Prayers and Lies (29 page)

“Okay.”

He walked out of the office as the bell rang, and I stood gripping the table, my cheeks hot and flushed.

“Well, good for you, Bethy!”

I turned to find Reana Mae watching me from the door to the darkroom, smiling broadly.

“Your first kiss.” She laughed, darting forward and grabbing my hands. “How was it?”

“God, I sounded like an idiot!”

“Yup, you surely did.” She laughed again. “But he didn’t seem to notice.”

“Do you think Mother will let me go?” I asked, suddenly sure she wouldn’t.

“Of course she will.”

“What will I wear? I don’t have a dress!”

“You leave that to me.”

With that, she squeezed my hands, grabbed her books, and shoved me toward the door. “Come on, you’re gonna be late.”

After school, Reana and I boarded a bus to the mall. I had no idea how we could buy a dress. I had all of twenty dollars in saved allowance, and even I knew that wasn’t enough for a gown. But Reana kept saying, “Just leave it to me,” so I did.

When we got to the mall, she put her arm through mine and pulled me toward L. S. Ayres, the most expensive store there.

“What are we doing here?” I whispered as she dragged me past the makeup counters and racks of business suits.

“Gettin’ you a drop-dead gorgeous dress,” she said lightly.

“But, Reana.” I stopped abruptly, yanking her hand till she stopped, too. “You know I can’t afford anything in here. Hell, I can’t afford a dress at Lerner’s!”

“Maybe
you
can’t,” she grinned, opening her purse and pulling out a thick wad of cash. “But
I
can!”

I stared at the money, wide-eyed. “Where did you get that?”

I was half afraid to hear her answer.

“I earned it,” she said, pulling me forward again. “I was saving up to buy those boots I wanted, but this here’s more important.”

“How did you earn that much money?”

I knew she didn’t have a regular job, though she sometimes babysat for neighbors.

“That ain’t none of your business, Miss Nosy.” She smiled again.

“Seriously, Reana.” I stopped again, my voice rising. “How did you earn that much money?”

A saleslady at the jewelry counter turned to glare at us.

“Shush up,” Reana hissed. “If you have to know, I got it for helping people with their homework.” She didn’t meet my eyes when she said this, turning to look toward the dress department.

“Who?”

“Lots of people.”

“I’ve never seen you helping anyone with homework.”

“God, Bethany, you’re worse than Aunt Helen!”

She turned to face me.

“I been writing people’s papers, that’s all.”

“You mean, for school?”

“Of course, for school. What else do you write papers for?”

“You write them, and they turn them in?”

“Yup.” She nodded, smiling. “I got a whole rate system, too. Twenty dollars for an A, fifteen for a B, ten for a C. If they don’t get a C, I don’t charge ’em at all. But that ain’t happened yet.”

I stared at her, torn between horror and admiration.

“But what if you get caught?”

“Don’t worry.” She was laughing now, pulling me toward the dresses again. “I ain’t gonna get caught. It’s all strictly business. Why, I bet Aunt Belle’d say I’m an entrepreneur!”

“How many have you done?”

“Lots.” She grinned. “So we got plenty of cash to get you a really fine dress. Oh, Lord, Bethany.” She stopped suddenly, pointing. “Look at that one. Ain’t it gorgeous?”

She touched the soft silver fabric lightly, then held it to my cheek. “Don’t that feel good?”

“It’s real pretty.” I nodded. “But I couldn’t wear something like that.”

“Why not?”

“Mother would never let me out of the house! Look at the back.”

I held the dress out so she could take in the plunging back.

“Lord God Almighty,” she crowed. “I bet even Nancy couldn’t talk her into that!”

We paraded slowly up and down the aisles of dresses, cooing over one, then another. They all were beautiful, but none looked right for me, small and slight as I was.

Then we saw it. A simple ruby-colored gown—plain scoop neckline, small capped sleeves, and empire waist, the soft skirt falling straight to the ground. Perfect.

“Oh, Bethany, that’s it. That’s the one for you.”

She held it up to me.

“Look, it’s the right length and everything. Come on.” She shoved me toward the dressing room. “Try it on.”

We crowded into the small, mirrored room, and I pulled the gown over my head, letting it fall softly around me. Then I turned to the mirror and gasped.

