by Amity Hope
“Sorry about that. Come on in.”
Her office was oddly comforting. The walls were boring beige, the flooring industrial style linoleum. Her desk was as cluttered as ever. The bookshelf behind her dripped books and pages from binders.
I dropped into the brown leather chair. It was lumpy, squeaky, and had definitely seen better days. I’d logged a lot of hours in this chair.
“How are you?”
“I’m good.”
I smiled, hoping it was not a guilty looking smile.
She perched her glasses on top of her head. “I’m glad to hear that. Now that the year is underway I wanted to touch base with you. How are classes going?”
“Good,” I said sincerely. “I feel more focused this year.”
“Wonderful. Have you given any more thought to what colleges you would like to apply to?”
“I think I’m going to stick to the state colleges we discussed last spring.”
“Perfect. I’ve assembled some information on scholarships and financial aid.” She slid a folder toward me. Most likely I would qualify for need-based financial assistance, but there was no guarantee. If not, even a state college bypassed the limits of what my family could afford. I cringed at the thought of asking my parents for money. We hadn’t discussed college ever. It was clear money was tight, and I didn’t want to add to that burden. I saw student loans in my near future—but if that was what it took, so be it.
“Thank you.” I took the folder and placed it on my lap.
She leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and stacked her fingers beneath her chin. “Meg, is there something bothering you?”
“What?” I thought I’d hidden it so well.
She smiled vaguely at my surprise. “Is there something you would like to talk about?”
I hesitated.
“How are Rick and Marion?” she pressed.
A confession spilled forth.
She listened raptly as I told her about my parents. Their arguing had fizzled into an unending silence. History told me it would loop back around to fighting again.
“Marion is still struggling,” she guessed.
“My dad is reaching the end of his patience.” I felt guilty for the admission. “I mean, he’s still patient. He’s just…frustrated.”
“And you? How does this situation make you feel?”
Scared. Anxious. Sad. “Frustrated,” I decided. “Frustrated in a lot of ways.”
“How so?”
Where did I begin?
“I want them to work things out.” That was a blanket statement that summed up everything in a nice, neat little package.
Time flew by as I voiced all my concerns.
“Would you mind if I gave Marion a call? Perhaps I can suggest a support group?”
“Dad’s already tried.”
“Sometimes it helps if suggestions come from an outsider. There’s less pressure. Fewer expectations to meet.”
“Then by all means, give it a go.” I doubted Mom would be receptive to her. Then again, I hadn’t thought I would be receptive to her, either, back when I first started seeing her. But Miss Perez had a calming way about her.
The last bell of the day shrilled in the hallway.
“Is there anything else?” I asked.
“I don’t know, is there?”
I smiled at her subtle, yet familiar, way of pressing me. “No. Not today.”
“If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
Miss Perez’s office was on the opposite side of the school from my locker. By the time I reached it, Luke was leaned against it scanning the crowd with a sulky look on his face. He perked up when he saw me.
“Where were you?” he asked. “I waited outside of English.”
“Sorry.” I turned away from him as I tackled my locker comb. “I wasn’t there.”
“Obviously. Julia said she thought she heard you were excused to go to the guidance counselor.”
“I was.” I stuffed my books inside my locker and wiggled into my leather jacket.
“Why? Is something wrong? Does she know about…?”
I could imagine where that sentence had been headed. Does she know about the graffiti? Or, Does she know about the blackmail?
“She wanted to talk to me about a few options for college.”
His brow furrowed. “College?”
I hiked my messenger bag up my shoulder and turned to him.
“If you must know, I requested a meeting with her to discuss options for student loans, scholarships, and financial aid. Some of us,” I grated out, “have to worry about those things.”
His head snapped back, as if my words had smacked him upside the head. “You think you’re the only one who worries about those things?”
“Paying for college? No. A lot of us do. Just not you.” I took off walking, suddenly irritated with him because of the simple fact that his family had money and college would not be an issue for him.
“You were in there a long time.”
“I wanted her advice. I think I want to be a guidance counselor.” I knew I wanted to be a guidance counselor. We’d talked about it at length last spring. Luke didn’t need to know that today’s discussion revolved around my family.
“Really?”
I forgave him for sounding so shocked. He had no way of knowing how much Miss Perez had helped me over the years. No way of knowing that I would like to pay it forward someday.
“Really,” I said. “Is it so crazy to want to help people?”
“I think it’s great.”
He sounded like he meant it.
He pushed open the door, and we walked out into the sunshine.
In plain view, leaning up against a silver sports car, was Jaclyn. Trevor, one of the guys we’d had pizza with, was wedged against her. They were in the midst of a full on lip lock. Never mind that it was against school rules, it was also tacky and just plain…ick.
I nudged Luke. “Does that bother you?”
“What, them? Not in the way you think.” He shuddered. “Every time I see her in a situation like that it makes me realize I really dodged a bullet.”
“You know chances are that display is for your benefit.” We looped around them, keeping our distance.
“I know.” He grimaced. “I feel kind of bad that she’s willing to make such a fool of herself on my account.”
