Will Work for Prom Dress (15 page)

The officer ushered us through a back door into a long hallway that smelled faintly of ammonia. The blank, cream-painted concrete walls and antiseptic square offices reminded me more of a hospital or school than what I would have imagined a police station to be like. He stopped in front of a room with a single, large glass window facing the hall. Tiny lines of steel ran through the glass creating a diamond pattern you’d notice only if you were actively trying to ignore the view through the pane. A pale and defeated Anne sat hunched over on a bench in the otherwise empty room. She looked half her age.

“She’s right in here. We haven’t processed her yet. We wanted to reach you before the media did. It’s not procedure,
but if you’d like to have a few words? Then you can call your attorney, and we have some paperwork you need to fill out.” He turned to me. “I’m sorry, but you’ll need to stay here.”

I nodded, strangely relieved. Down the hall, a tall man wearing a suit even I could tell was expensive had his arm protectively around T-Shirt’s shoulders as they walked to what appeared to be the main desk. Two other suits carrying man bags blatantly ignored the
NO CELL PHONES
signs and flanked the pair. The grim-faced officer seemed unimpressed by T-Shirt’s entourage, perhaps due to the day’s words of cottony wisdom:
WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHY AM I IN THIS HANDBASKET
?

Inside, Ms. Parisi plastered Anne’s face with kisses and smothered her to her chest.

A matronly, uniformed woman approached. “I’m ready for her now.”

The officer cracked the door. “Ms. Parisi, we’ll need you to come handle some paperwork.” He turned to Anne. “Officer Munroe will take you to get your fingerprints and photographs for the file.”

Ms. Parisi flinched at
fingerprints
. She clung to Anne’s arm for a moment before giving her a quick hug and kissing her forehead with a pained fake smile of reassurance. Officer
Munroe’s far more believable kind and businesslike smile helped ease the tension as she led Anne past us to another room. I touched Anne’s arm lightly, but my presence didn’t even register on her exhausted face.

I sat in the cold office chair and wrapped my legs around the metal legs to stretch. Ms. Parisi spoke heatedly into her cell phone, earning a nasty look from the desk. As she stepped outside to finish her call, the realization hit that I had somehow ended an otherwise lousy day sitting all by myself in a strange police station.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” Ms. Parisi said. Her perfect lip liner smudged as she absently bit her lip. “I can’t tell you what it means to have you here.”

I reached out and squeezed her clenched hands, triggering her ragged intake of breath I feared might turn into a sob. She composed herself and stared straight ahead, still clutching my hand hard enough to leave faint crescent marks from her manicured nails.

After what seemed to be hours, Ms. Parisi’s attorney secured the necessary permissions from a judge, and we prepared to leave the station and the ordeal behind us, for the moment.

“Thankfully, Anne’s still a minor. Public access to the
police reports should be restricted, as long as there aren’t any leaks,” Ms. Parisi said as we waited for Anne’s official release. She lowered her voice. “Including her full name and mug—well, images.”

I nodded and yawned.

“Poor thing, I’m sorry for keeping you so long. Thank you for being here with me, you’re a good friend—to us both,” she said. “I’ve called a cab. I think the neighborhood’s had enough excitement for one day without any more patrol car appearances. It’s probably not the best night to stay over. Can we drop you on our way?”

“Actually, I’m way out of your way. Anne probably just wants to get home. I think I’ll try Zander, if it’s okay.”

Ms. Parisi smiled. “Just check in with your parents first, okay, Quigley? We like to know where you girls are.”

“Okay, Ms. Parisi.”

Zander’s phone rang nine times. It was really late. Maybe he was sleeping. But it clicked the way it does when someone hits ignore—strange, since Zander always clicked over to tell me if he was tied up. I hung up, checked the number, and tried again.

“Hi, Quigley—what’s up.”

His tone certainly didn’t sound sleepy. It wasn’t exactly
annoyed, but there was an unfamiliar clipped note that left the impression he wasn’t thrilled with the call. My cheeks flamed. What was I thinking calling him so late out of the blue?

“I’m sorry to call so late—”

“It’s fine. What did you need?”

I stammered as his all-business attitude made my mind go blank.

