Miss Match (14 page)

“Yeah, wish me luck.”

Yas just laughs. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

A few minutes later Maddie and I meet in the teacher parking lot to wait for Valerie to pick us up. Twenty more min
utes pass before her shiny Lexus glides up to the curb. She waves at us as if she hasn’t seen us for years.

“Girls, I’m delighted you could make it. This is going to be so much fun!” Maddie takes shotgun and I buckle up in back. Valerie’s SUV smells like gardenias, which I trace to a flower-shaped air freshener on the gearshift. She turns off the KSL Radio talk show and waits while the elderly choir director shuffles across the faded remains of a crosswalk.

“So, Valerie, what are we shopping for?” I ask.

Maddie whips around and rolls her eyes at me. “You don’t have to always have a goal in mind, Sasha. Shopping is more about bonding than finding and purchasing something in particular.” She settles back down in her seat. “Right, Val?”

Val?
Don’t tell me Maddie is already bonding with the woman who broke up our parents’ marriage, our future stepmother, the human incubator of our hopefully human half-brother or-sister.

Valerie peels out of the parking lot and eventually takes I-15 southbound. “You’re right, Maddie. But today I do happen to
have something very specific in mind. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

I cross my arms over my chest and lean back, staring out the window. The leaves have already turned red, orange, and yellow, and if this wind sticks around, the branches will be stark naked in no time. “So, if it’s a surprise, does that mean we have to wait and see what you’ve got in mind?” Maddie asks.

Valerie pats Maddie’s knee. “You’ll see soon enough.”

We pass the Murray city-limit sign, and I bolt upright. “Are we in a hurry, Valerie?”

“Not really.”

“Do you think you could stop at that school right there? I just have to drop something off real fast.”

“Sure.”

The shiny Lexus pulls up to the front of Murray High School. I grab my backpack and jump out before Maddie can interrogate me.

Once inside, the office is simple to find. I take Beth’s poem and photo out of my backpack. I’ve put them together in what I hope is an artistic way. In the research I’ve done, artist types are especially moved by
things like poems and pictures. Hopefully Jasper will appreciate this.

The rosy-cheeked office lady glances up from her computer screen when I walk in. “Hi,” I say. “I need to have this folder delivered to one of your students tomorrow. It’s important.”

She nods to a big wooden box on the wall. “If you just set it in there, I’ll be sure it’s delivered tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks.”

I run back to Valerie’s SUV, and we’re off for whatever shopping adventure she has planned for us.

Ten minutes later she pulls into a parking spot by a small strip mall, and we pile out. She links elbows with us and escorts us to the sidewalk and toward a big sign that reads
ANNABELLE’S WEDDING SHOPPE
in curlicue lettering. My sneakers get heavier and more sluggish with every step. I try to catch Maddie’s eye, but she’s facing straight ahead, looking as terror-stricken as I feel.

Valerie opens the door, but I don’t budge. “What’s going on?”

“I want you two to be my bridesmaids,” Valerie says as she pushes through the wedding-store door. A little silver bell chimes daintily.

“You can’t just spring this on us,” I say through clenched teeth. “You’re supposed to
ask
us.” That’s the way they do it in wedding-themed movies, anyhow.

Valerie’s forehead furrows, and her lips form a thin, flat line across her flushed face. “You’re right, Sasha.” She takes our hands, and for a scary moment it feels like she’s going to play ring-around-the-rosy with us. “Your father and I decided it would make our special day even more special if the two of you would be bridesmaids. Will you do us that honor, girls?”

I don’t know about Maddie, but I’d rather jump into the Great Salt Lake. With open cuts all over my body. I take my hand back and place it firmly on my hip.

A white-haired woman in a pink Chanel-like suit stops vacuuming the shiny mauve carpet and hustles to the entryway. She looks like a sparrow with a freakishly large bosom. “I’m sorry; I didn’t hear you come in,” she says, reaching out to ring the bell on the door. “I should get a louder one of these, I suppose.” She giggles and then chirps, “Ms. Kensington, so delightful to see you again. And these must be the bridesmaids. Mercy, me! They’re every bit as beautiful as you described.” It’s hard to look beautiful when you’re fuming.