I reflexively looked over my shoulder, immediately wishing I hadn’t.
Without Luke as an audience, Jaclyn’s show was officially over. She scowled at me as our eyes met. I quickly turned around and let Luke lead me to his vehicle.
I hopped into the front seat. We were meeting Adam and Julia at Common Grounds.
He slid inside but didn’t start it up right away. “I bought you something.”
I turned to look at him, suspicion flowing through me. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“What is it this time? Opera tickets? A night at the ballet?” I teased. Since our argument about the charity ball he’d been going out of his way to be even nicer than usual.
“Funny girl. No. This time I got you something you need. You might not like it,” he warned, “but you need it.”
He leaned across me, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a hot pink vial. It had a spray nozzle on top.
“Perfume? I thought you liked the scent I wear.” Was he just trying to be polite before? Did it smell cheap, after all?
“I do. This isn’t perfume. It’s pepper spray,” he corrected.
“For…?”
“You. For when you’re out late at night.”
“I don’t need pepper spray.”
“I think you do.” He reached over and unzipped my jacket pocket. Before I could ask him what he was doing he’d stuffed the spray inside and zipped me back up. He gave my pocket a pat as if to prove his point.
He poked a finger at me. “Keep it in there. You never know when you might need it.”
…
&nb
sp; “I got your text,” I told Francesca. “Your mom let me in.”
She wore a huge smile as she tugged me into her room. “I found a dress for you.”
“Seriously?” My voice squeaked with excitement.
“It’s my nonna’s.”
“Your grandma’s?” I attempted to keep my voice even. My mind was suddenly flooded with lots of gaudy sequins, an abundance of lace, and frumpily fitting styles. “Oh.”
“Trust me. You know Nonna is a borderline hoarder.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I think you’ll love it.”
I had met Francesca’s nonna. She was a pleasantly plump woman with ebony hair, courtesy of Clairol. She always smelled vaguely of garlic. She adored blue eye shadow and giving hugs.
Was there a polite way to tell your friend that wearing her grandmother’s dress held about as much appeal as wearing a curtain? If there was, I couldn’t think of it.
Francesca darted into her walk-in closet. With a flourish she came out, holding up a vintage dress for my inspection.
Black organza covered a bright aqua, satin slip dress. The color reminded me of Luke’s eyes. The underlying color was visible enough to give it a nudge from pretty into gorgeous. Black glitter piping shimmered in a swirling pattern. The dress was cinched at the waist. The calf length skirt flared out in a classic cupcake style.
It was beautiful.
“You should try it on. Nonna was busty, even back then,” Francesca said. “She told me if she needs to take it in a bit for you, she would do that.”
“Your nonna’s a seamstress?” I took the dress from her.
She shook her head. “Not really. She believes domestic skills are a lost art. The woman loves to bake, sew, and I swear, even clean.”
She turned around to give me a modicum of privacy. I shimmied out of my jeans and tugged off my shirt, letting them fall to the floor. I carefully slid the dress over my head.
“Need help with the zipper?”
“Actually, I do.” I held the plunging sweetheart neckline in place as Francesca zipped me up. She was right. It was a bit baggy in the chest. It wasn’t treacherously loose, but loose enough to need some corrective action.
She tugged at the fabric. “She can fix that right up. I promise.” She took a step back to get a better vantage point. Her eyes lit up. “You pull off vintage well. Maybe you should consider a new look.”
Francesca placed her hands on my shoulders and guided me to the mirror over her dresser. I wasn’t able to see all of myself, but what I did see, I liked.
“This is amazing.” The dress was so unique I knew I wouldn’t feel the urge to compare myself to anyone else.
“You look amazing,” Francesca gushed. “I’ve already got some ideas about your hair and makeup. Come over that night and I’ll help you get ready.”
“That would be great.” I wouldn’t have to explain to my parents why I was getting all dressed up.
“We can go shopping for shoes. I saw the cutest pair of platform Mary Jane’s. They would be so cute with this. I was also thinking you could wear that pair of oversize, black onyx studs your parents got you for your birthday.”
“I like that idea.” Again, it would be a look all my own. I wouldn’t be competing against diamonds and pearls. The look Francesca was helping me put together was all me. I twisted away from the mirror and squeezed her into a hug. “You are the best friend ever.”
“Hey, so, as long as we’re on the topic of Luke—”
“We actually weren’t on the topic of Luke,” I corrected. “We were on the topic of nonnas and dresses and friendships.”
“And we were swinging back around to Luke,” she assured me.
“If you say so.”
“Remember when he mentioned Nate and I asked how they knew each other?” she asked. “His answer was kind of evasive, so I asked Nate.”
Had his answer been evasive? I couldn’t remember. I had already been fretting about the ball.
“Okay,” I said agreeably. “So then what?”
“He said they got to know each other this past summer because they were both working for an organization through Community Ed.”
“What kind of organization?” I couldn’t picture Luke being involved in the community in any way. I did recall Nate doing something this past summer. “Wait, was Luke part of the sports camp Nate worked at?” If I recalled correctly the organization worked with underprivileged youth.