“Um, nothing. It’s fine. It was just—Look, it’s nothing. Never mind, sorry I called.”

There was an awkward silence. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke, the usual warm, caring Zander returned.

“Quigley, it’s after midnight. You’re not a phone person and have only ever called to make arrangements for something. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I mean, well, not really. But it’s fine. You’re busy or something. No worries. I’m just at this police station—”

“What?
Which one?”

“I don’t know the name, the one down near the convention center.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I joined Ms. Parisi by the back door as they led Anne
down the hall. She rushed forward on seeing her mom and dove into her arms, crying into her shoulder. I took a step back, feeling out of place in the midst of such a personal family moment, but Ms. Parisi’s hand reached out and pulled me back into a group hug.

“You okay?” I asked Anne.

She nodded, looking shell-shocked.

“Let’s get you home,” Ms. Parisi said. “Quigley, did you need a ride?”

“Zander’s on his way. He lives right off campus—should be here any minute.”

“We’ll wait until he arrives. Maybe we’d all like some fresh air?” Ms. Parisi pushed open the door and then jerked back at the series of flashes from outside. She instinctively lurched in front of Anne as a few photographers called out her name, eager to get their shot.

An officer pushed past us to clear away the cameras. “Sorry, ma’am—it’s a restricted area. Should have been empty.”

“Great. I don’t even have makeup on,” Anne attempted to joke with a wan smile.

Through the door we heard the officer’s voice threaten
trespassing charges for anyone remaining in the authorized-access only area. A moment later, he stepped back in.

“Used to see a fair amount of this when I worked in New York. Not often we have to deal with this sort of thing around here,” he said. “They should all be cleared out. Looks like your cab is waiting.”

Officer Munroe approached from the front of the station. “I have an Alexander Macintosh at the desk for Ms. Quigley Johnson.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Ms. Parisi asked me.

“I’m fine. Are you going to be at school tomorrow, Anne?” I asked.

She looked to her mom, who answered for her. “It’s late. I think we may take a personal day. I’ll cancel my appointments. Maybe we’ll order in Chinese and watch some reality shows or something?”

Anne nodded with a small smile.

“You’re welcome to join us after school, Quigley.”

“Thanks, that sounds nice.” I couldn’t help grinning at the thought of Ms. Parisi watching reality TV. Her taste ran more to PBS literary specials and the History Channel.

The sight of Zander’s frumpled plaid pajama pants and
baggy long-sleeve tee caught me off guard. I had never seen him as anything but meticulously put together. His worried eyes crinkled as they followed my gaze down to his … flip-flops?

He shrugged, chagrined. “I just jumped in the car.”

“Apparently.” I couldn’t help smiling. He was adorable. I couldn’t resist and went in for a hug. “Thank you,” I said into his chest.

Leaning up against the thin material of his tee revealed the unexpected tautness of a closet athlete. My hand slid over his shoulder to pull him closer and rubbed on a thick knobby seam of what must have been a tank underneath. He shifted my hand to rest against his neck. The familiar scent of his barely there cologne soothed my nerves, and I was suddenly exhausted.

“Umm, Quigley? This is a nice, romantic moment and all, but maybe this isn’t the best place?”

I pulled back and caught sight of a sprinkling of strangers, there for who knows what reason, eyeing us.

“You’re probably right.”

“I brought my ID and my checkbook. Who do we need to talk to? And where are your parents?”

“What? Oh no. It’s not me. My parents think I’m staying
over at Anne’s—it’s a long story. Let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you on the way home.”

I waved good-bye to Officer Munroe and pulled a confused Zander out into the street. Two guys with cameras hung around their necks chatted while leaning against an old Volvo. I hoped their loitering meant that they hadn’t gotten their shot and that Anne and Ms. Parisi had made it home unbothered. Zander studied me as he unlocked and opened my door. I slid in and reached across the seats to unlock his side as he walked around the tiny car.

He smiled as he settled in. “Just passed my first test.”

“First test?”

“Well, shouldn’t say first. But a significant one.”

“You’re testing me now?”

