Always You Page 4

  “Nah. I just had to see what Emma meant by ‘prom dress event of the century.’”

  “Even when she uses hyperbole, she still manages to understate. And now that you’ve seen it?”

  “I’ll stick around,” Josh said with a shrug that was obviously meant to be a little too blasé and carefree.

  Anne knew Josh’s presence had less to do with gowns and more to do with a girl. He leapt at any chance to be with Fanny. Even though Fanny was firmly in love with her tattooed, lip-ringed boyfriend, Josh seemed to believe that if he bided his time, all good things would come to those who waited and Fanny would pursue “better things,” as he said.

  She rather liked the idea of Fanny and her boyfriend, Tran, together, but she couldn’t argue with the results of Josh’s recent infatuation. It had made him much nicer and more tolerable to be around since his days of insufferable selfishness.

  She glanced up at the sound of another town car arriving, and the two Blondies, as they had been nicknamed, emerged. Emma and Ellie might be roommates and they both had blond hair, but that’s where the similarities ended. Emma was short, quick, and always in designer shoes, whereas Ellie was tall, gangly, and more often in sweatpants or a swimsuit. While they were both dressed as usual, they were unusually in mid-argument.

  “But if you wear heels, you’ll be taller than your date,” Emma was saying, as though if Ellie wore heels she would bring about eternal damnation and suffering to the world.

  “Edward doesn’t care how tall I am or whether I tower over him,” Ellie said. “Shouldn’t I get the shoes I want?”

  “Since when do you even want high heels?” Emma asked, exasperated. “If I could find formal flip-flops, I swear you’d wear those.”

  “I don’t see an opportunity for heels in Guatemala next year. I need to live it up the one day I can.”

  Emma’s wild eyes found Anne and Josh. “You two have to talk sense into her.”

  Ellie gasped, and her blue eyes rounded in shock as she finally took in the rows of dresses. She reached out to feel the fabric beneath her fingertips. “Is this all for us?”

  Emma surveyed the scene and allowed herself a triumphant smile. “Technically, it’s for my prom fundraiser for central and southern California high schools at risk. But I thought I’d give us first pick at the merchandise. Come on—before the others get here and take all the good stuff.”

  They stormed the rows. Anne filed through the dresses quickly, pulling a short red silk cocktail dress, then a more dramatic purple gown with a slit to the waist. She piled so many dresses over her left arm that it began to ache.

  “Set them down over there, by the sofa,” Emma said as she critically studied a dazzling lilac ballerina dress.

  A fitting area had been set up—a square carpet with four sofas and four full-length mirrors that faced one another in a corner so one could see every possible angle. Anne laid her dresses over the back of one of the sofas and dove back into the fray. By the time Lizzie, Kat, and Fanny arrived, she already had two dozen outfits waiting.

  “Is there a curtained-off area?” she asked, casting a glance at Josh who stood next to Fanny, holding her dresses for her.

  “We’re all ladies here,” Emma yelled over several racks of dresses.

  “I request a recount,” Josh said.

  Anne gave a quick thought to the blue-and-white striped bra and underwear she wore underneath her sheath dress, decided it covered as much as her swimsuit, and set about disrobing. She pulled the red cocktail dress on headfirst. The silky material slinked down her arms and over her hips. She reached behind her and zipped it up to her waist; she wasn’t flexible enough to pull it up all the way.

  She stood in in the center of all the couches and mirrors and twirled around. She liked the way it fit—cinched tight at her waist, with cap sleeves that showed off her shoulders—how bright it was against her skin, and best of all was the smooth, silky material. She imagined what her mother would say. You’re going to prom, not starring in a telenovela. It was too red, demanded too much of the spotlight, wasn’t elegant enough. She pulled it over her head and slid on the next dress.

  Anne had made it through half of the outfits when she was joined by the others. Within moments, the sitting area was chaotic with piles of dresses and squeals and exclamations and compliments.

  “What’s wrong?” Lizzie asked with a concerned frown as she noticed Anne pulling off yet another dress with a frustrated sigh and standing, hands on hips, glaring at her pile.

