She popped the cork, and they all shrieked and frantically pulled their skirts away from the frothy bubbles that spilled over the top. Brett poured the champagne into two empty water bottles, a green Keating mug, and her silver pencil cup, and they toasted clumsily and chugged it down. For something so pretty, it tasted like fizzy old shoes.
“Who wants the last glass?” Brett said, tipping the bottle and shaking the dregs. Grace and Jessica shook their heads, and she looked at Sadie expectantly.
“All you, Sadie. You look like you need this a lot more than we do.”
She let her breath out in a rush. “Oh my god, you guys — I am dying. Does it really show that much?”
Brett handed over the champagne. “Kinda.”
Sadie plugged her nose, threw her head back, and chugged the rest of the bottle. When she came up for air, they were all grinning at her.
“Better?” Grace asked.
Sadie paused. “Can’t tell yet. Ask me in ten minutes.”
“Why are you so nervous, anyway?” Brett asked.
Jessica made a face. “Oh, I don’t know, she’s only going with the guy she’s been completely in love with — and practically stalking — since school started.”
Sadie smacked her on the arm. “I’m not that pathetic.” She laughed. “Okay, maybe a little. But I also just — ” She looked down at her gown. She gathered the fabric in her hands and shrugged. “I’m not going to have any idea what I’m doing tonight. The last dance I went to was in our gym, and I was wearing jean shorts.”
“Okay, we’ll talk about the fact that you actually ever thought it was okay to wear jean shorts later, but for now, you should not be worried. At all.” Jessica smiled. “It’s just the same old people from Keating and Graff that you see every day. Remember how ridiculous Charlotte looked last Saturday during practice when she was prancing around in her push-up sports bra trying to get the Graff team’s attention? And remember those dumb freshmen that tried to get a tan in the quad a couple weeks ago when it was like, sixty degrees outside? Yeah. Those are the people you’re worrying about embarrassing yourself in front of. You’ll be fine, I promise.”
Sadie sighed. “Thanks, Jess. But what if I’m not wearing the right thing? Isn’t this a little … much?” She looked around the circle, eyeing Jessica’s red mini, Brett’s chic, black strapless gown, and Grace’s simple blue column. “I feel like I’m way too dressed up.”
Grace, Brett, and Jessica simultaneously burst into laughter.
“You really don’t have any idea what you’re walking into, do you?” Jessica said. “Trust me, half of the girls out there will practically be in wedding dresses, and a few of them will actually be in wedding dresses. With tiaras. And maybe diamond-studded veils, just for kicks,” she added. “You look perfect — as always, you little skank.” She grinned.
“Okay, fine. No more whining, promise.” Sadie finally felt herself start to relax, and she could feel a warm little glow spreading throughout her body. Maybe Jessica was right. For the first time that night, she started to feel excited.
Brett glanced at her laptop. “Eek, you guys, it’s time to go. The guys should be here in,” — she checked her watch — “eight minutes.”
When they reached the top of the staircase, Sadie could see the rest of the students already gathered in the lobby, huddled excitedly in groups and whispering behind shielded lips. She felt a hint of nervousness creeping back up, but she forced it down. The shit-talking was practically wafting around the lobby like poisonous gas, but she realized for once she didn’t care.
The four of them settled into their usual spot in the corner of the room, and a minute later, Mrs. Darrow hovered over them.
“I specifically remember telling you ladies that this would be a black-tie event,” she said, brow even more furrowed then usual. “That means length, and that means elegance. This event is at the Hay-Adams, and you, Ms. Harris, are sorely underdressed.”
“Oh, really?” Jessica looked down at her dress in mock horror. “Well I guess I could go put on my dress from last year’s Spring Gala. It’s right upstairs in my closet.” She smiled sweetly and looked up at Mrs. Darrow through big, watery brown eyes. The other girls snickered. Last year, Jessica had made her dress herself — using black duct tape — and Mrs. Darrow apparently hadn’t been amused.
She didn’t take the bait though, and instead she just pursed her lips. “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “You’ll just have to,” — she wrinkled her nose distastefully — “make do.”
