Will Work for Prom Dress (9 page)

“They were pretty cool. I really liked the ones where it was like everything sped up and then froze.”

“Right! The ones on the far wall after you come in?” he asked.

“Yes! The big square ones. How did they do that?”

“I think it’s sort of like what Mrs. Albertt was talking about. Hey, maybe we can sign out some cameras after school and go to a park and try that out?”

David opened the door to the chem lab for me. I gave up. Boys officially confused the bejeebees out of me.

“Sure. That sounds good,” I said.

“Great. It’s a date!”

I was glad the door had shut behind me before he could see my shocked face. I had also completely forgotten to thank him for the flower.

At 3:05, I waited for David by my locker and tried to calm my nerves. It was weird. I’d known him for three and a half years, but his new, mellow, sheepish side made him seem like a complete stranger. I was going on a date with a complete stranger. I had every right to be nervous, going on a date with a complete stranger. I tried to think of how many other ways I could fit “going on a date” into a sentence, aiming for twenty-two, give or take.

It wasn’t like I never went out. But there was something sort of cool about coming to class one Monday morning, expecting to go home and do homework after school and, instead, ending up going on a date. Maybe this is what it felt like to be Anne. She could go on three dates every afternoon, if she felt like it.

Today, she was actually going on her own date to some mysterious locale to do some mysterious thing that she couldn’t talk about during lunch. Though when T-Shirt looked down to wipe some mustard off his
DOESN’T PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS
top, she mouthed, “Tell you later,” before he caught her. So I wouldn’t be in suspense for too long.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t get any last-minute advice from
her. Two minutes after I sat down to enjoy my banana and yogurt with granola, David plunked his tray down and slid into the seat next to me. He sat sprawled out, eating his burger one-handed with the other arm draped casually across the back of my chair. I couldn’t figure the guy out, but I couldn’t resist feeling the tiniest bit smug when I saw the death glare coming from “Maria,” the unnamed freshman, at the next table.

I glanced at my watch, again—3:10. I had to get my head back in the game. After all, any minute I’d be going on a date. I pushed away the twinge of disappointment my date wasn’t with Zander, but Anne was probably right. A couple of little shrieking neighbor kids might not make for the ideal romantic background, but it shouldn’t have been a complete deal breaker for your basic postdate kiss. I had obviously misread the situation and had to accept that. No sense in throwing something away over nothing. With prom only a month away and no other prospects in sight, David’s sudden change of heart should be welcomed.

I wished I’d worn something cuter. But what was a girl to do when she had no clue while getting ready for school that she’d end up going on a date?

The hall door opened. David juggled two cameras and a handful of film cartridges. I rushed to help him before he dropped a lens, which would be a very unromantic thing to happen right as we were going on a date.

“I can’t wait to see what I got,” David said. “That’s the
only drag about print instead of digital. At least with digital it’s all right there.”

I cringed as my malt made a giant
slurp
. “I can get access to the developing lab on Thursday.”

“You think I caught that squirrel as he jumped? I heard the click at the right time, but I have trouble with all the calculations involved in shutter speeds.”

“Me, too. I’m terrible with math. And a lot of other subjects.” I laughed and shifted my legs. We were sitting on the hood of David’s car, which was still hot from the engine.

“So, where are you going to school next year?” David asked, waving to a group of jocks who parked next to us. They didn’t go to our school, but looked familiar from around town.

“I’m not sure. I’m keeping my options open.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. They were wide open.

“Pretty late in the game to still be choosing.”

“What can I say? I’m a picky girl.” I slid off the hood to throw away my cup. I hoped when I got back he’d have dropped the subject.

“So who are your front runners?” David called after me.

So much for dropping the subject. I decided to go with a dash of honesty to round out my evasiveness. “Well, of course, the Art Institute of Chicago would be my top pick—”

“Oh yeah. I got in there, too.”

I stared at him. “You got into the Art Institute of Chicago?”

“Sure. They dug my sculptures—remember that one I won citywide with last year? Sent a slide of that and four others from the same series for my portfolio submission. But I’m going with Michigan State instead—go Spartans!”

David had gotten accepted by the Art Institute of Chicago. And he was turning them down. I touched my temples where a steady, rapid pulse beat in time with my heart.

“Hey, you okay? You look kind of funny,” he said.

“Brain freeze,” I lied.

“Oh, I hate that!”

I tried to make my voice steady. Maybe I had misunderstood.
“So, wait. You were accepted, like officially offered a place, at the
Art Institute
. And you turned it down?”

“Yeah. There’s no money in art. Unless you want to be one of those computer graphics techie freaks—and I’m hardly the living-in-my-mother’s-basement-spending-twenty-hours-a-day-on-the-computer type.” He flicked a piece of ice back at his friends as they hopped in and cranked the bass. “Besides, Michigan’s topped the best-party-school list for the last three years running. I’ll be stylin’ in that Spartan red. College is all about the experience, right? I figure I’ll go into business or something. I can always be the Art King in my free time.”