“Well, actually, they haven’t answered yet.” Valerie blinks a few times and then asks, “Well, ladies? What do you think?”

“Will you excuse us?” I grab Maddie’s arm and yank her outside.

“Can you believe it?” Maddie asks. There’s a wistful look in her eyes, like she’s not only okay with this, but actually excited about it.

“You
want
to be a bridesmaid for Valerie?” I ask, dumbfounded.

She spins around to look at the gaudy bridal gown in the window. “I guess it depends on what the dresses look like.”

I roll my eyes. “Why couldn’t Dad have warned us?”

“He’s not
that
bad,” Maddie says, shrugging. “He tries.”

My mouth suddenly dry, I open my purse and feel around for my mints. My fingers skim my red plastic heart key chain. The one Dad bought me yesterday to put my new Jeep key on. The Jeep that Dad paid well over fifty percent for when he saw how badly I wanted it. Which was really sweet and, yes, generous—especially taking into account the money-gobbling wedding and baby on the horizon.

I have to admit, Dad has been making an effort lately. Kinda weird, but I think we might be talking and hanging out more than when he lived at home. “Come on, Maddie.”

Back in the bridal shop Valerie is sitting on a plush couch-bench thingy, her legs crossed, quite prim and ladylike, sipping champagne out of a delicate flute. “Is everything okay?” she asks.

“You shouldn’t be drinking, what with
being pregnant and everything,” I mutter under my breath.

Valerie giggles. “It’s nonalcoholic, Sasha. This
is
Utah, after all.”

The saleslady jogs over, her glasses slipping down her nose. “Your dresses are hanging in the big dressing room in the back, girls. Just go through this curtain and you’ll see them. After you’re dressed, come out so I can see what needs to be nipped and tucked.”

Is she referring to the dress or my body?

We close the dressing-room door and strip. I catch Maddie’s reflection in the full-length mirror. She’s so long and lean, everything I’ve ever wanted my own body to be. She slips into her size-four dress—a deep maroon sheath with a plunging neckline and a slit that hits just above the knee. I hate to admit it, but it’s lovely. Stunning, even. Especially when modeled by Maddie Finnegan.

“Hurry up, Sasha. I want to go home and see what Derek has planned for Saturday night.”

Saturday night. Homecoming. The big-deal social affair that I’m not going to be a part of. I take the size-eight gown
off its hook and slip it over my head, the static electricity having a field day with my hair.

“Want me to zip it?” Maddie asks, and I nod.

It won’t zip.

It. Won’t. Zip.

After another attempt she says, “Well, let’s just go out now. I’m sure the lady can make it work.”

My nose is stinging.
Don’t cry, Sasha.
It’s really no big deal. It’s just a freaking dress, for God’s sake.

Maddie parades out and is treated to a chorus of oohs and aahs. “It’s simply gorgeous,” Valerie coos.

While I watch from behind the curtain, the saleslady sticks some pins in Maddie’s dress, marking where it needs to be taken in. “We could have gone with a size two for you, dear.”

Then I walk out.

“Oh, dear,” the shop lady says, frowning as she tugs the dress at my waist. “Well, look on the bright side. We still have time to order a size ten. Or maybe we should go with a twelve, just to be safe.”

Valerie places her empty champagne glass on a little Victorian table. “That color looks great on you, Sasha.”

Just kill me now.

After school I let Beth know that the poem and picture were delivered to her school and that Jasper should have received them sometime this morning. I hope that goes well. It worked wonders when I was helping a freshman guy named Simon get the attention of the sophomore girl he was crushing on last April.

Yasmin bursts into my room, two Styrofoam cups in hand. “They’re having happy hour at the local Sonic,” she announces, setting the drinks on my desk. “Thought you might like a cherry limeade, you know, to cheer you up.”