After a sneer, she addressed the rest of them. “You all look beautiful, by the way. Perhaps you could lend your friend some guidance when it’s time for the next event?” They all nodded solemnly, and she looked satisfied. “Now, your escorts are here. Please remember your manners, and keep in mind that you’ll be representing Keating tonight.” With a last disdainful glance at Jessica’s bare, tanned legs, she headed off toward another group of girls.
Sadie’s stomach tightened into its usual knot as she walked toward the door, one elbow linked through Jessica’s. Together, they pushed through the door and stepped out into the night. As the door swung shut, blocking out the chatter of excited voices and the smog of over-applied perfume, everything was suddenly still. The quad was dotted with rings of light from each of the old-fashioned, but LED-retrofitted, street lanterns that lined the circular drive. Snow was falling in soft flakes, and the lawn was a flawless sheet of white, save for a narrow path of footsteps leading from Ashby’s steps to the road. With the stillness all around them, Sadie felt a calm start to spread over her. It was a beautiful night — she felt beautiful — and she was about to go to a ball at one of the most famous hotels in the country. The champagne felt pleasantly warm in her stomach, smoothing over the jagged edges of her excitement with a fuzzy confidence that took the place of her nerves.
They stood at the top of the steps in their gowns, blowing heat into their cupped hands, until the door of a sleek black limo opened. One by one, their dates stepped out into the snow.
Josh was first, and he walked straight up to Brett and kissed her full on the mouth. She kissed him back — a little awkwardly, Sadie noticed. She leaned slightly away from him at impact and then forced a smile as they parted. Brett had been her usual impeccable self since that morning two weeks ago in the cafeteria, and she had even been wearing her tennis bracelet again, this time with matching diamond earrings. But still, something had shifted.
Jessica’s date was next, and he looked surprisingly handsome in his black tux. He was nervous, though, and his voice cracked as he tried to tell Jessica how nice she looked. She just grinned and marched him back down the steps to the limo, throwing Sadie and Grace a smile and an awkwardly concealed thumbs-up as they climbed inside.
Next was Grace’s long-time boyfriend, Eric. He was tall and lanky, and apparently a nationally ranked chess player, but Sadie had only met him a few times. He nodded to Sadie before politely taking Grace’s hand and leading her down the steps. Whatever disadvantages Brett claimed Graff guys suffered from their privileged upbringing, Sadie thought, they sure had impressive manners when they chose to show them off.
Finally, the door opened and she saw Jeremy unfold his six-foot-four-inch frame and step out of the limo. He paused for a moment, their eyes meeting across the expanse of snow, and it took her breath away. He looked, for lack of a more eloquent description, so hot she could barely stand it. And then he smiled.
He strode up the path, stomping his way through the fresh snow, and took the steps two at a time. When he reached her, he came so close she could feel his breath on her cheeks.
“Hi,” he said simply, and grinned.
She smiled back up at him and swallowed, all of her energy going towards resisting the urge to wrap herself around him.
“You look beautiful,” he said. He stepped back, making a show of admiring her dress. Then he spread his arms wide. “Like the penguin suit?”
She laughed. “You look
great. Way better than all the other guys wearing the exact same thing.”
“Thanks. I spent at least five minutes picking it out.” He grinned. “Okay, now show me your shoes,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
She pulled up her skirt a few inches and stuck out a glittery black sandal. “Why? Are feet, like … your thing?” She grimaced, but he just nodded his head in mock seriousness.
“Just as I suspected.” He looked out over the snow, then back at her mostly-bare feet. “Looks like I’m going to have to carry you.” He grinned again and swept her off her feet, lifting her easily like she weighed no more than a basket of laundry. He squeezed her affectionately, and she felt a surge of excitement pass through her. As they neared the car he looked down at her. “You were right, you know.”
She stared up at him, her eyes jumping from one pupil to the next and finally settling on a space somewhere near his chin. Their faces were so close she felt exposed, like he could see right through her mask of makeup and straight down to her shaky core. She was acutely aware of every part of her that was touching him — his arms across her back and under her knees, and her arm wrapped tightly around his neck.