I watched David walk to the trash to throw out his sundae cup. So all the years of our competition were about the competition, and not the art? Apparently, I was going on a date with not only a complete stranger, but a complete idiot.

“So, Quigley—got any plans for Friday? I was thinking me, you, Anne, and T could go catch that new Keith Gordon flick.”

“Yeah, well, Anne’s not exactly his biggest fan, so I doubt that will happen.”

I tried to cover my gasp. Stunned by the idea of David
passing on the Art Institute, it was the closest I’d come to spilling the truth about Anne’s father in nine years.

David looked at me strangely. “Who doesn’t like Keith Gordon? I thought every living breathing female was into him. I thought I was being thoughtful, giving you guys a little eye candy while we watch things blow up.”

I fought the urge to gag. The idea of Anne’s biological father being eye candy was beyond gross. I’d known about their relationship so long that it was hard to see him as a sex symbol. He was just my friend’s deadbeat dad. Ewww.

David was waiting for an explanation.

“I’m not sure. She just thinks he’s full of himself.”

“Keith Gordon? He runs around the world doing charity work for the poor and donates his free time in the States to environmental causes.” David laughed at the idea. “Sorry, but Anne’s nuts.”

Time to wrap this up, or I’d put my foot into it. “Look, I need to get home.” I looked at my watch. “I’ve got a big trig test tomorrow.”

“Okay. I’ll drive you.”

The typical David cocky attitude was dropping as the blocks passed in silence. He was the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde of potential prom dates, though his magic potion came in the
form of being in the presence of other people. It was a shame they weren’t holding prom on a deserted island, or this might actually work. I reached for the door handle as he pulled into my driveway.

He touched my arm. “Quigley, hold up a second, okay? Look, I’m not sure how I screwed things up, but it kind of feels like I did somehow. I shouldn’t have said your friend was nuts. Anne’s cool. And so are you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I let my hand slip off the door handle.

Encouraged, David rushed on. “It’s just—Well, I get nervous when I like somebody, and then I say stupid things. And you make me nervous. I know I sound like a dork saying that. But could you maybe cut me some slack at first, and I’ll try not to be such an idiot next time?”

The crooked smile was back. It was a hard smile to resist.

“Yeah. Okay, I guess.” I smiled, too. So there was going to be a next time. I’d have to think about how I felt about that. Once my head stopped reeling from his college admission, well, admission.

“Thanks.”

I thought he was leaning in for a hug. Which is why I
was shocked to find myself with the stick shift digging into my side, eyes wide open and staring at the space between his eyebrows, while getting thoroughly and unmistakably kissed.

I sat in Anne’s living room waiting for her to get home. Ms. Parisi brought me a glass of iced white tangerine tea with a large flat spoon filled with honey. A sprig of mint floated in the pale brown drink. It was like being in a restaurant or something. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with the spoon after I drizzled it into the glass, so I sucked off the excess honey to avoid leaving a sticky spot on the table. I watched the honey clump into little balls as it hit the ice cubes and sank to the bottom.

“She should be home any time now,” she said. She sat down in the armchair opposite me and folded her hands in her lap, then leaned forward and smiled. “So what’s going on these days with you, Quigley?”

Ms. Parisi had a way of asking questions like she actually wanted to know the answer. It wasn’t something you saw too often in grown-ups. It seemed rude to spit out the usual auto reply “School’s good; Mom and Dad started collecting
books for the kids’ charity book drive; I’m looking forward to the summer” stuff.

I set my glass of tea down. “I just got kissed and I’m not quite sure how I feel about that.”

I don’t know which of us was more surprised by my statement. I turned bright red, and Ms. Parisi’s tinkle of laughter echoed up into the exposed beams of the two-story-high ceiling. It wasn’t mean laughter, though, and she hopped up and gave me a hug before nestling down on the sofa next to me.

“So tell me all about this boy. Oh wait—was it Zander?”

“I wish.” It popped out of my mouth before my brain even registered the thought. Where did that come from? No sense in going there. If a guy wasn’t into you, he wasn’t into you. And if anyone was an expert on guys being into you, it would be Anne.

Ms. Parisi patted my hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I just thought I sensed a connection between you.” She lowered her voice and grinned. “So who was this masked kisser?”

“His name is David. He’s completely full of himself and cocky and has this amazing talent for art that he doesn’t even appreciate—”

“Hmm. Doesn’t sound like your type.”

“Well, I haven’t exactly had enough boyfriends to have a type,” I said. “And Anne thought he was okay.”

Ms. Parisi sighed. “Sometimes, even best friends don’t really know what’s best for us. Anne’s seeing things from her perspective. She likes those momentary thrills, the excitement and the roller-coaster life. I don’t know this boy, but I’ve known you for a long time. What’s good for Anne might not be the best fit for you.”