I laughed. “If only I could afford that.”
“I figured,” she spoke, brightening up. “Which is why we’re going to the mall. Your dress might not be name brand, but you’ll still knock it out of the park.” Bobbi really didn’t seem to care that I didn’t come from money; I liked her the best out of everyone in Midpark, I think.
Vaughn and Dante aside, of course. I…wasn’t sure what I felt about those two.
I’d have to ask them if they were going to the dance. I’d seen Vaughn in a suit, but Dante? I bet he’d look good. Out of place, but good nonetheless.
When we arrived at the mall—of course, it was in the next town over and not Midpark, because Midpark could not have something as normal as a freaking mall—we headed inside, into one of the department stores, first. It was busy, but not overly so, since it was early on a Saturday, pretty much right after they opened.
Bobbi and I headed to the junior’s section, checking the dresses they had. “Any idea what you want?” she asked me, shooting me a look around the racks. “Long, short, strapless?”
“Uh…” Shit, I didn’t know. I mean, I’d gone to a few dances before, but back at home you could show up in a twenty-dollar clearance rack dress and still get genuine compliments on it. At a Midpark dance? That would never happen. “I don’t know.”
“Color preference?”
“I…don’t know.”
Bobbi chuckled. “Okay, I have the feeling we have a long day ahead of us, then.”
That we did. We went to so many stores, I gagged on countless of price tags, and she made me try on so many dresses, I wanted to scream. The satiny texture, the velvet smoothness of the fabric…I really didn’t care for the ones that were ballgown wannabes. I also didn’t care for any super short ones.
None really called out to me, and every time I tried on a dress that practically vomited color onto the mirror, I wanted to tear it off. No, I guess I wasn’t a fan of blues or reds or any other color. Couldn’t go with white, because that was kind of like a wedding dress, which really only left one color.
Black.
Bobbi and I had to make two rounds through the mall. The first we spent trying on all the wrong dresses, but the second was when we had our blinders on for black dresses.
“I think you’ll look great in a black dress,” Bobbi spoke, pulling dress after dress through the racks. We left no rack unturned, no dress untouched. “With your hair and your eyes…oh, yeah. You’ll kill it. Plus, black is so slimming—”
I leaned around the rack I was at to give her a look.
“Not that you need to be slimmed down,” Bobbi spoke with a chuckle, catching herself. “I’m just saying, in general. Black is the most underrated color, and yet it can go with just about anything.” Her fingers touched the fabric of a sheer black dress, and she gasped as she pulled it off the rack. “This one.”
I left my rack to move beside her, eyeing it up. Looked pretty plain on the hanger, but I knew you couldn’t judge a dress until it was actually on—besides the fluffy ones. Those I could judge without the need to play dress-up with.
I wasn’t too impressed; it was just a simple black dress that looked like its fabric was stretchy. Two thick straps kept the dress on the hanger. It looked to end just above the knees. Short, but not too short.
“I’ll try it on,” I said, “but no promises.”
Bobbi followed me to the dressing room, waiting just outside in the hall as I unzipped my boots and kicked them off. Next off were my pants, and then my hoodie and shirt. I carefully took the black dress off the hanger, checking the price tag before sliding it on over my head—no zipper on this one.
And, surprisingly, the price wasn’t that outrageous. I’d still have money left over.
I tugged the dress down, adjusting the straps on my shoulders as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I turned my body, getting a good view of my back and my ass in the dress. This thing might look unimpressive on the hanger, but when it was on me, it was fucking amazing.
I looked like a damned supermodel, no joke.
My mouth could formulate no words, and I busted out of the dressing room, meeting Bobbi in the hall to show her. I watched as her mouth dropped, and I even did a little spin.
“That,” she said, “that is the one. You wear black like no one else.”
Well, I didn’t know about that, but…
“That’s the one you’re getting.”
I blinked. “I don’t even get to pick it?”
“Nope,” Bobbi said. “I’m picking it for you. That’s the one, Jaz. That’s your dress, and if you try to argue with me, I’ll just buy the damned thing for you. Got it?”