“About what?” she asked.
“The dress. It’s perfect.”
The Hay-Adams was grand and elegant and a little stuffy, just like everything associated with Keating and Graff. The limo dropped them off under the wide portico, and a swarm of bellhops in starchy uniforms instantly manned the doors. She and Jeremy followed the others through the lobby, up a small flight of stairs to an elevator, and then out into the ballroom. It was elaborately decorated with shades of gold and cream, and there were huge white flower arrangements on every table. Sadie realized it looked exactly how she pictured Thayer’s house might look on an average Tuesday.
The guys led them to a table just off the dance floor, and they all found their seats while their dates took off toward the bar. Sadie sank into one of the chairs and scanned the room. Once her eyes adjusted to the glare of the aggressive floral arrangements, she was genuinely surprised. While the ball felt totally different from her dances back home, in some ways it was exactly the same. Or at least, the cast of characters were all there, just in more expensive outfits.
In the center of the room, the tipsies were already on the dance floor, making their best effort to grind to the tasteful, predinner music. The deejay wasn’t even on the stage yet, and Sadie watched as a sophomore in a tight white dress struggled to gyrate in time to instrumental jazz. In less than an hour, they would all be stumbling around, barefoot and humping each other, doing the faux-lesbian thing.
The rather-be-studyings and the too-cool-for-dancings were seated at the tables farthest from the dance floor, heads bowed in conversation or boredom. They would take the first limo ride back as soon as it seemed socially acceptable, and spend the whole drive passionately discussing how little they cared.
The jocks were nowhere to be seen — they were probably all packed into the bathrooms doing shots — but their table was already littered with crumpled tuxedo jackets. At Sadie’s old school, they usually lost about one article of clothing per hour, but the Graff guys seemed to be setting a more ambitious pace. At this rate they would be in slacks and bowties, grinding on the dance floor like a bunch of male strippers, before dessert was even served.
And then, of course, there was Thayer and Finn. They staged their entrance ever so carefully to guarantee the whole school would be forced to acknowledge their presence as they elevated the event from simple gathering to religious experience. Sadie had to admit, though, they made Portland South’s own Veronica Madden and Brendan Wyckoff look like amateurs.
They swept in dramatically, and their entourage’s chattering increased sharply in volume as soon as they crossed the ballroom’s threshold, inevitably calling the whole room’s attention to their group and the intense amount of fun they were having. Thayer was wearing a gown that could only be described as fantastic, with a train at least six feet long and an intricate texture made up of a million different pieces of gold fabric. Something about it looked distinctly familiar, but Sadie couldn’t quite place it.
“Oh my god, she didn’t … ” she heard Jessica say from over her shoulder.
Something in Sadie’s head clicked. “Wait … is that — ”
“The dress Samantha French wore to the Oscars?” Jessica finished, her voice rising incredulously.
“The one-of-a-kind gown that was part of Zachary Kane’s final collection before he died,” Brett said softly, her jaw hanging open. “It’s usually displayed at the Met.”
“Can’t she just take a day off for once?” Jessica muttered. “It must be exhausting.”
“Hey, who cares,” Sadie lied. “Everyone in here is thinking the same thing we are. She tries way too hard, and nobody likes that.”
“Nobody except for everybody at Graff. Guys eat that shit up.”
“Yeah, well, the one guy she wants to pay attention to her won’t. Plus, we have dates that actually like us. She should be jealous of us, not the other way around.”
They grinned at each other, each pretending they were convinced.
“Okay, whatever. We’re here to have fun,” Brett said, tucking a lock of hair back into her updo. She picked up an empty water glass and held it up in a mock toast.
“To Sadie’s first dance in something other than jean shorts,” she yelled. The girls burst out laughing, toasting their empty glasses in the center of the table like drunks at Oktoberfest.
“What’s so funny?” Josh asked. Jeremy handed Sadie a wine glass filled with Diet Coke, brushing her fingertips with his as he passed it off.
