A Breath of Eyre (16 page)
Authors: Eve Marie Mont
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or the most part, things returned to normal between Michelle and me. Every now and then, I’d catch her looking at me with a hint of resentment, wondering what I had done to bring it on. But then my fun and feisty friend would return, and the two of us would go back to being partners in crime.
or the most part, things returned to normal between Michelle and me. Every now and then, I’d catch her looking at me with a hint of resentment, wondering what I had done to bring it on. But then my fun and feisty friend would return, and the two of us would go back to being partners in crime.
The night of the Snow Ball, Owen was coming to pick us up in his father’s car at seven. I was finally off my crutches and was looking forward to a night of dancing. Michelle and I both showered and stood in front of our mirrors, combing our hair, moisturizing, perfuming, applying makeup. The Snow Ball was the only major social event open to underclassmen, so we were determined to make the most of it.
Michelle put on a mix of dance songs and jazz, which only intensified my mood of nervous anticipation about seeing Gray. I knew it was foolish to get excited about seeing him—did I have to remind myself he was coming with Elise Fairchild?
“Can I give you an updo?” Michelle said.
“A what?”
“You know, pin your hair up so you look like Audrey Hepburn?”
“Yeah, right,” I said.
“You don’t have to pretend to be so modest all the time,” she said. “You know you’re pretty.”
I most definitely did not know this. In fact, whenever I looked in the mirror, I was vaguely disappointed. There was nothing ugly about my face, but there was nothing exceptional about it either. My features were too small, my coloring pale with little contrast provided by my lips, and my face was, in general, too pointy. No, I did not look at myself and think the word “pretty.”
“I’m not pretending to be modest,” I said.
“Sorry. It’s just, sometimes the whole ‘innocent ingénue’ thing gets old.”
“What ‘innocent ingénue’ thing? You’re the one who wants me to look like Audrey Hepburn. That’s the only reason I bought this stupid dress with all these stupid buttons.”
She looked mildly hurt, as she’d been the one to pick out the dress, but her insinuations were making me irritable. “If you don’t like the dress, why don’t you wear mine instead, and I’ll wear yours?” At first I thought she was kidding, but then she shoved her dress at me. “Here. Try it on. See what you think.”
“Michelle—” I pleaded, but she’d already snatched my dress and was throwing it over her head and squeezing into it. We wore about the same size, but Michelle was taller and had bigger breasts, so the dress that had looked so demure on me fell just above her knees, showing considerably more leg, and the tight-fitting bodice gave her Renaissance-era cleavage. She spun her hair up into a bun, then secured it with a silver clasp and turned to face me.
“Well?” she said.
“You look really ... elegant.” She looked like a slutty bride.
She nodded toward her red dress, implying I should try it on. Reluctantly, I slipped it over my body and slid my feet into my heels, turning to face Michelle.
“Isn’t it cool to be someone else for a change?” she said. “You look really sexy in that.” I wondered if she was lying, too. “Hang on a sec.” She ran to her dresser and grabbed a few safety pins, then did some tucking and pinning in the back of the dress so my bodice was as tight as hers. “There,” she said. “Perfect. But you can’t wear those shoes anymore. And we’re going to need to change your makeup.”
By the time Michelle had finished with me, I did feel like a different person. She had transformed my pale little face into something warm and glowing. My lips were wine-colored to match the dress, and my eyelids were lined with smoky shadow. My hair fell in loopy curls around my shoulders like a mane. I almost didn’t recognize myself.
Michelle’s cell phone rang, and she looked out the window to see Owen in the parking lot, waving from his father’s shiny silver car. We giggled at the sight, then grabbed our coats and headed out. The dorm hallway reeked of perfume. Girls were running around half-dressed, some with curling irons in their hair, others frowning at runs in their stockings. I felt like Cinderella awaiting her pumpkin carriage and her prince, even though a part of me knew that when the spell wore off, I’d be left in rags.
