I drove around a few times and found a parking spot near the Dick’s Sporting Goods store. I got my purse and was about to get out of the car when Hannah’s hand reached out and stopped me.
“Okay, so you know how we’ve been sharing stuff lately, and I have to tell you that I haven’t been shopping in, like, two years.” She bit her lip and shrugged.
I sat back in my seat in shock.
“For serious?” I said.
“I mean, not like food shopping, but clothes shopping.” This was astounding, because she always looked cute, in a punk/vintage kind of way. She’d wear something that looked like it belonged in a 1950s period piece with something that had spikes or grommets or leather. “I buy everything online. I know which major retailers make their shirts small and don’t even get me started on shoes.”
“Why do you hate shopping so much?” She gave me an icy look that told me she thought it was more than obvious and I should know without having to ask. “I mean, is that it?”
“Is that it? Do you have any idea what it’s like to go into a changing room and have the attendant look at you like a leper? It’s like they’re afraid I’m going to ruin the clothes. And then the other people stare and those horrible lights make you look awful. It’s just an experience that I decided I didn’t want to participate in anymore. Nude modeling is one thing, but shopping is completely different.”
“Then why did you say okay?”
“Because I had hoped that this time would be different. In addition to being really good at sensing people, I’m also an eternal optimist. Deep down inside. But don’t tell anyone. I don’t want that to mess with my image.”
“I won’t tell anyone if you agree to not tell anyone about my blog.” We got out of the car and she started whistling. “Hannah? Did you hear me?”
“Um, yes? The thing is, I kind of already did.” She squinched up her face as if she was preparing for a blow.
“What!” She nearly hit me when she opened the door.
“Uh, yeah. Remember how I said I was going to help you with the job thing? Well, it just so happens that I have a contact, of sorts, at the campus newspaper and I showed him your blog. He’s been looking for someone to start writing a music column, and I gave him your name and your email, so he’ll probably be contacting you.” She said it all in a rush.
I stopped walking and grabbed her arm to make her face me.
“Why did you do that? I told you I wanted it to be a secret.” I could feel the panic building in my chest. I honestly didn’t know why it freaked me out so much, but I was definitely freaking.
“I know, but, like I said, you’re really talented. I don’t think you belong in poli-sci. You belong at a magazine or writing for a newspaper or, since those are all dying out, working for music promotions. I don’t know that much about it, but I know that you are wasting your talent.”
“And you know all that from reading a few blog posts I wrote?” The music industry was vicious, and there were thousands of other blogs out there. I didn’t have thousands of followers, or even close to that. I was one drop in a vast ocean of other people doing the same thing, and a lot of them doing it better than me.
“I know it because I know you. Once again, creepy, but I feel like you don’t even see yourself sometimes. I know you’ve got, like, baggage and shit and that someday you will share it with me, but you don’t have to now. But that baggage is standing in the way of you doing something awesome.”
She started walking toward a Deb shop, which was where we were most likely to find something for her to wear. They already had the prom dresses out, even though prom was months away. I couldn’t explain because she wouldn’t understand, so I just followed her into the store.
* * *
Almost an hour later, Hannah had rejected nearly all of my dress suggestions. I’d tried everything; short, long, in between. Red, green, blue, black, gold, pink. She hated them all and found a reason for every rejection. It was no wonder she hadn’t been shopping in two years. She was so freaking picky.
“What about this?” I’d gotten fed up with trying to help her, so I was picking out ridiculous things. I held up a tube dress that was in a shade of violent fluorescent yellow and looked like something a cheap streetwalker would wear.
“Do I have to list the things that are wrong with that dress?”
I sighed and put it back.
“Jesus, Hannah, you’re harder to shop for than the Queen.”
“The Queen doesn’t do her own shopping. She has people,” she said, walking along a rack and running her hands over the dresses. “Oooh,” she said, pulling one out. It was the first time she’d showed interest in anything, so I was shocked.
It was a one-shouldered red dress with black embroidery along the hem that would probably hit right above her knees. It also had a black belt around the waist with a silver buckle.
“I’m trying this on,” she said, and without any more fuss, she marched toward the dressing room.
I followed in her wake, stunned.
The attendant was absent, so Hannah just walked into the first room that was open.
“Hold my bag?”
“Sure,” I said as she handed her purse under the door. I waited as she shucked her shoes and clothes off and then heard the sound of the zipper on the dress. She turned back and forth.
“Well? Does it fit?” The door slowly opened halfway and she let me in.
“You tell me.” She shrugged and turned in a circle and the skirt flared out.
“You are a knockout, Hannah.” It was true. The belt made her look like the perfect hourglass, and the length made her legs look like they went on forever. The bare shoulder happened to be on the side with her scars, but really, I wasn’t looking at them.
“I think we have a winner,” I said, taking her hand and twirling her under my arm. She crashed into the wall because there really wasn’t enough room for twirling, and we both laughed.
“Okay, now it’s your turn. Go pick something and get back here, bitch.” I had just planned on borrowing the gold number again, but once again, Hannah wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
She shoved me out the door and I went back to the front of the store where the dresses were. I’d seen a few that I thought were cute, but I’d been so focused on Hannah I hadn’t even thought about it. I quickly looked through, trying to find something that wasn’t too short or too long, or a bad color.
