Along Came Jordan (13 page)

****

After school the next day, Margo and Sally raced ahead of me in the parking lot to Margo's unbelievably large station wagon — not an SUV, but a real station wagon. By the amount of rusty holes and scratches it displayed, I figured it had to be from 1960 or earlier.

"Is this yours?" I asked, catching up.

Margo threw her arm across the hood as if she were giving it a huge hug. "Isn't it perfect? The whole family loves it. But it eats gas, and I mean
eats
it."

Sally opened the front passenger door, which squawked and creaked as though it was ready to fall off into her hands. "It's vintage," Sally said and laughed. "Plus, you can eat and spill and dribble and no one can tell."

I grabbed the handle of the back door and pulled. It wobbled, and I half expected it to rip from the car.

"I know the handle's loose, but it hasn't come off yet. Climb aboard." Margo jumped into the driver's seat. "I figure we'll hit all the thrift shops on both the east side and the west side of town, and if we find nothing there, we'll drive to Smithville. It's not far down the road."

"If we drive to Smithville, the gas will cost more than the dress," Sally pointed out. She rubbed the eternal rash on her neck. "You hurt worse than ever."

Margo turned her head and looked at me from the front seat. "Sometimes she talks to her rash."

The car swerved, and Sally hollered, "Margo! Eyes on the road, please!"

Margo swiveled around and jerked the car back into its lane. "It's true. She has quite a loving relationship with her rash." She laughed.

"Totally not funny," Sally said and glanced back at me. "Don't you dare laugh."

I held up my hands in surrender. "I wouldn't think of it."

We all cracked up.

"Gonna get me a rash, too," Margo started singing. I joined in, belting it out in a sad tuneless warble.

Sally was doubled over. "Stop, you guys. I mean it." She wiped her eyes.

"Morgy's Thrift Shop ahead," Margo announced.

"I've only got a couple dollars," I said, fingering the cash in my pocket.

"It's all you need," Sally answered.

Margo parked and peered through the car window to the front of the store. "Okay, half price today are the blue tags. So, every blue tag is fair game."

We raced each other to the door and pushed inside together, giggling. I wanted a knockout dress. Even though Jordan and I were going as friends and not even as real ball attendees, I wanted to look good. No, better than good. A few months ago, I would've said hot. I shuddered — only bad memories there.

Margo hurried to the rack on the side wall, which bulged with long gowns. I followed her and as I got nearer, the musty odor made my nose twitch. Margo pulled a bright fuchsia dress from the scrunched offerings. It had stiff netting flowing over the skirt and pearl buttons sewed to the bodice.

"Margo, I could puke," Sally said, eyeing the dress. "It couldn't be uglier."

"Try it on," Margo urged. She pushed the dress toward me, and it crackled like a scrunched paper bag.

I pinched my nose. "Not to hurt your feelings, but it's not only disgusting, it stinks."

Margo surveyed it at arm's length. "It is kind of ugly. Love the color, though."

The same color was in her
tía
'
s
display at
Cosas Preciosas.

Sally pawed through the mass of satin, silk, and velour. "Emili, don't worry. I can do better."

She pulled out a short forest green silk dress with thin straps. "Hey, this is actually cute. Try it on."

I had to admit it didn't look half bad. I took it from her and glanced around for the dressing room.

"You can't take only one." Margo grabbed a red dress with a hoop skirt —
A
hoop skirt
? "This looks about your size."

I frowned. "Margo, you have horrible taste, worse than mine." Without warning, Farah's face and boisterous laughter echoed in my mind. I loved shopping with her — she could dress me up to look like a model fresh off the runway. I shoved her image back to the corner of my mind labeled
Trait
or.

"Agreed," said Sally. "It's a good thing you brought me along. Margo, need I remind you she's dressing up for Jordan? Our
friend
Jordan. We can't have her looking like a goon."

Margo lips were pursed into an actual pout. "You guys have no imagination. You can't tell what something looks like until you try it on."

"Okay, Margo, find me two more dresses, and I'll try them on."

She perked up. "You got it. Go try on the green one, and I'll bring you two more."

The dressing room was at the front of the store. It was crude-looking, made from sheets of plywood nailed together. I opened the makeshift door and latched it behind me. The lock looked like something off a doggie door. There was a full-length mirror and barely enough room to turn around — the hoop skirt wouldn't have fit through the door.

I peeled off my clothes, folded them, and laid them on a tiny metal chair. I slipped the green dress over my head and pulled it down.

I looked like a zucchini.

There was a knock on the door. "Let me in, I want to see." It was Sally.

"There's hardly room for me," I answered. "Besides, this dress is a total loser."

Another knock. "Hey, open up, Emili. I've got a few more."

I opened the door only enough to stick my arm through, but Sally was too quick. She yanked the door open and stood staring at me and the zucchini suit.

"Oh my goodness," she said. "No, no, no."

I tried to cover myself, hunching over and wrapping my arms around my waist.

Margo was laughing. "Please take note — the dress was Sally's choice. Here, I think we can do much better."

I pulled her choices into the room and snapped the door shut. One of the formals was shimmery white with a V-neck and slender straps. Tiny rows of beads ran across the bodice. The absolute best part was the blue tag — it would be half of seven dollars. This had real possibilities. I put it on and looked into the mirror. I wouldn't mind being seen in this one.

I opened the door and stood before Sally and Margo. Four eyes widened and stared.