“He was. Nate said he was good with the kids. The lead supervisor commented that he was disappointed by the lack of sports equipment. A few days later an anonymous shipment showed up. Nate said it had everything—footballs, soccer balls, and everything the kids would need for baseball.”
“Baseball,” I parroted.
“Baseball, as in Luke’s passion,” Francesca added.
“Luke donated all of that?”
“Nate wasn’t positive it was Luke,” she admitted. “Probably it was Luke’s dad. Still. That has to mean Luke was at least behind it. Right?”
“Maybe. I wouldn’t know.” As soon as I said the words a memory flashed through my mind. I clearly pictured the bundle of baseball bats resting on the floor in his backseat. Was he donating those?
A blackmailing philanthropist? It seemed like an unlikely combination. Then I thought of the pepper spray in my pocket—not necessarily the cost of it, but the thoughtfulness behind it—and realized maybe it wasn’t such a stretch.
Chapter Eleven
Luke
My palms were sweating, and it wasn’t entirely because of the ridiculous tux I had to wear. My mother had one of her infamous tantrums before I left the house. All week she’d been telling me I needed to ditch Meg so I could bring Jaclyn to the ball. No way was that happening.
I told Mom I was going with Meg, or I wasn’t going at all. Obviously I had hoped for the “not going at all” option. Unfortunately Dad stepped in. He insisted this evening would be the perfect opportunity to meet my new “friend.”
As much as I hated it, my parents meeting Meg was a pivotal part of my plan. No matter when it happened I knew it was too much to expect that they would treat her with decency. At best, they would treat her with disinterest. At worst, well, I couldn’t go there.
I wanted Meg to make an impression on my parents. It didn’t matter to me if it was a good one. Julia had hinted that Meg was worried about finding an appropriate dress. She was so belligerent I wouldn’t have been surprised if she dressed for the ball in a leather mini and thigh high boots. Just to prove a point. Actually, I wouldn’t mind seeing her in a mini and thigh-highs.
Luckily I didn’t need my parents to approve of Meg, or even like her. After Mom’s last tantrum I was feeling vindictive. I was so sick of hearing about Jaclyn. “Perfect” Jaclyn. I bounded up the steps to Francesca’s house. This night could not get over fast enough. If I felt that way I could only imagine how much worse it was for my date.
I stabbed the doorbell and heard it reverberate through the house.
Francesca swung the door open, giving me a smug smile. “It’s about time you got here.”
“I’m right on time,” I said.
With a flourish Francesca directed me to Meg.
Her hair was in a complicated, retro looking up do. She had worked some magic with her eye makeup. Her eyes were defined, and her lashes were miles long. Her dress looked like something out of an old black and white movie. End result? She looked like a cross between a Hollywood goddess and a 1950s pin-up girl.
I was afraid to open my mouth because I was pretty sure I’d need to scrape my jaw off the floor.
“What kind of date are you?” Francesca backhanded me across the chest. “Don’t you have any manners? Tell your date how pretty she looks.”
Pretty? Calling Meg “pretty” was like calling the universe “big.” It just fell short.
Her dress was black, no surprise there. But peeking through from beneath was a vibrant shade of light blue. I swear,
it set off the flame-like quality of her hair.
Meg shifted nervously from foot to foot as I tried to find my voice. Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip.
“You look…” I floundered for the right word. I’d always thought she was gorgeous. How did you improve on gorgeous? I didn’t know. “You look so stunning. I’m kind of speechless.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “You’re not just saying that? Just tell me if this look is all wrong. The dress is vintage so I thought it would be okay. I couldn’t afford anything even close to the dresses people wore to last year’s ball. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin this for you. If you want, you can tell your parents I have the flu. We don’t have to go,” she rambled.
“You can’t be serious,” Francesca scolded in her version of a pep talk. “You look amazing. If you don’t look good enough for meeting Luke’s parents, then obviously they are not worth your time.”
I wondered if she had any idea how true her words really were.
“You honestly look amazing,” I said. “Everyone else will think so, too.”
Meg’s body was stiff as a statue as we made our way down Francesca’s sidewalk. Poor girl didn’t look like she was going to a ball. She looked like she was being led to the gallows.
…
The ball didn’t start with dancing. It began with an elaborate meal. My parents were entangled in conversation with the other couple at the table. After a quick introduction, they had treated Meg and me like we were invisible. It was for the best. I had nothing to contribute to the conversation. Meg looked overwhelmed trying to decide which piece of silverware to use for each course, and I caught her giving me sidelong glances. I tried to make it easy for her to follow my lead.
I also caught her glancing around the ballroom of the historic hotel with a completely awed look on her face. She was taking in the obscenely low-cut dresses, the pompous decorations, the elaborately set tables. All things I’d never really paid attention to before.
Eventually the Sinclairs excused themselves so they could say hello to another couple. As soon as they were gone I muttered, “Good riddance.”
“Lucas,” Mom snapped. “That was rude.”
“Aw, come on,” I grumbled. “I can’t be the only one tired of listening to Lyle ramble on about the injustice of having to offer his employees healthcare. The guy’s a pretentious ass hat.”
