. It was returned with a ‘no distinct style, consistency’ comment. They said I could resubmit later in the
year if my ‘focus matured’ for a chance at one of the cancellation spots. But it seems so impossible. I guess I should thank David for passing on the offer—maybe I’ll end up getting his spot.”

Ms. Parisi sighed. “Anne’s latest choice is Yale.”

“Wow. It must be great to have a daughter who’s so smart she can go anywhere. You must be so proud.”

“Well, if I didn’t suspect that the school’s famous Sex Week was at the bottom of this university-of-the-month kick, I’d probably feel better.” Ms. Parisi laughed.

I couldn’t help but laugh with her. That would be so Anne.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine wherever she goes. She’s just one of those people who things always turn out right for,” I said.

“I hope you’re right. Speak of the devil—”

Anne slammed the front door behind her and ran halfway up the stairs before she saw me. She was wearing baggy camo pants, and her black T-shirt was tied in a knot to reveal her midriff. The olive-green slogan
THEY CAN SEND ME TO COLLEGE—BUT THEY CAN’T MAKE ME THINK!
stood out as she leaned over the banister, “Hey, Quigley. Come on up!” Her military boots clomped up the Oriental stair runner and disappeared.

Ms. Parisi shook her head and gave me another hug. “Go ahead on up. Thanks for the talk. It’s nice to feel needed.”

“It’s nice to feel listened to.” Her wistful look as she glanced up at the empty stairwell was hard to watch. “You know, I would never have a talk like this with my own mom.”

“No?” Her voice lilted up on a note of hope.

I swung my backpack over one shoulder and smiled. “Nope.” I ran up the stairs to Anne’s room without looking back. I was pretty sure Ms. Parisi would be smiling.

I jerked back from the blast of music as I opened Anne’s door.

“Why is it so loud!” I screamed.

Anne rushed over and pulled me in before slamming the door and locking it. She had taken the speakers off their shelves and aimed them at the door. I tripped over the wires and caught up with her in the much quieter window seat at the far end of her room.

“You would not believe what just happened to me,” she said.

“You
would not believe what just happened to
me!”
I said.

She leaned back and assessed my odds of topping her.

“Nice shirt, by the way.”

“It’s T’s.”

“I assumed. His pants, too?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Maybe I don’t want to hear the story of what just happened to you.”

She smacked my arm. “Nothing like that! I went on a collecting expedition!”

I groaned. “Anne! What are you thinking? You’ll be toast if you get caught taking those things.”

“I know! I’m not stupid.”

I tried to figure out how many of our conversations included her saying that exact phrase. Maybe T should get that printed on a shirt for her.

“See, today we didn’t take anything. It was more of a reconnaissance mission. Remember that jerk of a cop from Batville?”

“The one who gave you a ticket for breaking curfew?”

“Only because he took so long writing the other tickets, but yes. T-Shirt decided to get even with him.”

“Your boyfriend decides to take revenge on a police officer?! That’s bound to end up well.”

The “but they can’t make me think” part of her shirt appeared all too appropriate.

“That cop’s been busting people for trumped-up speeding charges and made-up vehicle violations for a long time. It’s not fair. Besides, they’re not going to do anything bad to the guy, just embarrass him a little. And T-Shirt’s not my
boyfriend
. I don’t believe in that term. Unless it is used in the plural.”

“Yeah, yeah. So what did you do?”

“Oh my gosh, it was so exciting. I swear, my heart was about to fly right through my chest. We went down to the police station—”

My stomach flipped. “Anne, are you insane?”

“No, wait. This was brilliant. We all drove down there and waited for the cop to pull in. It’s that tiny concrete building next to the DQ, so we sat eating Blizzards on the outside benches, real nonchalant. After he pulls in and goes inside, T knew he’d be signing his radio and equipment in, filling out logs and so forth, for at least fifteen to twenty minutes.”

I would have commented on the fact that her new non-boyfriend seemed surprisingly well acquainted with the goings-on inside a police station. But I was having a hard enough time just breathing.

“So the cop goes inside and I walk over to the parking lot
like I want to throw away my cup and can’t find a trash can. But I cross on the far side of the police car and, real smooth, take this out of my pocket.”

Sure she was gonna pull out something crazy like a pocket knife, I just stared at the small piece of broken ruler. She grinned.

“I don’t get it.”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I measured the bolts.”

“You measured the bolts?”

“In the light bar. Batville still has those old-style cop cars with the thing bolted on top of the roof that holds all the lights and sirens and stuff.”

“And you measured the bolts … for what reason?”

“For T-Shirt and those guys. Now they know what wrenches to bring with them when they take it off for the collection. It should save them a bunch of time.
Critical
time.”

I forced myself to watch Anne’s ceiling fan blade circle ten times before I thought I could speak in a somewhat normal tone. Maybe I should have gone for fifteen.

“But what if someone saw you? I can’t believe T-Shirt
would ask you to do that! What a jerk. Don’t you get it? Not only are they bringing you down with them, but when it all goes bad, you’re going to end up the one arrested or something—”

“Arrested for what? Assault with a deadly ruler?” Anne laughed and flipped the broken ruler onto her bedspread.

“It’s not funny,” I said.

