All the Way (13 page)

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Authors: Megan Stine

BOOK: All the Way
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“My mom thinks I should lose weight,” she admitted, frowning.
“Really? That's so wrong.”
“She took me to a diet doctor when I was a sophomore, and I lost twelve pounds. I was bone thin, and she loved it.”
“Oh, that's sooooo wrong,” I said. “You're curvy.”
“Yeah, but that's because I gained five pounds back.”
“That's
good
. You look amazing! You should work it.”
I handed her another top, a cardigan sweater you could wear buttoned up, with cute pearl buttons that were kind of retro. It clung to her in all the right places.
“But it rides up when I bend over,” she said. “You can see my skin.”
“Not a crime,” I pointed out. “It even covers your belly button when you're standing.”
“I like the longer one better.” She gave me a pleading look, like I was her mom or something.
“Okay, okay,” I gave in.
I'm not a strict parent.
By the time we were done, she'd bought four new tops (two of them really hip Juicy Couture, and one amazingly cute stretch lace blouse, plus the “safe” longer black sweater) and two pairs of pants—all of them two sizes smaller than the smallest thing in her old wardrobe. I considered it a success.
“Now you should try on some prom dresses,” I said.
“What for?” She looked scared to death.
“Just in case,” I said. “Who knows? When you show up at school in your new clothes, guys may be all over you.”
“Yikes!” she said, pretending to bite her nails. But the huge, excited smile on her face told me a different story.
“Come on, pick something,” I said, gesturing toward the dress rack.
“But isn't it bad luck?” she said. “I don't even have a date yet.”
“Neither do I, and I'm already working on my dress,” I said. “I'm making it—and keeping my fingers crossed.”
“That's cool,” she said.
Yeah, I thought. Ballsy. Like my dad always said.
I thought about Tyler and wondered how our date tonight would go. We were supposed to go to a movie—assuming he showed up.
Would he kiss me in the theater? Would he mention the prom?
“What about this one?” Emily held up a totally out-of-date yellow ball gown with netting down the front of the skirt. It was the kind of thing you'd wear to a cotillion—in 1958.
“No, no, no.” I grabbed it out of her hands and shoved it back into the rack.
“Why not?” she asked. “My mom always points out that dress every time we come in here.”
“
That's
why not,” I said. “Because your mom points out that dress every time you come in!”
Wow,
I thought.
Emily must have the mother from hell.
Always telling her she was fat, always picking out geeky clothes. And then she probably puts Emily down for not being more popular and having more dates!
I yanked a shimmery black dress with spaghetti straps off the rack, just for contrast. “Try this. And don't wear your bra under it.”
“Oh God,” she said, laughing and blushing.
But she did it, and it looked great on her. I think even Emily began to see her own potential after she saw how hot she looked in that dress.
“So buy it!” I said.
“No way.” She shook her head firmly. “What for?”
We walked to the car, both of us loaded down with packages.
“Okay, next week, we work on your hair,” I said, trying to sound like it was just a fun project, not an insult.
“As long as I don't have to cut it,” she said firmly.
“We'll see.” What did she think—that I'd just wave a magic wand and make it better?
Emily had driven, and after she got behind the wheel, she looked at me for a minute without starting the engine.
“What?” I asked.
She hesitated. “I'm not sure whether to tell you this,” she said. “But if I were you, I'd rather know—so here goes.”
“What?” I braced myself for something awful. What was it? Another e-mail? Something else on Joey's website? More rumors about my nonexistent slutty sex life?
“I was backstage during rehearsal yesterday,” she said. “After you'd gone home. And I overheard Natalie asking Tyler who he's going to the prom with.”
Uh-oh. My stomach tensed up, and suddenly I felt like I couldn't breathe. “What did he say?”
“He said he wasn't sure.”
“That's it? Did he say anything else?”
“He asked her who she was going with, and she said she hadn't decided.”
My heart started pounding. Wow. Had it even crossed his mind to ask me?
“Well, I mean, how did he look? Like he was just asking her to make conversation? Or was he scoping out the situation, to see if she'd go with him?”
“I'm not sure,” Emily said slowly. “But . . .”
“What?”
“Um, I don't know.”
“Come
on
, you've got to tell me now. What else happened? What did he say?”
“Nothing. Mr. Richards called them back to rehearsal then. But when they were doing their big love scene . . . I don't know. Either they're both really good actors, or . . .”
“Or what? Or he's into her?”
Emily nodded. “It was a really intense scene, that's all. Everyone was silent, watching, because it was so riveting and real. They had it going on.”
Shit.
“I don't know, maybe he was just trying to find out if she'd freak out when he asks you to the prom,” Emily said, trying to put a positive spin on it.
Yeah. Right.
I couldn't really lie to myself that way . . . although I was tempted. I mean, Emily could be right. Maybe he just didn't want it to come as a shock to Natalie when he asked someone other than her.
Why would he ask her anyway? I thought. He was dating me.
Me.
He wasn't taking her to the movies tonight.
Not that I knew, anyway.
“I've got to get home and get ready,” I said to Emily, nodding toward the keys.
When I got home, I showered and did my hair as fast as I could. Then I called Rachel so she could help me decide what to wear.
“Go with the fuzzy periwinkle sweater and jeans,” Rachel said. “Simple but seductive. Guys can't keep their hands off fuzzy sweaters, in my experience.”
