Addie Bell's Shortcut to Growing Up

by Jessica Brody

  My parents both leap up from the couch when they notice me standing there.

  “You look wonderful!” Mom gushes.

  “Pretty snazzy,” Dad agrees.

  My face grows hot with embarrassment. “Mom. Dad. Stop!” I whine.

  “Just let me take one photo!” Mom pleads.

  “Fine,” I allow. “One.”

  She snaps a shot on her phone and smiles at it. “Is Clementine picking you up?”

  “Yes.”

  “I like that you two decided to go without dates,” Mom says.

  Dad guffaws. “Yeah, me too.”

  So we chose to go together? Does that mean we had the option to go with boys?

  I feel my heart start to race at the thought of seeing Cute Connor tonight. Is he going to want to dance with me? Maybe I should change my shoes. I can barely walk in these things, let alone tear up a dance floor.

  “Remember,” Mom warns. “Home by midnight.”

  I look at her, totally confused. “What? Why?”

  She narrows her eyes in my direction and then looks to my dad.

  “Don’t start with that again, Adeline,” Dad says sternly. “A curfew is a curfew and we’re not changing it.”

  “I have a curfew?” I blurt out excitedly. Rory was always the one with the curfew. I was always the one staying at home playing Monopoly with my parents while she was out having a wildly good time.

  Mom and Dad exchange a puzzled look. “Yes, you have a curfew,” Mom replies.

  “That’s so cool!” I gush, shuffling toward them as fast as I can move in these shoes and giving them both hugs.

  “Okay,” Mom says suspiciously. “What do you want?”

  “Nothing!” I swear, pulling back. “Nothing at all. I’ll be home by midnight. I promise!”

  “Good,” she says, but she still sounds hesitant. “And maybe tomorrow you can finally clean out the playhouse.”

  “The playhouse?” I repeat as I teeter awkwardly to the window. I let out a tiny gasp when I see the small yellow-and-white Victorian house in the backyard. It’s still there! After four years.

  Our Hideaway.

  A sour feeling starts to prickle my stomach when I think about all the photos I found on my phone today and Grace’s obvious absence from them.

  “Yes, the playhouse,” Mom replies as Dad goes to the pantry to grab a snack. “Remember, I put it up for sale online? It needs to be cleaned out in case anyone calls to come look at it.”

  Suddenly, the room starts to spin. “You put it up for sale?” I practically shout.

  Mom blinks in surprise. “We talked about this last week. You told me you didn’t care because you never use it anymore.”

  “I said that?” I ask, shocked.

  She laughs. “Your exact words were ‘Mom, I’m way too old for that stupid thing.’ ”

  I cringe at the impression my mother does of me…or of sixteen-year-old me. She sounds so rude and stuck-up. Surely, she’s exaggerating. I can’t possibly sound like that.

  “Anyway,” she goes on, “I’m sure it’ll make another little girl very happy. So will you clean it out this weekend?”

  “I…,” I begin, but I can’t even finish. The thought of clearing out Grace’s and my Hideaway and watching it get taken apart so someone can haul it away in pieces is too much to think about right now. It’s making my throat sting and my eyes water. And I can’t risk ruining my makeup. It took way too long to finish the first time.

  Fortunately, I’m saved by the sound of a car honking in the driveway. I take a deep breath and straighten my dress. This is my first high school dance, and I refuse to let anything get me down.

  “Teeth check?” Mom asks.

  I open my mouth wide like I’m in the dentist chair and mom laughs. “No. I mean, do you want me to check your teeth for food before you go?”

  “Oh. Right.” I show her my teeth and she gives me a thumbs-up.

  “You’re good.”

  “Breath check?” Dad asks, walking out of the pantry with his hand in a bag of potato chips. “I learned on the podcast today that it can take days for malodorous foods like onion and garlic to work their way through your system.”

  “Dad,” I complain. “Gross.” Although I’m secretly happy that he hasn’t changed too much in the past four years. He’s still listening to that stupid podcast.