I frown. “I don’t need cheering up.”

“Whatever.” She kerplops onto my bed. “So, are we going to the big football game tonight? I hear Harrison might actually give us some competition this year. Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Definitely front-page news.”

“Instead of the president’s favorite salad
dressing? Whatever are we going to do? We’ll have to risk everything and choose our
own
favorite dressing!”

Okay, so that came from left field. But anyway it got me laughing. Leave it to Yas.

“There, that’s better.” Yas passes me my cherry limeade, and as soon as I can control myself (I don’t want it coming out my nose, after all), I take a hearty swig. “So what’s wrong, girl? You can tell me.”

I close my laptop and curl my knees up to my chest. “Where do I start?”

“Start at the very beginning and don’t stop till you’ve vented your heart out. I’m all yours. That is, until six. I need at least an hour to get ready for the game, you know.” She smiles at me and then makes herself comfy on the pillows.

“Well, first of all, Dad’s getting married.”

Yasmin’s mouth drops open. “To his skanky boss?”

“Well, she’s not as skanky as I thought she was. But yeah, that’s her. And get this. They’re pregnant.”

I can tell Yas is trying not to laugh. She snorts instead. “Wow, that’s…interesting.”

“Maddie and I have to be bridesmaids.”

Yas shifts her lips from side to side. “That could be fun, I guess. If the dresses aren’t too hideous. I was a junior bridesmaid at my cousin’s wedding, and I had to wear this floofy pink and white thing that looked more like a poodle costume than a dress.”

“Actually, the dresses aren’t bad. I just couldn’t get into mine. They’re having to order a bigger size.”

“That’s cool.”

Hel-
lo
? Does she have her earbuds in or something? I sit up. “That’s
not
cool, Yas. It means, it means…” Despite my fanatical blinking, tears spill down my cheeks. I’ve been holding them in since yesterday, and for some reason they choose this very moment to let loose.

While we were back in the bridal store’s dressing room, Maddie did her best to downplay the fact that my dress wouldn’t even zip. But somehow having a size-four—scratch that, size-
two
—person tell me that the dress was
made
for curvy bodies like mine…well, it just kinda sucked. But I have to give the girl props. I mean, she could’ve been a real jerk about it, you know?

Yas hugs me. “Don’t let a stupid bridesmaid gown get you down, Sasha. The sizes are
all screwed up on fancy dresses like that, anyway. Sweetie, you’re adorable. And more than that, you’re totally smart and fun to be with.”

I sniff. “If I’m so adorable and smart and fun to be with, why am I the only upper-classman at Snowcrest who doesn’t have a date tomorrow night?”

“You’re not the only one.” Yas passes me a Kleenex. “I hear Kevin McGregor’s dateless. But he’s up for homecoming king, so he’s just going stag.”

Hmm, that’s odd. I thought he would’ve asked another girl to homecoming, seeing as how his number-one choice was going with somebody else. He could’ve asked just about anyone.

“Gotta admire the guy,” Yas continues, “even though he totally dissed me at that Ruffalo dude’s party.” She sits up straight. “Maybe you two should go together. We could go shopping and put together a fab last-minute outfit.”

“Kevin going to homecoming with me? Now
that
, my dear, would be front-page news.” I shake my head. “No way. After all, I did everything in my power to keep him away from my sister. I’m sure he has a vendetta against me.” And with good reason, really.

“Why don’t you just come with Brian and me? It’ll be fun.”

I shake my head again. “Thanks, Yas. But no thanks.”

“Too bad Derek’s going with your sister. He seems like a really cool guy. And you two go together so well.”

I want to play it cool and completely ignore what she’s just said, but curiosity gets the upper hand. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “You just seem to get along really well with Derek, that’s all.”

Aaaah! I know! And I really love being with him. But I can’t admit that to her. I just can’t! “Well, Derek and Maddie are going to have a blast together. They get along really well too, you know.”

“I guess.” After a silent spell she asks, “So what does Susan think of her ex getting hitched and being a daddy all over again?”