Outside the air was cold and dry, the kind that makes your lungs hurt when you breathe. Michelle and I stood shivering, white puffs of air wafting from our lips.
“You two look amazing!” Owen said, coming around to open the door for us. He was dressed in a black tux, his hair slicked back to look like a 1920s idol, like Nick Carraway or Rudolph Valentino. He stared at us and shook his head, seeming genuinely flustered by our presence. It was strange to realize we had this power over men if we chose to use it.
I let Michelle get in the front, opening the back door myself. “No, no,” Owen cried. “Allow me.” I waited for Owen to open the door, then gingerly crawled into the back. The interior of the car seemed cavernous and luxurious, particularly compared to my father’s battered and fishy-smelling station wagon. I smoothed my hands along the plush seats.
When Owen turned the ignition, romantic piano music filled the car, and he turned back to me and smiled. “Here we go,” he said, pulling away from the dorm and taking us for a drive around campus. “Michelle, there’s a bottle of champagne under your seat.”
“Emma can open it,” she said, finding the bottle and handing it back to me.
I had never opened a bottle of champagne before, but I carefully unwound the wire cage around the cork and shook it ever so slightly as I’d watched my father do countless times on New Year’s Eve. “Don’t shake it too much,” Owen said. “I don’t want it spilling all over my dad’s car.”
I nudged the cork a little and directed it toward the back of the car, where it flew off, popping against the back windshield with a satisfying thwack.
“I’m such an idiot,” Owen said. “I forgot glasses.”
“No problem,” I said. I slumped down in my seat in case any chaperones were making their way down to the Commons and took a sip. It tasted sharp and sweet, and I laughed as the bubbles went up my nose.
“Miss Innocent guzzling champagne from the bottle?” Michelle said. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
She was really starting to piss me off, but I handed the bottle back to her and watched as she brazenly chugged half the bottle.
“Damn, Michelle,” Owen said. “Save some for us.”
She wiped her mouth with her hand and passed the bottle to Owen, who pulled the car under a bank of trees and took a small sip. “Come on,” Michelle said. “You can do better than that.”
“I’m driving,” he said.
“Yeah, less than half a mile. Come on.” He tipped the bottle back and took another sip. “You guys are no fun,” Michelle said.
I was so tired of Michelle accusing me of being too innocent that I swiped the bottle from Owen and took a huge swig. The buzz went straight to my head. A minute later, I felt tingly and magical, blissfully optimistic, as if anything could happen.
Owen made a couple of circuits around the campus while we polished off the champagne, and by the time we parked in the lot behind the Commons Building, we were all feeling giddy and euphoric. Michelle leaned against Owen and teased him about his hair, and Owen’s eyelids started to droop, making his eyes look even sleepier than usual. At one point he turned and smiled at me, his dimples transforming his face.
When we got out of the car, Michelle stumbled a little, and Owen caught her arm. “Hey, I thought I was the lame one here,” I said.
Michelle looked at me and started to laugh. “You, my dear, are incredibly lame. You write poetry and have a crush on your English teacher.”
Owen shot me an apologetic look. “Michelle, let’s go inside and get you some water.”
“I don’t want water!” she said. “I want more champagne!” Her voice carried across the parking lot.
Other guests were arriving now, dressed in suits and tuxes, gowns and cocktail dresses. Once inside the Commons Building, we checked our coats and entered the ballroom. The planning committee had done a beautiful job with the decorations, making the conference room nearly unrecognizable. Panels of sheer organza fabric camouflaged the drop ceiling, and drifts of fake snow were piled around the perimeter of the room. Twinkly icicle lights hung at varying heights throughout the room, making it feel like we were in a real winter wonderland. The first thing I did after taking in the scenery was scope around for Gray and Elise. I didn’t find them, but I did see Mr. Gallagher and Madame Favier standing by the refreshments table.