My hair looked darker and fuller against the deep crimson. My eyes looked almost black. The gathering just under my breasts gave the illusion of a bosom. With a pair of high heels, the hem would just touch my toes. I looked beautiful!

“It’s perfect!” Reana crowed. “Tracy will just die!”

“How much is it?” I asked, still staring at myself dreamily, thinking I could probably pass for royalty in this dress, in the right light.

“A hundred and twenty dollars,” she said, studying the price tag carefully.

“A hundred and twenty dollars! God, Reana, help me get it off before I tear it or something!”

I had never had anything worth even half that much. There was no way I could buy this dress. Pulling it back over my head, I stared ruefully at the silky folds of the skirt and sighed.

“Bethany, you just got to have this here dress,” Reana said, draping the gown carefully over her arm. “How much money have you got?”

“Twenty dollars,” I muttered miserably. “Plus some quarters.”

“Well, that’s plenty, then.” She grinned. “I got a hundred and fourteen. We got it covered!”

“But, Reana Mae,” I said, sighing, “I can’t take all that money from you. That’s yours.”

“Look here, Bethany,” she said firmly. “It’s my money, and I’ll do whatever I damn well want to with it. And what I want is to buy you this dress.”

“But what’ll we tell Mother about the money?”

“I already thought of that,” she said. “We’ll tell her I been tutoring after school. It’s almost true, anyways. She won’t know the difference.”

Riding the bus home, the gown in its plastic cover draped carefully across both our knees, I thought I might just die of pure delight. I was going to the homecoming dance with a junior, the associate editor of the newspaper, who was almost as tall as Tracy’s boyfriend and certainly a lot smarter.

And I was going to wear the most beautiful dress in the world.

I squeezed my cousin’s hand hard, my eyes stinging with tears.

“Shoot, Bethany, don’t go to bawlin’ now.” She grinned. “It’s just a dress.”

She leaned over and gave me a quick hug. “I figure when my Prince Charming comes, you’ll do right by me.”

She was still smiling, but her eyes were staring past me into the dark outside the bus window.

“I reckon he’ll come, sooner or later.”

She leaned back abruptly and closed her eyes.

“Won’t Tracy just die when she sees your dress?”

Tracy did have a fit when we arrived home, carrying my ruby red gown. But Mother was thrilled.

“Oh, Bethy,” she breathed when I came out of her room wearing the dress and her black, high-heeled pumps. “Sweetheart, you’re beautiful!”

Tracy sniffed loudly.

“No one wears red to homecoming,” she sneered. “She looks like Jezebel herself!”

“Now, Tracy,” Mother said, never taking her eyes from me. “Don’t be jealous. Your dress is pretty, too.”

“Jealous?” she shrieked. “Jealous of Bethany? God, Mother! I’m not jealous of Bethany!”

“You watch your language, young lady, or you won’t be going to the dance at all,” Mother snapped.

“How much did this dress cost?” Mother asked, finally looking away from me to face Reana. “It looks very expensive.”

“Oh, Aunt Helen, we got the best deal,” Reana Mae burst out before I could say a word. “It was the last one like it, and it had been returned, so they cut the price almost in half! We only paid seventy-two dollars, plus tax.”

She lied so smoothly I could only stare in awe.

“Well, that is a good price.” Mother sighed happily. “It’s a beautiful dress, honey.” She cupped my chin, just the way Brian had done earlier, and kissed my nose. “And you are just beautiful in it!”

Tracy glared at Reana Mae. “Where did you get seventy-two dollars?” she sneered. “Where did you get any money at all? What did you do, steal it?”

“Tracy!” Mother was angry now. “What has gotten into you?”

“You can’t tell me that hillbilly could come up with seventy-two dollars. Why, I’ll bet they just stole the dress right out of the store.”

“Go to your room!”

Tracy turned and stomped out of the room, through the kitchen, and down the stairs to her room. I knew she’d be calling Lynette within the minute to complain about my dress.

Lying in bed that night, I stared at the dark shape of the gown hanging from the top of the closet door.

“Reana Mae?” I whispered, long after I thought she was probably asleep.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“It’s okay.”

“Reana?”

“Mmm-hmmm?”

“I’m sure your prince will come soon.”

“I hope so, Bethy. ’Cause I’m gettin’ awful tired of waiting on him.”

