My Sweetest Escape (23 page)

“Because I had hoped that this time

would be different. In addition to being

really good at sensing people, I’m also an

eternal optimist. Deep down inside. But

don’t tell anyone. I don’t want that to mess

with my image.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you agree to not

tell anyone about my blog.” We got out of

the car and she started whistling.

“Hannah? Did you hear me?”

“Um, yes? The thing is, I kind of already

did.” She squinched up her face as if she

was preparing for a blow.

“What!” She nearly hit me when she

opened the door.

“Uh, yeah. Remember how I said I was

going to help you with the job thing? Well,

it just so happens that I have a contact, of

sorts, at the campus newspaper and I

showed him your blog. He’s been looking

for someone to start writing a music

column, and I gave him your name and your

email, so he’ll probably be contacting you.”

She said it all in a rush.

I stopped walking and grabbed her arm

to make her face me.

“Why did you do that? I told you I

wanted it to be a secret.” I could feel the

panic building in my chest. I honestly didn’t

know why it freaked me out so much, but I

was definitely freaking.

“I know, but, like I said, you’re really

talented. I don’t think you belong in poli-sci.

You belong at a magazine or writing for a

newspaper or, since those are all dying out,

working for music promotions. I don’t know

that much about it, but I know that you are

wasting your talent.”

“And you know all that from reading a

few blog posts I wrote?” The music industry

was vicious, and there were thousands of

other blogs out there. I didn’t have

thousands of followers, or even close to

that. I was one drop in a vast ocean of other

people doing the same thing, and a lot of

them doing it better than me.

“I know it because I know you. Once

again, creepy, but I feel like you don’t even

see yourself sometimes. I know you’ve got,

like, baggage and shit and that someday

you will share it with me, but you don’t

have to now. But that baggage is standing in

the way of you doing something awesome.”

She started walking toward a Deb shop,

which was where we were most likely to

find something for her to wear. They

already had the prom dresses out, even

though prom was months away. I couldn’t

explain because she wouldn’t understand,

so I just followed her into the store.

Almost an hour later, Hannah had

rejected nearly all of my dress suggestions.

I’d tried everything; short, long, in between.

Red, green, blue, black, gold, pink. She and

found a reason for every rejection. It was no

wonder she hadn’t been shopping in two

years. She was so freaking picky.

“What about this?” I’d gotten fed up

with trying to help her, so I was picking out

ridiculous things. I held up a tube dress that

was in a shade of violent fluorescent yellow

and looked like something a cheap

streetwalker would wear.

“Do I have to list the things that are

wrong with that dress?”

I sighed and put it back.

“Jesus, Hannah, you’re harder to shop

for than the Queen.”

“The Queen doesn’t do her own

shopping. She has people,” she said,

walking along a rack and running her hands

over the dresses. “Oooh,” she said, pulling

one out. It was the first time she’d showed

interest in anything, so I was shocked.

It was a one-shouldered red dress with

black embroidery along the hem that would

probably hit right above her knees.

It also had a black belt around the waist

with a silver buckle.

“I’m trying this on,” she said, and

without any more fuss, she marched toward

the dressing room.

I followed in her wake, stunned.

The attendant was absent, so Hannah

just walked into the first room that was

open.

“Hold my bag?”

“Sure,” I said as she handed her purse

under the door.

I waited as she shucked her shoes and

clothes off and then heard the sound of the

zipper on the dress. She turned back and

forth.

“Well? Does it fit?” The door slowly

opened halfway and she let me in.

“You tell me.” She shrugged and turned

in a circle and the skirt flared out.

“You are a knockout, Hannah.” It was

true. The belt made her look like the perfect

hourglass, and the length made her legs

look like they went on forever. The bare

shoulder happened to be on the side with

her scars, but really, I wasn’t looking at

them.

“I think we have a winner,” I said, taking

her hand and twirling her under my arm.

She crashed into the wall because there

really wasn’t enough room for twirling, and

we both laughed.

“Okay, now it’s your turn. Go pick

something and get back here, bitch.” I had

just planned on borrowing the gold number

again, but once again, Hannah wasn’t going

to take no for an answer.

She shoved me out the door and I went

back to the front of the store where the

dresses were. I’d seen a few that I thought

were cute, but I’d been so focused on

Hannah I hadn’t even thought about it. I

quickly looked through, trying to find

something that wasn’t too short or too

long, or a bad color.

I rejected anything red or pink or

orange. I also didn’t want black because it

tended to wash me out at the same time it

made my freckles stand out way too much. I

found a drapey gray number that

shimmered a little when I held the fabric

under the light. It also looked like it would

be comfortable and cover everything I

needed covered. It wasn’t as conservative

as what I would have worn in my old life,

but it was a good middle ground kind of

dress.

I brought it back and saw that Hannah

was back in her other clothes and had the

red dress draped over her arm.

“Very pretty. Now get naked and put it

on.” I was shoved into the room and she

slammed the door behind me. There were

only a few other people in the dressing

room, and I bet they didn’t know what to

make of Hannah.

I stripped down and put the dress on. I

got the zipper almost all the way up.

Hannah’s foot was tapping impatiently on

the other side of the door.