I shrug. “I don’t think she’s especially happy about it, but she’s making do. Actually, she’s got a bit of a love connection happening herself these days.” I can’t help but smile, thankful for the change of subject to something much easier for me to talk about.

“That guy at Starbucks?”

“Yup.”

“I swear, Sasha, you’re amazing at fixing people up.” Yasmin grabs my
Teen People
and flips through it, rubbing her wrist on the Paris Hilton Just Me perfume sample.

“Thanks.”

“So, let’s get you changed out of this ol’ sweatshirt—which is way too big, by the way—and go to the game already!”

“I think I’ll pass. I have an appointment with Mom’s jetted tub.”

She hurls the magazine at me. “You suck.”

I grab her wrist and sniff. “Yeah? Well, you stink.”

Mom’s out with Holden, and Maddie has already left for the football game in her little winterized cheerleader outfit. The house is so quiet it’s annoying. I grab my iPod and plug it into the stereo. I ripped a bunch of new songs a while back but haven’t had a chance to listen to them.

“I don’t suck,” I say out loud. “I’m just sick of all this school spirit. Tonight is a night for
me
. I’m not going to work; I’m not going to study. I’m not going to worry what people think or do or don’t do. I’m
just going to enjoy having the house to myself.”

I drift into the kitchen and scoop some rocky road into a bowl. I take a bite and then toss the rest down the sink. If I’m going to fit into my bridesmaid dress, I’ve got to stop eating so much.

Mom’s new bubble bath is calling my name. Ever since she started dating Holden, she’s splurged on wonderful lotions and potions. She even got herself a manicure the other day. I run the water, watching the tub fill with fragrant, fluffy suds. After lighting a few candles I slip out of Derek’s A&M sweatshirt and my jeans.

Before jumping into the tub I find myself standing in front of the mirror. Holding out my arms and slowly turning around, I take in every inch of my body. My skin is radiant in the candlelight, and I’ve never really paid much attention to it before, but my neck is long and elegant, like Audrey Hepburn’s. My legs are long and curvaceous, and they appear strong rather than flabby. And my stomach? It’s no washboard, but it’s certainly a lot flatter than it was last summer. Could synchronized swimming be making this much of a difference? Or am I just now
seeing—really
seeing
—my body for the first time?

As I ease myself into the warm, sudsy water, all the adages from magazine articles I’ve read dance in my mind: You must first love yourself before someone else can love you; a confident woman is a sexy woman; every makeover starts from within. I vow to myself to get rid of my negative self-image and start fresh. I’ll stop comparing myself to my sister and Yas and every other skinnier, prettier, more popular girl in the universe.

“It’s out of necessity,” I croon along with Simone Sez, “that I’m kicking you to the curb. But there are no hard feelings, only hard cement…”

The phone rings. I’m so not answering it. Instead I add some more hot water and sing my heart out. About thirty minutes later it rings again. There are probably barnacles growing on my butt by now, so I lug myself out of the tub and pick up the phone.

“Hi, Sasha?” a familiar guy’s voice asks.

“Yeah…”

“This is Derek.”

I know this sounds hokey, but my heart skips a beat. And I’m suddenly all too aware that I’m buck naked and dripping wet.

“Oh, hey, Derek. Hang on a sec.” I grab Mom’s terrycloth robe—the one Dad gave her for Christmas last year—and wrap it around me. Why is Derek calling me, anyway? “Okay, I’m back. Oh, wait. Hang on again. I’ve gotta turn down my music.”

I turn it off. “Okay, now I can hear you. So, what’s up?”

“Is Maddie there?” I mentally slap my forehead.
Duh.
He’s calling for Maddie, not me.

“She’s at the football game. It’s homecoming. She’s a cheerleader, so she kinda has to be there. She does the best spirit fingers, you know.” This I say matter-of-factly, like a news reporter.

He pauses. “Oh, right.”

“If you hurry, you can still catch the second half. I’m sure they’ll all go out afterward.”