She knew I didn’t like accepting any kind of charity—it was a damned good thing I didn’t know where that money in my locker came from—so it was a good threat. If I didn’t buy it, she would, so I’d rather buy it myself.
I hurried back into the dressing room, shimmying myself out of the dress and putting it back on the hanger. I totally agreed with Bobbi: this was the one. I’d lost track of how many dresses I’d tried on today, how many times I had to take off my boots and my clothes, only to be let down when I actually got the dress on.
This black one? This black one was literally perfect for me.
Once I had my clothes on, I took the hanger and brought the dress to the nearest checkout. The truth was, I’d probably stick out at the dance like a sore thumb—I bet every other Midpark girl would wear ridiculously expensive, name-brand dresses that cost more than ten times what this one did—but I didn’t care. I didn’t care a single bit.
We carefully hung the dress in Bobbi’s backseat, and as she started up the car and began the drive back to Midpark, she was all smiles. “I can’t wait for this dance. Is it wrong to be so excited? Probably, but I don’t care. That bitch needs a wake-up call.”
That much I could wholly agree with.
Her next question caught me off-guard. “You bringing a date, or you going solo?”
“Uh,” I paused, wondering. “I don’t know. I haven’t put much thought into it.”
“Most of the good ones already have dates, and obviously the ones who have girlfriends will be taking them,” Bobbie went on, cranking up the heat in her car before pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road. “Not that you’d want to go with anyone like Archer or Ryan.”
Hah. Yeah, that much was so true. Fuck those guys.
“What about Vaughn? Or that new kid?” Bobbi shot me a look. “You sit by them both at lunch. Why not take one of them?”
It was true, I did think about asking them, but now that I was really sitting here thinking about it, I did wonder if either of them would even want to. It was a dance; surely dances weren’t their thing. They probably preferred to spend their time doing literally anything else but dressing up. Honestly, I couldn’t imagine seeing either of them bust a move to a quick beat.
Or lovingly slow-dance with a date.
“I don’t know,” I muttered, picking at my nails on my lap. Mom would kill me anyway, especially if either one of them swung by before the dance to pick me up, like guys usually did. At least, at my old school, that’s how it was. I’d never gone with anyone, but my friends did. Their dates always showed up early so they could take pictures, maybe go out to dinner, and then head to the dance.
You know what would be hilarious? My mom’s face if I told her I had not one but two dates to the dance. She’d probably have an aneurysm, no joke.
“I guess I could ask,” I spoke with a shrug. The worst that could happen was they said no, anyway, right? It wasn’t like it would be the end of the world. Sure, I might get a little pissed, since I had these weird feelings for the two tattooed guys, but I’d move on. The show would go on—meaning Brittany would still be left in the dirt, watching as I, a nobody, accepted her crown.
Something like that might not matter to some girls, but to Brittany, it was a payback like no other. It wouldn’t be the only thing I did to
her before the school year was over and I never saw her again. Oh, no—she needed so much more retribution than that for what she did to me.
I turned my head toward Bobbi, asking, “Do you have a date?”
She smiled. “No, me and my friend are going solo. Things have been too crazy lately for me to even think about going with a date.”
Gosh, I hoped she wasn’t talking about everything with Brittany. If that was the case, I kind of felt bad, hijacking the last half of her senior year of high school to help me get back at the bitch who wronged me.
“Don’t worry, it’s not the first time in history I’ve gone solo. Remember that picture I showed you from homecoming? The one I told you Brittany put up online and asked who had the ugliest dress?” Bobbi frowned to herself. “That was me going solo, too.” The frown disappeared as she shot me a grin. “I’m not as cool as you think I am, Jaz.”
I laughed at that. “Still a lot cooler than me.”
She nodded. “You might be right there.” Bobbi couldn’t keep a straight face while saying it, and she busted out laughing. “I know you haven’t been in Midpark long, and I know your time here has kind of sucked, but…” A sigh left her. “I think you and I would’ve been really close if you came earlier.”