  Mom draws me into another hug, and when she pulls back, I swear I see mist in her eyes. “You look so beautiful. I just can’t believe how grown-up you are.”

  There’s another honk outside and I stick my clutch under my arm and totter unsteadily toward the door. “Yeah,” I say with a smile. “That makes two of us.”

  It’s official. I heart high school. This dance is ah-mazing. They’ve completely transformed the gym into a sparkly kaleidoscope of stars and spotlights and red carpets. The main lights have been dimmed so that the thousand small twinkly lights hanging from the ceiling can be seen. There’s a canopy of gold star-shaped balloons hovering just above the dance floor, and someone has painted a huge mural of the Hollywood sign on the wall, with a brilliant full moon shining over it.

  The theme is “Hot Hollywood Nights,” and it’s clearly working, because I feel like a celebrity who’s just arrived at the Golden Globes.

  Middle school dances are nothing like this. First of all, they keep all the lights on so the chaperones can keep an eye on everyone at all times. And second, we never get cool decorations like this. If there’s any theme at all, it’s usually something lame and childish like a carnival or a “party under the sea.”

  This is seriously legit.

  Clementine and I pose for a picture on the red carpet, in front of a large banner with our school mascot on it. A professional photographer snaps the picture and we immediately run to the little screen and gush over it.

  “See,” Clementine says as she types her email address onto the screen so the computer can send the photo to her. “I told you turning down all those boys and going as BFFs was the best option. Look how totally stellar we look. We’ll be the most talked-about couple at this dance.” She presses Send and taps my nose affectionately. “And you wanted to go with dates. Silly Adeline.”

  I let out a nervous laugh. “I forgot. Was it two or three boys that asked me?”

  Clementine scrunches up her face like she just smelled a fart. “Two or three? Try seven.”

  “Seven?” I shout.

  Seven boys asked me to the dance? And I turned down all of them?

  Clementine’s face twists even more, like she’s suddenly confused. “I’m pretty sure it was seven.” She starts listing them out on her fingers. “Nick, Asher, Isaac, Liam, Reid, Harrison, and that one guy, I always forget his name. R.D.? L.J.?”

  “But not Connor?” I confirm.

  Clementine purses her lips. “C’mon. You know Connor is way too cool to ask a girl to a dance. He’ll be here stag just like us. And when the time is right, I’ll make sure you dance with him.”

  My heart starts to gallop in my chest. “Really?”

  “J.T.!” she blurts out. “That’s his name. I knew it was some kind of initials.”

  “J.T.?” I echo curiously. “He asked me?”

  “Yeah.” Clementine barks out a laugh. “But it’s not like you were going to say yes to him.”

  I remember the supertall dark-haired boy who tried to help me clean up all the junk that fell out of my locker. He was so nice. And really cute.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s lame. He’s been lame since middle school.”

  Middle school. Is that where I know him from? Did he go to Sky View Middle School with us?

  “Besides, this is so much better. Now we can dance with anyone we want.” She winks at me. “Instead of being tied down to just one date. Variety is the spice of life, you know.”

  A hip-hop song comes on and Clementine lets out the loudest squeal I’ve ever heard. “Yes!” she screams as she grabs my arm and pulls me onto the
dance floor. “This is SO my jam.”

  She starts moving flawlessly to the hard, edgy beat and I struggle to keep up. It’s difficult because (a) these high heels are nearly impossible to dance in (I really should have changed shoes), and (b) I don’t know the song. I’m used to dancing to much more upbeat pop stuff like Summer Crush.

  Clementine flips her hair and bumps her hip against mine. I try to match her movements, bending my knees and rocking side to side with my butt out.

  I look ridiculous.

  “What song is this?” I yell to Clementine over the music.

  She just laughs in response, which I take to mean I should know what song it is. I wonder if it’s one of our favorites. Except it doesn’t sound at all familiar.

  It probably came out sometime in the past four years. That’s why I don’t recognize it. Not only have I missed out on four years of my life, apparently I’ve also missed out on four years of music.