24
Tracy’s Way

I
fairly floated to school the next day, thoughts of my beautiful gown crowding out everything else.

“You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Reana Mae said with a laugh as we stood in the cafeteria line.

I smiled and felt my cheeks redden. “I still can’t believe …”

“Hey!” Reana jumped suddenly and spun on her heel, her hand flying to her rear.

Behind her, Gary Newberg stood laughing. He’d just pinched her hard.

“What’s wrong, honey? I thought you liked it rough,” he said loudly, turning to grin at several boys standing with him.

Reana Mae stared at him, then raised her hand to slap him. He grabbed her wrist, wrenching her toward him.

“Come on, honey. Don’t get mad. You know you like it.”

He leaned forward and kissed her hard on the mouth.

“Stop it!”

Reana jerked away from him, pushing his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Laughing, Gary sauntered off with his friends.

Reana stood still, staring as they walked across the cafeteria, looking back at her now and then to laugh.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“What a jerk!” she hissed. “What a goddamned jerk!”

We filled our trays and walked to our usual table, where Cindy sat waiting.

“What was that all about?” she asked, glancing from Reana’s face to mine.

“Hell if I know,” Reana said, her voice sharp.

She bit into her hamburger, staring down at her tray.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” I said. “Everyone knows he’s a jerk.”

Reana’s cheeks were red. She didn’t look up from her meal.

When she rose to carry her tray to the back of the room, another boy sidled up beside her. He looked like a stoner—long hair, a flannel shirt baggy over a Black Sabbath T-shirt.

“Hey, Reana Mae, so I heard you like it … rough.” He smirked at her.

“Well, you heard wrong.” Reana set her tray back down on the table and clenched her fists.

“Come on, don’t play hard to get.” He leaned in toward her, his fingers stroking her cheek.

“Stop it!” Reana recoiled.

The boy laughed, leaning toward her again. Then suddenly, he was on the floor. Reana had punched him cleanly in the stomach and now stood over him, clenching and unclenching her fist.

“Hey,” he grunted, looking up at her. “What the hell was that for?”

Teachers came running from all directions. Mrs. Riley grabbed Reana’s arm and pulled her toward the stairs. Another teacher hauled the boy from the floor and dragged him in the same direction. Cindy stood staring, but I pushed my way after them. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew it wasn’t Reana’s fault.

In the principal’s office, Reana and I sat across from the stoner boy. Mrs. Riley stood in the doorway, as if to prevent us from bolting. We waited what seemed like forever before Mr. Carmichael finally strode in. He sat behind his desk and glared at us.

“So, who wants to tell me what’s going on here?”

Reana Mae simply stared at the floor, her cheeks red. I could see her hands shake in her lap.

“He just came up and started grabbing at her,” I said. “Reana didn’t do anything to start it.”

Mr. Carmichael glared at the boy. “Is that true?”

The boy looked from Reana Mae to the principal and said, “She said she liked it rough.”

“What?” Reana burst out. “I never said no such thing. I don’t even know you.”

Mr. Carmichael looked from her face to the boy, then shook his head.

“Mr. Boyden,” he said finally, meeting the boy’s eyes. “Miss Colvin here says she doesn’t even know you. So how could she tell you anything?”

“She wrote it in the bathroom,” the boy said, glaring at Reana. “Right on the wall, she wrote, ‘For an easy lay, call Reana Mae. She likes a rough ride.’ She even wrote her phone number.”

He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a scrap of paper with our phone number written on it.

“I never wrote anything on no bathroom wall,” Reana yelled.

Mr. Carmichael took the paper from the boy, crumpled it, and dropped it in the trash can.

“I think I can assure you, Mr. Boyden, that Reana Mae did not write her own phone number on the bathroom wall. It seems someone is playing a very mean trick.”

He turned to Reana. “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”

Reana Mae looked up briefly at me, then shook her head.

Mr. Carmichael turned to me. “What about you, Miss Wylie? Do you know who did this?”

I knew, of course, just as Reana knew, who had written the ugly words. But like her, I shook my head.

“Well.” Mr. Carmichael sighed. “I don’t know who wrote it, but I know who is going to clean it up. You, Mr. Boyden, will spend afternoon detention scrubbing down the walls of that bathroom.”