"
A
y! Que bonita!
" Margo said.

I tugged on the bust. "I'm flat as a pancake."

"Can't blame that on the dress," Margo said. She took a step closer and pinched the fabric at my back, tightening up the front. "Better."

I twisted around and looked in the mirror again. "Yeah, it is better."

"It's too long. And seriously, Emili? You left on your tennis shoes?" Sally said.

"Well, I'm not gonna wear them tomorrow."

"I can sew," Margo said. "
Tí
a
will help me. We can take a few darts in the back and shorten it."

"By tomorrow?" I asked.

"By tomorrow."

****

That afternoon, I was scheduled to work for two hours at
Cosas Preciosas.
Dad couldn't take me, and I didn't want to ask Mom, who once again was acting crabby and weird. When I told her Margo's aunt hired me, her brow crinkled and she surveyed me through narrowed eyes.

No congratulations, no "I'm happy for you." No nothing.

I decided to ride my bike despite the frigid temps. Before I left, I got Sarah all settled watching cartoon re-runs. She wasn't big on cartoons, but I felt better knowing she'd be semi-entertained while I was gone.

I bundled up in my heaviest jacket, wound my scarf around my neck multiple times, pulled on my fat fuzzy gloves, and waddled like a doughboy through the kitchen. Mom stood at the stove, watching the teakettle.

"Work?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Riding your bike?"

I nodded again.

"I could take you…"

"It's okay, Mom. I'll bike it." I grabbed the doorknob and then turned back to her. "Have you looked at the selective mutism papers yet?"

The kettle whistled, a slow drawn-out screeching noise. Mom lifted it from the stove in a cloud of steam. "Emili, I appreciate your concern, but it's not selective mutism. All Sarah needs is more time to adjust."

My insides boiled like the tea water. Unmoving, I stared at her. She couldn't hold my gaze and turned away, busying herself with her mug and tea bag.

I tromped out.

The air assaulted my face with icy fists. I climbed on my bike and pedaled like a crazy person, which only made the attack worse. Even my eyelashes became frozen toothpicks. My outsides may have been brittle with cold, but my insides were still seething.

Why wouldn't Mom consider selective mutism? Why was she being so stubborn? I knew she loved Sarah, so why wouldn't she help her? The burden of my family made me feel like I was walking in a pool of wet cement. Was I the only one trying to save us all from drowning?

Soon, I'd have enough money to take Sarah to a counselor. I had it all planned out. Our local hospital was the closest place I could find with a counseling center. I knew they took insurance money, and I figured we'd be approved for their sliding payment schedule. If I showed some cash up front, they'd see Sarah. I was sure of it — who'd turn down a cute kid and her big sister? Didn't people go into the medical field in the first place because they were compassionate?

I arrived at
Cosas Preciosas
and leaned my bike against the side of the storefront. I pried my frozen fingers off the handlebars. My nose was running when I pushed through the door.

Chi Chi saw me coming. "
A
y
,
chica
, come in, you must be frozen hard." She rushed to me and circled me with her short arms. My face was smashed into her soft shoulder, and her hearty hug squeezed the breath out of me.

She loosened her hold and backed up. "Big date with Jordan tonight, yes?"

"It's not a date."

"Margo says it's date. Come." She drew me with her to the back room. There, hanging against the crammed shelves of shoes and small boxes, hung my white dress.

"Margo and me, we fix it." She pronounced "fix" like "feeex." I smiled.

"You put on now."

"Chi Chi, I'm supposed to be working." Two hours' worth of wages wasn't much in the first place, and I didn't want it cut with me playing dress-up.

"I the boss, yes? You be paid. Try it on. Quick."

I reached up and took the dress from the hanger, careful not to drag the gown on the floor. The bell at the door tinkled.

"Go. Try on," Chi Chi instructed as she hurried past me out to the customers.

After being outside, standing in the dressing room felt like being in a sun-booth. I wiggled out of my virtual snowsuit and slipped into the gown. I knew it fit before looking in the mirror. No more gaping bust line, no more puddling at my feet. I gazed at myself in wonder. It was beautiful — truly and wonderfully beautiful. The new darts sewn into the back pulled the front fabric tight, making it look like I had a chest. I twirled inside the tiny dressing room and laughed out loud.

I heard the door tinkle again, and Chi Chi pulled open the curtain. When she saw me, her chubby face broke into a grin so wide, I could see the shiny silver caps on her back teeth.

"
Perfect
o
.
It's perfect." She was cooing.

I nodded, almost giddy. "It is, isn't it? It's perfect."

"Now, take off dress. Work time."

I pulled the curtain shut and changed back into my regular clothes. I worked like a Marine all afternoon, so grateful to Chi Chi I would've scrubbed her toilet with a toothbrush, had she asked.

The two hours raced by, and as I was bundling up to leave, I realized I had no way to get the dress home without folding it and stuffing it under my coat.

"
No hay problema,
" Chi Chi said. She pulled a plastic bag as long as my dress off a roll behind the counter. She placed the dress inside the bag with concentrated care, tied a loop in the end of the bag, and doubled the end back up to hook on the hanger. "Now, put over your head. You have dress backpack."

I giggled. I looked ridiculous with the dress hanging over my puffy coat like an elegant backpack, but I didn't care. I gave Chi Chi a quick hug before I ran outside and hopped on my bike.