  “They all looked so good on the hanger. But on me?”

  “Everything has looked good on you. That’s not the problem.”

  Anne stared longingly at the red cocktail dress she’d tried on first. Lizzie, noting the direction of her stare, picked it up and held it against Anne’s frame.

  “What was wrong with this one?” Lizzie asked.

  “It’s so red. Too short for prom. Silk-polyester blend.” That last phrase was definitely spoken with her mother’s tone.

  “So?”

  “So. So…”

  “So what?” Lizzie said. “Put it back on.”

  Anne heaved the dress over her head with a sigh, even though she loved the brush of silk against skin.

  “Anne, you look amazing.” Lizzie turned her around and zipped the dress up all the way.

  Anne dared another look in the mirror. “Are you sure it’s right for prom?”

  “I’m sure it’s right for you.”

  Emma pounced on them, making Anne turn in circles. After a deafening silence, she stuck one finger in the air. “I approve. Now, can everyone put on her perfect dress? I want to make sure we all look good together.”

  They fumbled with zippers and buttons and clips. Josh helped by zipping and clipping and holding aside hair until they all stood single file in front of a mirror. Josh let out a low whistle as he studied them. “You guys look like a rainbow.”

  Anne squinted into the mirror, then realized what he meant. They’d inadvertently chosen outfits that fell across the color spectrum.

  Lizzie wore an orange open-backed halter dress that cascaded down her legs like a waterfall.

  Ellie’s blue maxi dress skimmed her tall figure. It was the same color as her eyes and set off her tan. Her long, blond hair swept along her bare back.

  Kat wore a purple bejeweled V-neck with dramatic trim that dropped to the floor and swirled out at her ankles—just a preview of what she’d eventually be wearing to the Academy Awards if her future went her way. She posed in the mirror, made duck lips, and twisted her red hair into a knot at her neck like a pro.

  Fanny’s jade-green fringe dress came alive as she twirled, the fringe dancing around her bare legs. She went into a lunge, and the bottom of the dress rode dangerously high up her thighs but clearly gave her the kind of legroom she wanted.

  Emma had broken ranks by wearing a canary silk tuxedo. She looked so chic with her tailored pants and the short tuxedo jacket that stopped just under her chest, leaving her midriff exposed.

  Then there was Anne in her red dress.

  “It’s not exactly a rainbow. We’re missing indigo,” Ellie said. “And we’re not in the right order.”

  “We need to make sure the boys match us,” Emma said.

  “That won’t be a problem for me,” said Anne. “I don’t have a date.”

  The girls all turned to her. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, because,” she stammered, “I don’t have a date.”

  The collective fall of their faces was too much.

  “It’s okay,” Anne said quickly, not wanting their pity. “It’ll be easier. I can wear what I want.” Maybe she’d get nothing else she wanted, but Lizzie had been right. She wanted this dress, and this, at least, she could have.

  “So, Emma, are we putting red Post-it notes on these dresses?” Lizzie asked.

  “We don’t need to. They’re ours. An organizer’s gift.”

  Lizzie cast a critical eye over her friends. �
�Has everyone come up with something to red-post?”

  A collective groan echoed in the room from everyone except Kat.

  Kat switched her pose so her left leg was out front. “I red-posted all the drama programs from the Academy going back to the construction of the auditorium, and took all the photos of me as lead.”

  “See,” Lizzie said, “that’s the self-centered spirit I’m looking for.”

  Kat shot Lizzie a glare.

  Lizzie ignored her. “Now the rest of you better have something red-posted by prom.”

  * * *

  Anne stretched across her bed with a groan.

  “Is it just me,” Lizzie asked, plopping onto her own bed across the room, “or does it feel like we went through an entire day of boot camp?”

  “Why are my quads sore?” Anne moaned. “All we did was shop for prom dresses. We didn’t even have to walk around a mall. We were driven there and back.”