The sincerity of her words shocked me. She really sounded serious, and I wondered how different my life would’ve been if I would’ve been born into money. If Mom had married some wealthy guy, we’d moved here to be with him, and I was thrown into Midpark a few years earlier. I probably still would’ve earned the wrath of Brittany, somehow.
“I don’t know,” I deadpanned. “I definitely wouldn’t have taken choir.”
Bobbi chuckled. “It’s really not that bad. Everyone loves singing—”
“Usually people who have good voices,” I chimed in, making her laugh more.
I teased her about her so-called un-coolness for a while longer. Before I knew it, she was pulling up to the gate surrounding the Fitzpatrick’s house, and it was time for me to get out. Bobbi offered to go in, drive me to the door, but I told her it was fine.
I got out of her car, giving her a smile and wave as I watched her back up and leave. Behind me, the gate was already open, and I heaved a sigh, slung my new purchase over my shoulder, and started up towards the house. The dress was in a black bag to protect it from any sudden weather changes, the thin plastic scrunching against my hoodie with each step I took.
When I entered the house, I heard laughter. Feminine laughter that I instantly recognized, because I’d grown up hearing it. My mom apparently found something absolutely hilarious…and it was coming from the living room?
Huh. Was she watching a funny cat video on her phone? Those things usually got her either doubled-over or cooing at the cuteness.
I walked into the living room, finding my mom sitting on one of the couches, wiping a tear from her eye. She wore her normal clothes, her I’m not working clothes—baggy jeans, a t-shirt with some band from twenty years ago that she still claimed was cooler than any artist today.
That wouldn’t be such a strange thing if that was all. But it wasn’t all.
My mom sat beside Ollie, who, for once, wasn’t nose-deep in paperwork. He still wore his usual clothes: freshly-pressed pants coupled with a thick leather belt, along with a dark blue button-up shirt.
A shirt whose top two buttons were undone. Huh. Couldn’t say I’d ever seen him let loose like that.
Two glasses of what looked like wine sat on the small coffee table before them, and then it hit me, what should’ve hit me the moment I walked into the room.
Mom and Ollie were talking. Laughing. Hanging out. Whatever it was old people did.
Was I really gone with Bobbi for that long? I supposed it was in the afternoon, so it wasn’t like they were drinking that dark red wine too early in the day. Still, though. Since when did my mom like wine? She was always a beer kind of woman.
Neither Mom nor Ollie got up when I walked in, though they did turn their faces toward me. Mom was grinning, while Ollie looked…content. Not miserable for once. He didn’t look as tired or as haggard as he usually did, though I supposed that could also be contributed to the wine. Neither looked drunk or anything…
“Uh, hi?” I ended up sounding stupid, quite stupid.
“Ooh, honey,” Mom spoke, slow to get up. “You found something? Show me.” She practically clapped her hands together, as if me going to this school’s dance was something she always dreamed of seeing.
Hmm. I couldn’t ever remember her being so thrilled to see a dress.
Ollie grabbed his wine glass and got up, stepping a few inches too close to Mom as he squeezed by, saying, “I’ll leave you two to it.” He gave me a smile before he headed into the hall, and I heard his footsteps disappear upstairs.
I made no moves to immediately show my mom the dress I had slung over my shoulder. Instead, I stared at her, checking her out, wondering if, maybe, in some weird way, Mom had been bonding with Ollie or something.
“Oh,” Mom gently pushed my arm, saying, “don’t give me that look.”
“What look?” I asked. “I’m not giving you any look.”
“You are.”
Okay, yeah, I might have been.
Mom folded her arms across her chest. “Oliver said he needed to relax a bit, and since he claims he never sees me take time off, he insisted I share a drink with him. He’s actually pretty funny—”
I could not see Oliver Fitzpatrick as a funny guy; not now, not ever.
My mom must’ve realized that I wasn’t having it, for she changed the subject, “Let’s see the dress.” As far as she was concerned, I had some money saved up from my last birthday, which I used to purchase the dress. She didn’t know about the envelope full of cash I’d gotten in my locker, nor that I’d tried to give it to her before taking it back.