“Oh nothing, just that Sadie wears jean shorts,” Jessica said, dissolving into laughter again. Jeremy cocked an eyebrow.
“Pink jumpsuits and jorts? I might have been wrong about you.”
“Oh, shut up. At least I don’t wear the same sweaty blue Cubs hat to practice every single day,” she teased.
“Ah,” he said, suddenly looking smug. “So you noticed.”
“Uhhh, maybe — ” she trailed off, realizing she had basically just admitted she was a stalker. She felt her cheeks flush, and she looked down at her plate.
“Busted,” he said quietly. When she finally looked up he was smiling at her, with just a hint of something else in his eyes.
“So, why the Cubs, anyway?” she asked, hoping to leave the moment behind as soon as possible. “You said you were from San Diego.”
He nodded. “My dad’s from Chicago. We go every time they face the Padres — been doing it for as long as I can remember.” He laughed. “The Cubs lose almost every time, but it doesn’t matter. You ever been to a game?”
“Not really. Portland’s not exactly huge on professional sports. I went to a Giants game once when I was little, but I don’t really remember it.”
He nodded and looked toward the dance floor. “Maybe we can go sometime when the Cubs play the Nationals?” He said it so casually, she had to take a deep breath to keep calm.
“Sure. But if you wear that sweaty hat, I’m definitely wearing my jorts.”
The next three hours were so much fun she started to get nervous. Dates were never this fun. They were awkward, sweaty, boring, or at the very least kinda stressful. But everything felt right. Everyone danced — even Brett — and Jeremy was always close, leading her onto the floor or making her laugh while they sat at the table and watched.
This was the point in the night where the prince was supposed to turn back into a frog — try to grab your boob, or slyly put his hand on your crotch while you were kissing like he was hoping you wouldn’t even notice. This was when the rom-com façade fell away and you remembered he was a seventeen-year-old asshole who was probably just counting the minutes until he thought he might have a shot at getting laid. But nothing went wrong, and finally Sadie relaxed.
After the next song ended, the guys went for refills and Sadie went to look for the restroom.
She found a door in one corner daintily marked “Ladies Water Closet” and stepped into a small lounge. The air was heavy with potpourri and a cluster of frilly upholstered chairs beckoned to her aching feet. She sank gratefully onto a love seat covered in red and ivory toile and waited for the feeling to creep back into her toes.
Before she could relax, the door swung open and Finn lurched into the room. As he crossed the threshold, the toe of one shiny dress shoe caught on the carpet, and he stumbled, then steadied himself with one hand on the wall. His hooded eyes scanned the room, and when he saw Sadie, his mouth stretched wide.
“Sexy Sadie,” he said, stretching her name out at least two extra syllables. He stood with his eyes fixed on her, his body swaying slightly.
“Uh, hey Finn. You know, the men’s room is next door.”
He just looked at her, grinning stupidly. Finally she sighed and stood up. “Finn, you are in the women’s bathroom.” She enunciated every word slowly, like she was talking to a small child. “You need to leave.” He blinked lazily and took a step toward her.
“I know where I am.” He lurched forward again.
“Whatever you say, champ. I’ll walk you there.” She took his arm and tried to turn him around, but he resisted, stumbling in the wrong direction and then wrapping an arm around her waist. “Come on Finn, help me out here,” she grumbled, struggling to stay upright as he leaned into her.
Suddenly, he pushed forward and she lost her balance. Both his arms wrapped tightly around her back and they stumbled like clumsy ballroom dancers across the room. After three quick steps, she felt her back slam into the wall, and the air rushed out of her lungs.
Finn was in front of her, his full weight pressed against her chest, and his face was inches from hers. She turned away to the side and felt his hot, sour breath on her temple. She struggled to breathe, and he laughed, softly, deep down in his throat.
“Finn, this isn’t funny. I know you’re not too drunk to stand up, so get off of me.” He leered at her, and she felt his hand groping up the outside of her thigh.
Poor Little Dead Girls Page 13