  “I think shopping is Emma’s Olympic event. We weren’t nearly trained enough.” Lizzie flipped over onto her stomach, then winced. “I’m staying here for the rest of the night. Have food brought to me, please.”

  “Then we’ll starve. I can’t move.”

  “This is how we die.”

  “Tragic.”

  They both lay still in silence until Lizzie’s stomach growled loudly. “Maybe if we text one of the girls?”

  “They’re probably all sore like this. All except Emma.”

  “Maybe if we text Emma?”

  “No,” said Lizzie darkly. “She’ll just drag us back out for more shopping.”

  Anne reached beside her for her fluffy stuffed bunny and pulled it against her chest.

  “Oh, gross,” Rick said, glancing away from the monitor. He was sitting next to Anne in the computer lab as she watched clip after clip of medical procedures on animals and humans, from how to set broken bones to how to perform an intramuscular injection.

  “Watch, watch, watch.” She grabbed his arm and pointed at the monitor, where a vet was sewing up a leaky intestine.

  He’d been a good sport and watched every video with her, grimacing the entire time.

  The next day he showed up at the cottage with a stuffed animal—a rabbit. “Consider him your test bunny, so you can practice all the stuff you watch.”

  “Isn’t that cruel and unusual?” she teased, drawing him back to her bedroom.

  He pulled her down on her bed and trapped her, willingly, in the cage of his arms. “He’ll endure anything to be with you.”

  She felt warm and secure beneath him, safe—but also excited and nervous.

  “Shots.” He kissed her neck. “Surgery.” Her eyelids. “Cartoon Band-Aids.” Her mouth.

  He managed to distract her for half an hour before she pulled up another video clip and set her bunny—Bunritto, she named him instantly—on her lap. With her sewing kit, she practiced a stitch line on its right ear.

  “Do you think it’s straight?” she asked. “Tight?”

  “I think it needs a kiss to make it better,” Rick said.

  She grinned and backed onto her bed.

  Somehow, with Bunritto in her arms, her muscles felt less sore, her back less achy. Memories of Rick always made her feel languid and fluid, drowsy as a summer haze.

  “Maybe we could make a freshman bring us dinner,” Lizzie suggested as her stomach let out another call for food. “We’re never going to get to haze them as seniors, since the Academy is shutting down. Maybe we should just start early.”

  “Seems fair,” Anne agreed. “How do we get one down here?” The freshmen and sophomores occupied the top two floors of the Academy dorms, while juniors and seniors shared the ground and second floors. The odds of a freshman running into their wing were slim to none.

  “Maybe if I tap out desperate Morse code on the walls,” Lizzie said.

  “Can’t Dante bring us something? What is the point of dating him if he isn’t at your beck and call?”

  Lizzie grinned at the mention of her boyfriend. “It does seem like food delivery should be a side benefit.” She typed something into her phone. A few moments later, a ping came through. “We’re saved,” Lizzie said dramatically.

  “Will he hand-feed us, too?”

  “Seems like a reasonable request. Unlike moving to the same city.”

  Anne turned to her side, ignoring the ache in her back. “What do you mean?”

  Lizzie grimaced. “My parents transferred me to Chenery in DC. They figure I’ll get better internships, make more connections. A better chance of making it into Georgetown. But Dante is trying to get me to transfer to Ignatius in Manhattan to be near him.”

  Anne chose her next words carefully. It wasn’t that she thought Lizzie should give up anything for a boyfriend, but Ignatius was just as prestigious as Chenery, and to be wanted… well, that was something. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I can’t pick a school just because my boyfriend wants me to go there,” Lizzie said, exasperated. “If our relationship can’t survive a one-hour flight, then we should go ahead and break up.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Anne said fiercely. “And distance does do weird things to a relationship. Think about how much you see each other now. What if that were just gone?”

  “Why can’t Dante move to DC, then? Even if he didn’t, so what if we couldn’t see each other every day?” Lizzie flipped to her side to look at Anne. “Think of all the bad things that can happen to a couple. If we can’t make it through something so easy as being an hour apart, should we really be together?”

  Anne’s face pinched.