“Test
is a strong word. There are just a few little things that people do that tell you a lot about their character. So if one was, say, trying to determine if a girl he admires would click in his life in a slightly more serious way, the tiniest act, or lack thereof, might reveal more about who she really is. Better than playing Twenty Questions every time you go out on a date. Besides, I’m naïve. People fool me because I tend to only see the best in them.”

I grinned, having no idea about what he was talking about, but tickled by the “click in his life” talk. The comment gave me just enough confidence to ask him to prom … when the right moment came up.

“And I passed?”

“Flying colors.” He smiled and pulled away from the station up to a red light. “Don’t worry, it’s not like I’d have ditched you as a friend or judged you if you hadn’t. But a little thing like unlocking my door, instead of making me use my key shows that even when your mind must be at its most frazzled, you still managed to think about someone else. Impressive. Of course, I
did
just pick you up in the middle of the night from a police station … demonstration the system isn’t foolproof.”

He reached over and slid the backs of his fingers down my cheek, before pulling my chin toward his and kissing me lightly, square on the mouth. How did he do that so smoothly that I didn’t even have time for nerves to kick in? Postsmooch butterflies hit, and I tried to regain my composure as we moved through the now-green light into the empty streets of the city.

“Seriously though, Quigley, what on earth was that all about?”

I didn’t anticipate how tough it might be to stay loyal to Anne while explaining the middle-of-the-night ride request. Spilling the goods about her dad was out of the question. But without understanding the devastation caused by his adoption news, whatever crazy mess Anne had gotten herself into would just sound all the more insane. I didn’t want my maybe-boyfriend to start out our relationship thinking terrible things about my best friend. And really, with the day she’d had, she deserved to have somebody protecting her.

“Kind of a long story. I’m not clear on all the details. Just a bit of a scrape Anne fell into, no biggie.” Maybe a change of subject would work. “So, when I called the first time, you didn’t pick up. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

His mouth tightened, and there was a little twitch at one corner of his lips.

“I had a rough day. I was on the other line with someone hashing it out,” he said, and promptly went back. “A scrape? Hmm. ‘No biggie’ doesn’t usually land you or your best friend in trouble with the cops.”

I ignored the comment. “Pretty late, lucky your someone was still around to help.” Though his vagueness in the mention of the mysterious “someone” made me curious, I was more in deflect mode than dig mode.

“They’re on West Coast time. Long day, long story—I don’t really want to go into it all, okay?” He smiled apologetically and took my hand to soften the brush-off. “What I would love to know is what exactly qualifies as a no-big-deal scrape in your book.”

I sighed. The truth was I didn’t even know what she’d done. I suspected her earlier rage led her to jump in on the ultimate collecting expedition, stealing the light bar from the top of the mean cop’s car. On the off chance Zander subscribed to the theory “Birds of a feather, flock together,” I wasn’t ready to admit my closest friend was that nuts. The officer’s comments about serious charges fit, though, since stealing from the actual police probably qualifies as a little bigger deed than simple sign vandalism.

“Vandalism,” I said, downplaying it. “I mean, I assume it was. Ms. Parisi left me in the waiting room when they were discussing the details with the police, so I don’t have the whole story yet. But T-Shirt—the guy she’s been hanging out with lately—and his friends do that kind of thing.”

“What guy? I thought she was with Lance.”

“Who’s Lance?”

“Lance! Lance, from class.” He laughed at my blank look.
“Lance, who she’s been seeing since class began?”

“The Spikester’s name is
Lance?”
Maybe it was my exhaustion, but this struck me as hysterically funny.

“You’re laughing at my friend for being named Lance at the same time you’re telling me your friend’s cheating on him with some guy named after an article of clothing?”

This made me laugh even harder. Zander just shook his head in mock dismay and absently rubbed our intertwined knuckles under his chin with a chuckle. The slight scratch of his stubble gave me goose bumps, and I wished away the sight of my street sign just ahead.

“In all seriousness, I hope you’re reading the situation wrong with Anne. Lance is a good guy. He’s had a lot of crap dealt to him in life, and he really likes her. That class and connecting with Anne has been a rare escape for him. She’s not into him? Fine, but be straight with the guy. He deserves his one night out a week not to end up crushing him.”