Michelle tugged on my arm and pointed, quite unsubtly, at Gallagher. “Look,” she said. “Mr. Rochester’s here. Do you think he’ll dance with you? Will Mrs. Fairfax approve?” She erupted into horrible, uncontrollable laughter.
“Michelle,” Owen said. “Shut up. He’ll hear you.”
“So what?” she said. “He should know that dear Emma has a crush on him. He probably still thinks that stupid journal was mine.”
“What’s your problem?” I said.
Michelle stood upright, straightening her dress as if she’d just realized what a bitch she was being. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just joking.”
Owen took each of us on one arm, and we walked over to the photography booth where we posed for our picture. The photographer had Owen sit on a stool and made Michelle and me crouch down as if we were each whispering sweet nothings into his ear. It was all vaguely humiliating, but we tried to have fun even though nobody seemed to be enjoying themselves very much.
“Do either of you want to dance?” Owen said.
Michelle shrugged her shoulders, but I could tell she wanted to. “Take Michelle,” I said. “I’m going to sit for a minute.”
“You sure?” Owen asked. “All three of us can dance.”
“Um, no thanks,” I said.
I watched as Owen led Michelle to the dance floor. The DJ was playing a hypnotic song about the ocean. It only served to make me feel even more sorry for myself as I recalled that afternoon Gray and I had spent at the beach.
As if that memory had summoned him, Gray was suddenly standing in the doorway, Elise by his side. They strode in, surrounded by an aura that made everyone stop and stare. Gray looked tall and broad-shouldered in his tuxedo, and his face had that air of sadness to it underneath the sheen of bravado. Elise was casually elegant in a black, backless floor-length gown. Her blond hair was perfectly straight and hung like a drape against her rail-thin back. I felt tacky and foolish in Michelle’s dress, and suddenly my makeup, my hair, everything seemed wrong.
I was also embarrassed to be sitting by myself like some pathetic wallflower, so when the song ended, I walked out to the dance floor. Michelle and Owen were standing apart now, and Michelle’s mouth was set in a rigid line. When she saw me there, my face going three shades of pink, she spun her head around and spotted Gray and Elise by the door.
“Gray’s here with Elise?” she said, her eyes taking in what a gorgeous couple they made. “So that’s why you wanted to come tonight.”
I bit my lip and made a sheepish expression. “I don’t want him to see me all alone,” I said. “Is there any way I can cut in? Just for one song, and then you can have him back.”
“What am I, your boy toy?” Owen said, laughing.
“He’s all yours,” Michelle said, leaving without so much as a glance back.
“Is everything okay?” I asked once she was gone.
“Yeah, Michelle’s just an ugly drunk.”
He put his arms delicately around my waist as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. I had never stood this close to Owen before. He smelled crisp and clean, like a forest. It was strange to be dancing with him, particularly as we were trying our hardest not to let our bodies come into actual contact, knowing Michelle was watching from the sidelines.
While we danced, I couldn’t stop looking for Gray. At one point, I turned back to Owen, whose face looked hurt. “So what do you see in him?” he said.
“Gray?”
“No, in the other guy you’ve been giving yourself whiplash over.”
I gritted my teeth. “Sorry,” I said, feeling guilty.
“You obviously like him,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out why nice girls always fall for ... bad boys.”
“Gray’s not as bad as you think,” I said, and he raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’ve known him since I was five years old, and we’ve always been complete opposites. So we never really took the time to get to know each other. I think we were afraid that if we did, we might actually find out we’re more alike than we think.”
“So, it’s that whole Spencer Tracy–Katharine Hepburn thing?” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, the love-hate relationship.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Gray had entered the dance floor with Elise, and when I saw his eyes searching in our direction, I buried my head into Owen’s shoulder.
He let me stay that way for a few seconds, then said, “It’s okay if you use my shoulder. It feels nice.”
I glanced up at him. His face looked heartbreakingly earnest and a little flushed. I quickly pulled away.
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