“But that's my point!” I said into the phone. “Do I want his hands all over me? I mean, how far should I let him go?”
“I'm not sure.” Rachel said it like it was a math calculation. “Is this the first date or the second?”
“Exactly! That's my point.”
“Well, the first date was just coffee, right?” she quizzed me.
“Yeah, but it was a definite date,” I argued. “I mean, he asked me in advance. It wasn't spur of the moment or anything.”
“Then this is the second date,” Rachel declared.
“Are you sure? I don't want to give him the wrong idea. I mean, I'd die if he thought Joey was telling the truth about me.”
“But you're really into him, right?”
“Tyler? For sure.”
“Well, then, forget about Joey,” Rachel advised. “Just act the way you would if Joey had never happened.”
That was excellent advice.
“You're the best,” I said. “Thanks!”
See? That's why she was my closest friend for so long.
Talking to her like that gave me such a pang of nostalgia for the old days.
It's funny, though. A few minutes later, Tyler's car pulled into our driveway, and all of a sudden I realized something. I missed Rachel, missed my old friendship with her, but I didn't miss the old days as much as I had before. Suddenly I was looking forward to the stuff I was doing at Norton: the road trip to Cleveland, the play, the prom.
This was my life now, good or bad, and I was ready to deal with it.
No, more than that. I was ready to make it the best last few weeks a senior girl could hope to have.
“Don't look now, but that's my uncle in the front row,” Tyler said as we walked down the aisle in the movie theater.
“The bald man with the red scarf?” I said.
“Yeah.” Tyler nodded, stopping. “My mother's brother. He's kind of crazy. He won the lottery a few years ago—not a million dollars or anything, just a hundred fifty thou—but he quit his job, and all he ever does is go to the movies all day.”
“But what's he going to do when the money runs out?”
I'd heard my parents talk about money often enough. I knew a hundred fifty thousand dollars sounded like a lot, but it wouldn't last very long. It wouldn't last forever, anyway.
“Who knows?” Tyler said, shrugging. “Go back to what he was doing before? Working at a carpet store?”
“He could get a job in a video store,” I joked.
“Right. Or maybe become an usher here. Anyway, let's sit in the back,” Tyler said, getting to the point. “If he sees me, he'll never stop gabbing at us.”
“Okay.” I smiled inside, because the back row suited me fine. More romantic. More private. More chance that he'd kiss me in the dark.
We walked back up the aisle and slipped into the very last row. The lights were still on because the movie wasn't going to start for another ten minutes—we were early. People were straggling into the theater, finding seats, and getting settled. But Tyler didn't wait for the lights to go down. He put his arm around me and pulled me closer to him.
My heart started racing at the feel of his hand on my arm. I turned to look at him, and my breath got shallow. He looked so cute, wearing a navy hooded sweatshirt over a gray athletic T-shirt and baggy putty-colored cargo pants.
“Hi,” he said, smiling down at me.
“Hi.” I felt like everyone in the whole theater disappeared right that instant. Like we were the only ones there, having our own private little moment, and no one could possibly intrude.
My pulse got faster, waiting for him to kiss me. I mean, usually guys wouldn't go for it so soon, but he didn't seem to be taking things slow. He had already put his arm around me before the movie even started . . . so . . .
I tilted my head slightly . . . waiting.
But all he did was give my shoulder a squeeze.
Wow, I thought. Talk about frustrating! All of a sudden, I wanted him to kiss me so much, I couldn't stand it.
Just then I glanced over and saw the bald man with the red scarf heading up the aisle toward the exit, on his way to the restroom or something.
“Uh-oh. Here comes your uncle,” I whispered, nudging Tyler.
Tyler looked over at the exact moment that the man turned his head and glanced at us. Our eyes met.
And then he kept walking.
Tyler burst out laughing so hard, several people turned to stare at us.
“What was that?” I asked. “He didn't even recognize you!”
It took a minute for Tyler to answer, he was so convulsed with laughter. Finally he got a grip.
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head and still laughing.
“That's not my uncle.”
“What?” I blinked. “You mean you thought it was, but it was someone else?”
“No,” he said. “I don't have an uncle. I mean, I don't have one who won the lottery. I made all that up.”
I pulled away from him slightly. “What?”
“I just wanted to sit in the back row,” he said. “I've got this habit of making up crazy, wild stories. My older sister Tara started it. She's done it ever since I was a kid, for kicks.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Do you even
have
a sister?” I asked suspiciously.
He laughed. “Yeah, I do—honest. She's an actress, or at least she's trying to be.
I laughed. “But . . . I mean . . . how do I know you aren't a pathological liar?” I said. “I mean, it's pretty weird making up an uncle.”
He put his arm around me again and gave me a squeeze. “Don't worry, I won't do that to you again. It's just an insane habit I picked up from Tara. I guess I must feel comfortable with you, 'cause I usually only do it with people I'm really close to.”
Score ten points for
that
line.
“So you and your sister are both actors?” I said, mulling that over. “A regular Jake and Maggie Gyllenhaal, huh?”
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
The lights went down then, and the movie started. He still had his arm around me, which was great but also distracting. I kept waiting for him to do something more—kiss me or pull me close or whatever—but he didn't.

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