  “Anne, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean… about you and Rick.”

  “No, you’re right,” she said. Of course, Lizzie being right didn’t make it hurt any less. Sometimes Lizzie’s words sliced more effectively than any weapon.

  “It was different for you. You were what? Thirteen? I’m a year away from being independent and making all my own decisions. To tell you the truth, I don’t know if Dante and I should stay together at all.”

  Anne gasped. “Don’t say that just to make me feel better.”

  “I’m not.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “His family would never approve of me.”

  “Who cares?”

  “I do. My own family barely knows I’m alive. Do I really want to have a set of parents who give me crap all the time? I don’t want to go through my whole life worrying about what his parents are going to think about every little thing we do.”

  “So you’re just going to break up with him? You won’t even give him a chance?” Anne sat up in bed, desperate to make Lizzie hear her. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

  “Who’s to say I won’t regret moving to New York just to be with Dante? What if we break up then, and I’m stuck in Manhattan instead of in DC where I need to be?”

  “Maybe we should find this comforting,” Anne said, lying back on her bed in defeat. “We’ll be miserable no matter what we choose.”

  * * *

  “Are you nervous?” Emma eyed Anne fisting the hem of her light-blue cardigan. The knuckles of her fingers, tight across the back of her hand, were pronounced and white. “There’s no reason to be nervous.”

  Anne shook her out her hands and tried to slip them in her pockets, only to realize her sleeveless white eyelet dress did not have any. She brushed down the sides of her hips. “I’m worried we’ll forget something.” She gestured to the chaos of the warehouse. The rows and rows of dresses had been pushed against the walls. In their place were rows of picnic tables with white tablecloths, blue china, and sparkling silverware, ready for hundreds of guests at Emma’s fundraising lunch. Emma had convinced their peers to wear black pants and starched white shirts to serve lunch to the society crowd that Emma had suckered into paying three figures a head for a “prom-style” lunch—with punch, an artisan variation on nachos, and heart-shaped butter cookies. Further proof that Emma could talk anyone into anything.


  “You shouldn’t worry. I’m in charge, which means it will be perfect.” Emma nudged her shoulder. “Besides, we both know that’s not why you’re nervous.”

  “I know,” Anne mumbled. She glanced toward the entrance for the tenth time. Rick had also agreed to help, but he’d yet to make an appearance. “I’m fine. And almost done here.”

  While she wasn’t serving, Anne had been put on decoration duty. She slipped a prom dress over the head of the white mannequin with its smooth, marble features. She picked up a pin and secured the dress in the back. Emma had selected several designer prom dresses to auction off to raise additional money. She had such an eye for opportunity.

  “Don’t look now,” Emma whispered between her teeth. “Walking disaster coming our way.”

  Anne resisted the urge to turn around. She couldn’t mean Rick; Emma would never refer to him that way. But who could possibly be a—

  “I love this dress.” Lucy Banning slipped her hands around the mannequin and squeezed it tight. Lucy may have been a walking disaster, but she always looked amazing. She was wearing black pants and a white shirt, per Emma’s instructions, but her choppy black hair was a style entirely her own. It was streaked with her trademark dark-blue bolts that matched her eyes.

  She caressed the dress. “What a hot champagne color. It would look beautiful on you, Anne.”

  “We already have a dress for Anne,” Emma said serenely. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check with the caterers.”

  Anne shot Emma a quick glare as her friend walked away, reminding her that they were supposed to make an effort to be nice to Lucy.

  Even if Lucy was the biggest pain in their sides.

  Anne could never figure out how Lucy, with all her friendly intentions, managed to be such a menace. While Lucy had never been an issue for Anne, she had targeted the boys that her friends liked. None of it was ever her fault or the result of malice, either. Anne supposed she understood why her friends couldn’t bring themselves to be particularly nice to Lucy. If Lucy ever turned her attention to Rick—

  Anne couldn’t even finish the thought.

  “I don’t have a prom date yet,” Lucy said. She pulled at some of the other dresses hanging off mannequins and placed the cloth against her body.