“Can you zip me up?” I unlocked the

door before she busted it down. I turned

my back and she finished zipping me before

she wrenched me back around. I didn’t

think she knew the meaning of the word

gentle.

“It makes your boobs look great.” Of

course, this was an important

consideration. “Gorgeous. If I had a dick, I’d

totally do you.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever

said to me,” I said, touching her shoulder.

“Okay, so now we both have dresses,

can we get out of here?”

“Sure, just let me get changed.”

Hannah couldn’t get out of that store

fast enough. I reminded her that we needed

accessories for our dresses, so she dragged

me into Claire’s for earrings and such, and

then we went and got shoes. By the time

we had everything for our outfits, we were

both starving, so we decided to be done for

the day. I invited Hannah to dinner and she

accepted.

“By the way, what were you and my

sister talking about for so long last night?” I

said as we shoved our purchases into the

backseat of my car.

“I was just apologizing profusely for my

lack of tact. It took a while. I also had to go

into the whole story about the guys and

outline my reasons for wanting to go. After I

told you, it seemed stupid that I was trying

to keep it a secret in the first place.”

“That was it?”

“Yeah, why?” I looked at her, but her

eyes were wide and innocent. I’d

underestimated her lying skills, apparently,

based on past experience.

“No reason. Just curious.” I dropped it.

My next stop was Dusty to see what his

version of the story was.

I didn’t have long to wait to interrogate

Dusty because he was at the house when

we got back, sitting on the couch with his

headphones on as if he was the king of the

castle.

He pulled them off his ears and left

them around his neck when he saw me and

Hannah.

“Should we add your name to the list?” I

said, pointing to the chart with everyone’s

name on it. “Or maybe you should just

move in. You could sleep on the recliner.” It

happened to be the ugliest chair in the

history of chairs, but Taylor refused to get

rid of it, and would never say why. Some

sort of weird sentimental value. I honestly

didn’t want to know.

“Pass. I’m just here because Hunter is

helping me study for the Praxis. Or actually,

he’s showing me how
not
to study for the

Praxis.”

“Did you get your scores yet?” I asked

Hunter.

“Not yet. But they should be in by

tomorrow. If not, I’m going to let Taylor call

and rip them a new one. She’s much better

at yelling and getting her way than I am.”

This was true. I’d seen it in action.

“I’m sure you did fine,” I said, going to

take my bags down to my room, Hannah

following. Hunter was really smart—in fact,

the entire house was freaking smart, just in

different ways. It was more intimidating

than when I’d been competing with my

classmates in high school and last year for

the highest GPA.

I tossed my bags on the floor and went

to check my email, my heart pounding a

little bit. Yup, there it was. An email with

the subject line: Writing for The Maine

Campus, from someone named Brett Evans.

I clicked it open and scanned it. He’d read

my blog and loved it and was wondering if

I’d like to have my own column in the

Entertainment section where I’d review

bands, CDs and so forth. He did mention

that he’d gotten my name from Hannah, so

it didn’t seem like he was contacting me out

of the blue. He also mentioned that the

paper paid per article, but if I liked it

enough, he was looking for an assistant

editor for his section, and he would love to

talk to me, and it didn’t matter if I wasn’t a

journalism major.

“Let me guess. Brett emailed you.”

Hannah had been silent the entire time I’d

been reading the email. Probably because

she knew that’s what I was doing.

“Yeah. He wants to give me a column,

and he said he needed an assistant editor.”

“Holy crap, that’s awesome! Good job,

girl.”

I felt less-than-enthusiastic. “But,

Hannah, I’ve read the paper, like, once, and

I’m not a journalism major. I’m not even a

writing major.”

She scoffed.

“Doesn’t matter. Brett’s a new-media

major. There are lots of people who work

there that aren’t in journalism. Besides, it’s

not like it’s the
New York Times.
It’s just a

school paper. Not a big deal.” Why did it

feel like such a big deal?

“So you’re going to do it, right?”

It was money, which I didn’t have, and it

was something I loved to do.

Live the day, Jossy.

“Yeah, I’m going to do it.” The second

the words were out of my mouth, Hannah

tackle-hugged me and we both fell back on

the bed. “I swear, I think you’re more

excited about it than I am.”

“Awesome. Fuck, I’m starving,” she said,

putting her hand on her stomach and sitting

up. She held out her hand and pulled me to

my feet.

“How do you know this guy, anyway?”

Hannah never really talked about other

friends.

She sighed and rolled her eyes toward

the ceiling. “It’s kind of a long story. We

were sort of friends in high school, and I

was madly in love with him. I never told him

and eventually I got over it, but we’re still

sort of friends. It’s one of those weird

relationships where you never really know

where you stand, you know? But he’s a

good guy, I swear.”

Okay, the story wasn’t that long. My

next question was automatic.

“Is he cute?”

She smiled a little. “Not in the

conventional way. He’s sort of band-geek

chic. You’ll see what I mean when you meet

him.”

Hannah kept my new job quiet at

dinner, like I asked her to, and ended up

staying with us for homework time.

“You know, I said we needed to build a

library instead of a stupid man cave and

look at us now,” Taylor said as every

available surface, including the f loor, was

taken up with books and people and

computers. “I told you I wanted one of

those bookcases with the ladder that rolls