Will Work for Prom Dress (6 page)

The prickle of oncoming tears hit my eyes as my cheeks burned.

“Whoa. Brutal,” Anne said.

I grabbed my plate and stalked to the trash can. I shook it three times, but the stupid hummus was like glue. “I didn’t mean—I mean, if I’d known he was there I would have never—”

“I know,” Anne said quietly. “I never would have pegged him as the sensitive type. But wowza—he really looked hurt, didn’t he?”

“Yes, Anne. I caught that.” I finally just threw the whole stupid plate in the trash. I returned to the table and slammed my chair back in, then grabbed my bag. “I gotta go.”

I looked up after hearing Zander’s sigh. He patiently
replaced the sash I had let slip for the second time within two minutes. He took a step back and gave a little nod. He pulled one of the pins held between his pursed lips and fastened the sash an inch higher. “Mwaming mwong?”

“Huh?”

He pulled the last two pins from his mouth. “Something wrong?”

“Ha. Something? Everything. Everything wrong.”

“Bad day?”

“Try bad week. Bad month. Bad year.”

“Hmm. Drama queen is usually more
my
style,” he said.

I smiled. “Stop. I don’t want cheering up. I’m enjoying my misery.”

“Okay, then. As you were.”

I flounced onto his stool, forgetting I was wearing his
project for the week. I jumped back up at his moan and tried to recrimp the poof of petticoats under the back half of the short skirt.

“Are you sure a bustle is the right look for my body type? I mean, I have a pretty good bustle going on,
au naturel
.”

“I’m going to forgive you for insulting my creation, Quigley, since you are so obviously distraught. But if you will just join me at the mirror, I would at least like to show you how dead wrong you are.”

I motioned over to Anne, who was standing dead still as The Spikester knelt at her feet and inched a scissors upward for a dramatic jagged slit in the otherwise pristinely sleek white gown. “Now Anne, on the other hand, she could maybe do with a bustle—”

Ms. Parisi hovered near the pair, pretending to inspect the bodice of a dress at a neighboring table.

“Anne couldn’t pull off this dress.” Zander lowered his voice for Ms. Parisi’s benefit. “Not even with The Spikester’s help.”

My snort of laughter made several other designers look up from their sketch pads.

“Oops, sorry. That probably broke the whole leave-me-to-my-misery mood,” he said.

“It’s not funny! I did a really jerky thing the other day and I haven’t been able to undo it.”

Zander grabbed my hips with a little frown and turned me slowly in front of the mirror. “I have a hard time imagining you doing anything ‘jerky.’ And if you did, whoever it was directed at probably deserved it.”

I stared at the unimaginably tiny waist the dress created and resisted the urge to crouch down to see if it was one of those warped funhouse mirrors. Weeks had passed, and I still wasn’t used to Zander’s magic with a needle and thread.

“So what did this cretin do to inspire your uncharacteristic act of ‘jerkiness’?” he asked.

I sighed and headed back to the workstation. “He asked me out.”

Zander’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”

We usually sat next to each other happily sketching and stitching in silence for an hour, but something about the sudden quiet between us felt strained. I fidgeted in his creation and felt a weird urge to take back my comment.

He picked at a thread holding on a tiny crystal bead. “So. What did you say?”

“Exactly?”

His forehead wrinkled as he stared at the thread. “Sure.” He really seemed preoccupied with that bead.

“I believe I called him a pompous jerk and a no-talent art hack.”

Zander’s laughter echoed throughout the room.

“It’s not funny!”

“It kind of is.” Zander wheezed and tried to control himself. “Man, you’re brutal. Did he ask you to a hotel or something?” He waved away my glare. “Sorry! Just trying to figure out what sort of invitation gets a guy that type of response.”

“Actually, he asked me to the new exhibit of digital photography at the Contemporary Art Museum.”

“The nerve!” Zander grinned and lifted my hand to spin me in a twirl. He was suddenly in far too chipper a mood.

“Shut up. It wasn’t that. That exhibit is supposed to be really cool. It’s just him. I can’t stand him—the guy just makes me mental.”

“Apparently. So this exhibit … is it supposed to be good?”

I went back to check out Zander’s sketch of the couture wedding dress. The gorgeous tulip-petal-layered front looked more like two bubbles plopped over a set of legs with all the curviness of a couple of fish sticks. I worried Zander’s
drawing skills might not come around in time for the final project. That design would have to be created and sketched in the classroom under Ms. Parisi’s watchful eye. No help from stray well-meaning models.

“Yeah. That’s the stupid thing. I really wanted to go. Not with him or anything. But my parents are tied up with their kids’ charity stuff on the weekends, and they’re not too big on me wandering around Providence on my own.” I pointed at his sketch. “This top half’s not bad.”

Zander took the gummy gray blob of eraser and started clearing the sketch pad of the bottom scribble. “Soooo—”

“Nope. That’s your job,” I joked.

He gave me a weak smile before staring at the pad and erasing with incredible concentration. “So, maybe we should go check out this exhibit.”

“We? Me and you? Sure, that’d be awesome.”

He stopped erasing with a smile. “Wow. That was easy.”

“Easy?”

“Well, sure. I was preparing myself for the whole ‘no-talent art hack’ tirade.” He picked up the sketchbook and blew the eraser fragments away. “And in the case of this drawing, it would even be justified.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry. I try to save that for guys who are asking me out on dates.”

“Oh.” He stared back at the blank sketchbook. “Right—gotcha.”