I had the feeling that things were not over where she and Ollie were concerned, but I knew now wasn’t the time to nitpick about it. I swung the dress over my shoulder, letting my mom lift up the bag around it.
“Oh, wow,” my mom whispered, her blonde eyebrows coming together. “You sure this is a high school dance dress? Looks more like a cocktail dress than anything—”
I wanted to ask her if she’d ever been to a cocktail party, if she knew what cocktail dresses looked like—and, no, watching The Bachelor didn’t count—but I didn’t. I only shrugged and said, “Trust me, it looks a lot better on me than on the hanger. Even Bobbi said if I didn’t get this dress, she’d buy it for me.”
Instead of nitpicking like I knew she wanted to, Mom gave me a smile. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure it looks beautiful on you.”
That it did, but I knew Mom was probably thinking I was crazy. That, or I was going to attract the wrong sort of attention in a dress like that. To which I say: whatever. What I wear shouldn’t matter.
In fact, I might just pair the dress with my faux leather jacket. Nothing said queen of the dance like a bedazzled jacket labeled with slut.
Or maybe that was just me being petty, since that was my favorite jacket.
Chapter Twenty – Vaughn
I admit, the moment Dante Storm came to Midpark High, I stopped digging for dirt on Archer and started looking into him. I even got Markus to help, and he had connections galore. There was a slight problem with that, though.
Dante Storm did not exist.
Maybe the name was fake. Maybe he’d blackmailed his way here. It seemed a reasonable explanation as anything else.
I didn’t like him. He was wild, unchained, constantly ready to throw it down and defend Jaz’s honor. Don’t get me wrong, I was all for defending Jaz and protecting her from the demons that stalked these halls, but there was a way to go about it that did not involve getting thrown in jail.
I wouldn’t get thrown in jail. Oliver Fitzpatrick owed us. He was the best lawyer on this side of the United States. Money could truly buy anything.
Did Dante have that kind of m
oney? No, not since he needed money from me to apparently stay at a motel. Oh, I had him looked into. He stalked Jaz some nights, while other nights he simply retreated back to that motel and shut himself in for the night.
He was supposed to take care of Ryan and his friends, which he hadn’t, yet. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him to fuck up and get himself caught. My family’s money would not be helping him with his lawyer fees.
I sat at lunch the next Monday, not hungry, staring at him as he reached over the table and pulled my tray towards him, giving me a wide, white smile as he plucked the spork out of my hand and started eating the lunch that was supposed to be mine.
Jaz wasn’t here yet, which was why I felt so comfortable to glare at him openly. He noticed immediately, his mouth already full of mashed potatoes. “What?” Dante asked, meeting my glare with his own lively blue eyes. “It wasn’t like you were going to eat it. All you do is play with your food like a fucking weirdo.”
A muscle in my jaw tensed. Oh, I could show him what being a fucking weirdo meant. I could drag his sorry ass into my family’s basement and keep him there for weeks as he lost his mind.
Hmm. Then again, I was pretty sure he already was halfway gone.
Dante was busy licking the spork clean when Jaz arrived, sitting beside me as she unrolled her bagged lunch. She’d started to alternate who she sat by; I would be lying if I said I enjoyed seeing her sit beside him, seeing the glimmer in his eyes as he looked at me all smugly.
Today, though? Since she was sitting by me? Dante pouted, and he started stabbing the food on the tray a bit harder after she sat down.
Jaz’s warm, luring stare moved between us as she pulled out her lunch, snack by snack. The table was quiet, surrounded by an otherwise loud lunchroom. She seemed to be in a decent mood, fighting not to smile as she finally spoke, “So, how was your weekend?”
I could’ve said a lot of things right then. That it was hardly a good weekend because I didn’t see her during it, that I spent most of it wondering why and how Dante had squirmed into our lives, why he seemed to be so close to her in spite of his newness. I could’ve told her that I dreamt of her, as I often did, that the feelings inside me—as confusing as they were—only grew.
Defiant: A High School Bully Romance (Midpark High Book 2) Page 23