  Oh my gosh! That means there’s probably like four new Summer Crush albums out by now! I feel a flutter of giddiness explode in my chest. It’s the same sensation I always got when Grace and I listened to a new album for the very first time. We always listened to them together. We would have album release parties in the Hideaway.

  I wonder what the new albums are called. And what songs are on them. I bet they’re even more amazing than the last four. I get this sudden urge to find Grace so I can ask her which tracks are her favorite. But then I remember the way she looked at me in the hallway today. Like I was infected with an incurable disease. And my throat starts to get tight again.

  That is, until Clementine grabs my arm and pulls me close so she can whisper, “Look who just walked in.”

  I lift my head and my eyes land right on Cute Connor. He’s standing near the dance floor, scanning the crowd. He looks incredible in dark jeans, a white button-up shirt, a black jacket, and a skinny tie. His hair is still a little bit wet, as though he just hopped out of the shower, and in this dark room, his blue eyes seem to shine almost as brightly as the roving spotlights scattered throughout the gym.

  His gaze travels across the room before finally landing on me. Then his lips curl into a smile that nearly makes me topple over. And not just because I’m still trying to balance on these three-inch heels.

  He starts to make his way over, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “This is why you turned down seven guys,” Clementine whispers silkily into my ear. “It’s time to make your move.”

  Make my move? I don’t have a move. I don’t know any moves! I’m only twelve! Are twelve-year-olds supposed to have moves?

  No, but sixteen-year-olds are, a voice inside my head responds.

  I think I’m going to throw up.

  “You’re not going to throw up,” Clementine says.

  Did I say that out loud?

  “Relax,” she whispers in my ear as Connor continues to make his slow, catlike approach across the dance floor. He looks like he’s in one of those slo-mo walking scenes from a movie. All he needs is a wind machine blowing his hair around. “I’m going to walk you through this.”

  “Hi, Adeline. Hi, Clementine,” Connor says, nodding at both of us.

  “Hi, Connor,” we reply in unison, which I admit sounds totally cheesy. Clementine shoots me a death look out of the corner of her eye, which I’m guessing means she’s going to do the rest of the talking. That’s totally fine by me since my tongue has suddenly grown to the size of a cantaloupe.

  “What’s up?” Clementine asks, giving her hair a playful toss.

  It looks so supercool, I decide I must give it a try. I lean slightly forward to gather all my hair over my left shoulder, then whip my body back. But I must do it too hard because I lose my balance on these humongo shoes and start to topple backward.

  Thankfully, Connor reaches out to catch me just before I fall.

  “Easy there,” he says with a chuckle. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  My face flares with heat. I try to laugh it off.

  “This dance is pretty lame, isn’t it?” Connor asks, curling his upper lip.

  Clementine makes a psh sound and then says, “Yeah, totally.”

  And I repeat, “Yeah, totally,” even though it’s a complete lie. I think this dance is the coolest thing ever.

  “But, you know,” Connor goes on, “we should probably make the most of it. Don’t you think?”

  It’s then that I notice he’s staring right at me, as if he’s expecting me to say something. Or do something. Except I have no idea what that is. So I just mumble, “Y-y-yeah-zuh.”

  Yeahzuh?

  That’s not even a word.

  Embarrassment warms my cheeks again and I remind myself to take deep breaths and stop acting like a crazy person.

  “So?” Connor asks, still staring at me with that expectant look.

  Clementine bumps me with her hip and I nearly lose my balance all over again.

  “So,” I repeat, unsure why everyone in this conversation seems to know what’s going on except me.

  Connor lets out a throaty laugh. “Do. You. Want. To. Dance. With. Me?” He enunciates every word, ending the question with a wink.

  A lightning bolt of electricity travels through my body.

  “Me?” I confirm doubtfully.

  Connor laughs again. “Yes. You.”

  My heart leaps into my throat. My fingers search for something to grab on to. They find the hem of Clementine’s dress and squeeze.