“Oh no! You erased the whole thing. Now you’ll have to start from scratch.”

Zander sighed. “Story of my life.”

I stood outside the auditorium and looked at my watch. It’d been half an hour, but I didn’t dare go in to find Anne and risk a run-in with David. My attempts to smooth things over during art class seemed to have gone unnoticed. There was a fine line between taking back my harsh comments without seeming like I was encouraging him, and I’d obviously failed to find it. David’s polite smile and lack of eye contact when I approached him in the art room didn’t exactly encourage meaningful conversation. So we mostly stuck to chat of the “here’s your developing solution” and “I think this is dry now” variety.

I was so embarrassed by my jerkiness, I spent the first two days after the cafeteria scene avoiding him. By the time Anne convinced me just to suck it up and apologize, he was acting
like the whole thing had never happened. Maybe I should just let it go, but I almost missed the cocky, obnoxious Art King act. The thought that I’d hurt this new-to-me three-dimensional David was a little much for me to deal with.

I brought it up with my mom just long enough to be reminded why I don’t bring up much with my mom. I’m sure her comment that sometimes the toughest people on the outside were the most sensitive on the inside was well meant, but wasn’t exactly comforting. I pushed the niggling ring of truth in the comment away with my trademark fake smile, “Thanks, Mom,” and deft change of subject. My parents’ world was so solidly black and white, they could never understand that life played across my canvas in a hundred shades of charcoal gray.

I glanced down at my watch again. Enough was enough—I’d have to catch up with Anne later. I was walking down the hall when I heard the door crash open behind me. I stifled a giggle as Anne walked right past me. It was understandable she might not see me, considering her face was plastered against the assistant director’s. Today’s little gem
—I DON’T THINK MUCH, THEREFORE I MAY NOT BE—
stood out on his 100 percent cotton-jersey back as they smooched by.

I cleared my throat. “Um, hello? Best friend here—
patient
best friend?”

Anne pulled herself away, laughing. T-Shirt was still tugging her down the hall as she playfully protested.

“Come on, Anne. Come with us—you haven’t been on a single collecting expedition,” T-Shirt said. “And this one will be the best yet—full reconnaissance gear, blackened faces—I’ll even let you wear my camo pants.”

I went to retrieve my friend. “No, thank you. You stay in your pants; she’ll stay in hers.”

He made a face and pulled Anne back for a last kiss. “Yeah, yeah
—Warden.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine without me. Besides, I have to show Quigley my new room décor,” Anne said.

T-Shirt grinned. “Oh yeah. Cool. Laters, babe—wish us luck!”

I pulled her down the hall a safe distance from the theater, in case anyone else popped out. “What was that all about?”

“Can’t talk here—walls have ears or eyes or whatever. Come on, I’ll show you at home. You got your shoes?”

I let my backpack fall to the floor with a groan and sat on the cool linoleum to pull on my track shoes. I hoped the whole Betterment Plan would fall by the wayside as things heated up between Anne and T-Shirt, but since she hadn’t
decided if he was the one for prom, she was keeping as many options open as possible.

“I heard walking is just about as good for you as jogging,” I said after tightening my laces.

“Nice try.” Anne was already jogging in place. “Hey—is that David coming?”

I took off in a mini-sprint and let the hall door slam behind me. Anne caught up halfway across the quad.

She grabbed my shoulder and doubled over laughing. “Joking! I was joking. You’ve really got to do something about that situation. This is a small school and we have the whole rest of the year. That’s a long time to be dodging a guy you share half your schedule with.”

I kicked a clump of dirt in annoyance and continued on toward Anne’s house. “I know. I’ll talk to him on Monday.”

“Good. I don’t think you’ve blown it entirely.”

The jogging made my blood pump loudly in my ears. “I didn’t what?”

“Just saying, I think it’s salvageable. Guys have big egos, so naturally he had to take a step back. Besides, this might be good. Now he knows you’re not going to fall all over him like ‘Maria’ does.”

I shook my head and wondered if an endorphin hit to the brain was the reason none of her words made sense. I slowed as we reached her street. “What are you talking about? And who’s Maria?”

“Maria, you know—the blonde. I don’t even know her real name—that girl playing the lead in
Sound of Music
. She was all into T-Shirt before I snagged him out from under her. So she moved on to easier prey. No offense.”

“David?” I wasn’t sure why I suddenly had a knot in my stomach. Must be the run. I’d somehow reached the top of the hill without even noticing.

“Yep. She’s been chasing David in the most embarrassing way ever since he signed on to do sets. I mean, holy cow, she’s playing Maria! Some nun, huh? Obviously doesn’t put much stock into that whole getting-into-character thing.” Something in my face put Anne in Mama-tiger mode. “Look, Quigley—you can totally take her. I mean, she’s a freshman! The only reason she’s even after David, or was after T-Shirt, for that matter, is that she wants to go to prom, and you have to be asked by a senior. Pathetic. Totally pathetic.”

“Pathetic,” I agreed. I chose not to mention Anne’s freshman-year antics when she ended up triple-booked for the
dance after spending every afternoon for two months loitering in the senior parking lot. “So David’s
with
her?”

“Well, obviously not
too
with her, considering he was asking you out four days ago.”

“True.” And that was despite little “Maria” making an unholy play for him. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of another side of my longtime foe or my mom’s comment, but I caught myself wondering if I had judged him too harshly. He seemed genuine enough when I mangled his attempt to ask me out.…