“Well, it kind of is. I’m not going to be with them when they do it,
Mom
, so even if they get caught, I won’t. They did it this way so it didn’t look like they thought about it ahead of time. If they get caught, T-Shirt’s going to say he recognized the cop and lost it when he thought about all the tickets and exaggerated charges. They figure the guy won’t make trouble and expose himself for harassing drivers. Even if he does, it looks better if it was a spur-of-the-moment thing than if they had planned it.”

There’s always a point with Anne where arguing any more is senseless and liable to make her dig her heels in and push it even further. One look at her father’s trademark perfect-but-rigid jawline and her arms folded across her chest, and I knew we were there. I shrugged in defeat and scratched at the old paint stain on my jeans leg. It was enough to appease her.

“Look. I know you disapprove of T-Shirt and his extracurricular activities. But it’s cool, okay?”

“Sure.”

We sat in awkward silence. I considered leaving.

“Change of subject? Please?” Anne asked.

I sat straight up. I was so worried about Anne’s latest insanity, I’d completely forgotten about David.

“David kissed me!” I blurted out for the second time in an hour. I hoped it wasn’t some new smooch-specific sort of Tourette’s syndrome. It could be awkward in church or during cultural affairs lectures.

“David kissed you!”
she yelled. “Wait. How did I not know this?”

“Well, I barely knew it myself. It was out of the blue. We went to the park and tried some different F-stop speeds and intentionally blurred effects like the ones I saw in the large pieces at the mu—”

“Artsy-smartsy, blah-blah-blah—just get to the good stuff!”

I laughed. It was rare to elicit this sort of reaction from Anne. It wasn’t often my wild-child friend wanted to live vicariously through me.

“So he was saying that he says dumb things when he likes
someone and that he likes me, so was saying a lot of them.”

“Excellent! You have so much in common.”

I threw a pillow at her.

“So then he leaned in and I thought, ‘Oh, right—hug,’ so I leaned in, and then all of a sudden he was kissing me!”

“Excellent! Just excellent. Was it a good kiss?”

“What do I know? It was a kiss. I was sort of too shocked to analyze the goodness of it.”

“Understood.” Anne nodded her head with a goofy smile. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“No! I don’t. That’s why I came right over here. I don’t have a clue what this means or if this is a good thing or what.”

“Well, some of that remains to be seen. But the important thing is … we can double for prom!”

I thought about David’s Keith Gordon movie-night suggestion. I debated bringing it up, but with the close call on a blow-out fight over the collection expeditions, it didn’t seem like a good idea to admit how close I’d come to slipping up. Maybe another time Anne would think it was funny.

“I thought you were weeks away from making that decision,” I said.

“Well, sure. But if you’re with David, I’ll just go with
T-Shirt. It’ll be way more fun if we all know each other. I’m not sure they’d let The Spikester into a school function, anyway.”

“Well, I don’t know if David’s going to ask me.”

“I’ll tell T to make sure he does, and quick—none of this screwing-around-leaving-a-girl-in-suspense stuff.”

“Anne, wait. I’m not sure if I even really like David.”

“Didn’t you voluntarily go out with him?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you have a decent time?”

I thought back to the fun of the shoot. “I guess.”

“Didn’t you voluntarily kiss him afterward?” she asked.

“Well, actually no. Not entirely.”

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, you didn’t hate it. See?
That
is a real date—none of this who-paid, who-looked-at-who-for-longest or touched-whose-hand nonsense. When you’re on a date, you know you’re on a date.”

“I guess.”

“Besides, you guys have all that art stuff in common. And the best part is that he’s practically best friends with T-Shirt.”

I wasn’t sure the last bit was the best endorsement.

“So, done deal. He’ll ask. You’ll say yes. We’ll get some
cool ride and have a blast!” Anne grabbed her
Teen Vogue
and flipped through the formal section.

Her “cool ride” comment brought an involuntary flashback of a tiny MGB roadster. T-Shirt would probably opt for something more along the lines of an obnoxious Hummer limo. “I guess.”

She held the magazine down and
tsk tsk’
ed as she carefully ripped out several pages. She crumpled them into a ball and launched them toward her wastebasket. One of the pages bounced off the rim, and I could see the Victoria Parisi logo on the bottom corner.

“This is so great. We should start looking at dresses tomorrow. Crap, we have Mom’s design thing tomorrow night. Thursday, then—after school?”

My head was nodding as it spun from the day’s events. I gathered my books off Anne’s bed and caught sight of the ruler. I hoped she knew what she was doing.

Ms. Parisi’s voice barely registered over the still-blaring music. “Anne—I’m going now. Linguini with clams is on its way from Viviano’s. There’s a twenty pinned to the board by the phone. Quigley, do you need a ride home? I can drop you on my way.”

I looked back down at the ruler. Despite our earlier talk,
the idea of being in the small car with Anne’s mom now seemed less than enticing.

“No, thank you, Ms. Parisi. I’m going to walk down to the bus.”

Anne nodded. “BP, baby! Way to stay with the program.”

I decided not to comment on my motivation for hoofing it.

“Okay, hon’. See you tomorrow night!” Ms. Parisi called.

I waited until I heard the garage close to let Anne lead me down to the front door.