  “Hold on,” she says to Connor. “Just give us a second.”

  Connor cocks a curious eyebrow but then holds his hands up in surrender. “Sure. Take your time.”

  Clementine grabs my arm and pulls me right off the dance floor. She keeps dragging until we’re clear out of the gym. The quiet hallway is a welcome reprieve from all that noise. Although the screaming in my head seems to follow me.

  “Okay,” Clementine says in a brusque tone. “What has gotten into you?”

  “I’m scared,” I tell her, and it’s the honest truth.

  “You’re scared,” she repeats in disbelief. “Of Connor?”

  “Of everything! I’ve never danced…” My voice trails off.

  I want to tell her that I’ve never danced with a boy before, because it’s true. But I’m willing to bet that if sixteen-year-old Adeline is the kind of girl who turns down seven boys, then she has probably danced with plenty.

  I’ve seen Rory dance with a few of her boyfriends. And I’ve seen couples dance a million times in movies. Also, one time Grace and I pretended to dance like boy and girl to our favorite Summer Crush ballad in the Hideaway but we couldn’t keep a straight face for more than twenty seconds and we ended up collapsed on our sleeping bags in a fit of giggles.

  “You’ve never danced…?” Clementine prompts me to finish the sentence.

  “I’ve never danced…” I begin to panic. What am I supposed to say now?

  I stare down at my feet.

  “In these shoes before!” I finish with relief. “I’m afraid I’m going to fall over. I think they’re too high.”

  Clementine sighs and sticks out her hand, palm-side up. “Give me the shoes. I’ll hold them. You can dance barefoot.”

  “Is that allowed?”

  Clementine doesn’t answer this. She just shakes her head and points at my shoes. I quickly slide out of the heels, my feet screaming in relief as I wiggle my toes. I had no idea how uncomfortable those diabolical things were until my feet were liberated from them.

  “You can do this,” she tells me. “Just remember our five rules of flirting and you’ll be fine.”

  Five rules of flirting?

  “Uh,” I fumble. “Remind me again.”

  Clementine looks like she wants to scream, but she starts listing out the rules on the fingers of her left hand. “Tease him. Flirt with your eyes. Say his name a lot. Find excuses to touch him. Don’t smile with your teeth.”

  She says all this so fast, I barely even catch two words of
it. And now my pulse is racing. I need to lie down. “Wait, what was the first one again?” I ask.

  Clementine sighs impatiently and pushes me back into the gym. “Just go.”

  I walk anxiously toward the dance floor, trying to remember the five things that Clementine just told me, but they’re all swirling around in my head like a tornado.

  Something about flirting with your eyes? What does that even mean? How do you flirt with your eyes?

  I think about running. I think about just taking off in my bare feet and sprinting all the way home. It’s not that far. It’ll only take me about ten minutes if I go really fast…and I don’t step on anything sharp. I could duck out the back door of the gym and—

  “There you are,” a voice says.

  I look up to see Connor walking over to me, that adorable grin on his face. He bows like he’s in an old movie and extends his hand. “May I have this dance now, Miss Adeline?”

  My knees practically give out.

  I still can’t get over how much he looks like Berrin Mack. And I’m going to be dancing with him!

  Okay, deep breaths. You can do this.

  A slow song comes on—another melody I don’t recognize—and Connor wiggles the fingers on his outstretched hand. “Are you ready?”

  I want to tell him that no, I’m not ready. That I won’t be ready for four more years. But then my mind flashes back to last night in the Hideaway with Grace. Before we got into that huge fight and she called her mom to go home. Before I made the wish on Mrs. Toodles’s magic jewelry box. Before I woke up in this life.

  “Aren’t you curious what a high school dance is like?”

  That was the question I asked Grace. Because I was curious. I still am. That’s why I made the wish. Because I wanted to know what it would be like to be here. To get all dressed up. To dance with a cute boy.

  Now here I am. All dressed up. And boys don’t get much cuter than Connor.