I rejected anything red or pink or orange. I also didn’t want black because it tended to wash me out at the same time it made my freckles stand out way too much. I found a drapey gray number that shimmered a little when I held the fabric under the light. It also looked like it would be comfortable and cover everything I needed covered. It wasn’t as conservative as what I would have worn in my old life, but it was a good middle ground kind of dress.
I brought it back and saw that Hannah was back in her other clothes and had the red dress draped over her arm.
“Very pretty. Now get naked and put it on.” I was shoved into the room and she slammed the door behind me. There were only a few other people in the dressing room, and I bet they didn’t know what to make of Hannah.
I stripped down and put the dress on. I got the zipper almost all the way up. Hannah’s foot was tapping impatiently on the other side of the door.
“Can you zip me up?” I unlocked the door before she busted it down. I turned my back and she finished zipping me before she wrenched me back around. I didn’t think she knew the meaning of the word gentle.
“It makes your boobs look great.” Of course, this was an important consideration. “Gorgeous. If I had a dick, I’d totally do you.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I said, touching her shoulder.
“Okay, so now we both have dresses, can we
get out of here?”
“Sure, just let me get changed.”
Hannah couldn’t get out of that store fast enough. I reminded her that we needed accessories for our dresses, so she dragged me into Claire’s for earrings and such, and then we went and got shoes. By the time we had everything for our outfits, we were both starving, so we decided to be done for the day. I invited Hannah to dinner and she accepted.
“By the way, what were you and my sister talking about for so long last night?” I said as we shoved our purchases into the backseat of my car.
“I was just apologizing profusely for my lack of tact. It took a while. I also had to go into the whole story about the guys and outline my reasons for wanting to go. After I told you, it seemed stupid that I was trying to keep it a secret in the first place.”
“That was it?”
“Yeah, why?” I looked at her, but her eyes were wide and innocent. I’d underestimated her lying skills, apparently, based on past experience.
“No reason. Just curious.” I dropped it. My next stop was Dusty to see what his version of the story was.
* * *
I didn’t have long to wait to interrogate Dusty because he was at the house when we got back, sitting on the couch with his headphones on as if he was the king of the castle. He pulled them off his ears and left them around his neck when he saw me and Hannah.
“Should we add your name to the list?” I said, pointing to the chart with everyone’s name on it. “Or maybe you should just move in. You could sleep on the recliner.” It happened to be the ugliest chair in the history of chairs, but Taylor refused to get rid of it, and would never say why. Some sort of weird sentimental value. I honestly didn’t want to know.
“Pass. I’m just here because Hunter is helping me study for the Praxis. Or actually, he’s showing me how not to study for the Praxis.”
“Did you get your scores yet?” I asked Hunter.
“Not yet. But they should be in by tomorrow. If not, I’m going to let Taylor call and rip them a new one. She’s much better at yelling and getting her way than I am.” This was true. I’d seen it in action.
“I’m sure you did fine,” I said, going to take my bags down to my room, Hannah following. Hunter was really smart—in fact, the entire house was freaking smart, just in different ways. It was more intimidating than when I’d been competing with my classmates in high school and last year for the highest GPA.
I tossed my bags on the floor and went to check my email, my heart pounding a little bit. Yup, there it was. An email with the subject line: Writing for The Maine Campus, from someone named Brett Evans. I clicked it open and scanned it. He’d read my blog and loved it and was wondering if I’d like to have my own column in the Entertainment section where I’d review bands, CDs and so forth. He did mention that he’d gotten my name from Hannah, so it didn’t seem like he was contacting me out of the blue. He also mentioned that the paper paid per article, but if I liked it enough, he was looking for an assistant editor for his section, and he would love to talk to me, and it didn’t matter if I wasn’t a journalism major.
“Let me guess. Brett emailed you.” Hannah had been silent the entire time I’d been reading the email. Probably because she knew that’s what I was doing.
“Yeah. He wants to give me a column, and he said he needed an assistant editor.”
“Holy crap, that’s awesome! Good job, girl.”
I felt less-than-enthusiastic. “But, Hannah, I’ve read the paper, like, once, and I’m not a journalism major. I’m not even a writing major.”
She scoffed.
“Doesn’t matter. Brett’s a new-media major. There are lots of people who work there that aren’t in journalism. Besides, it’s not like it’s the New York Times. It’s just a school paper. Not a big deal.” Why did it feel like such a big deal? “So you’re going to do it, right?”
It was money, which I didn’t have, and it was something I loved to do.
Live the day, Jossy.
“Yeah, I’m going to do it.” The second the words were out of my mouth, Hannah tackle-hugged me and we both fell back on the bed. “I swear, I think you’re more excited about it than I am.”
“Awesome. Fuck, I’m starving,” she said, putting her hand on her stomach and sitting up. She held out her hand and pulled me to my feet.
“How do you know this guy, anyway?” Hannah never really talked about other friends.
She sighed and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “It’s kind of a long story. We were sort of friends in high school, and I was madly in love with him. I never told him and eventually I got over it, but we’re still sort of friends. It’s one of those weird relationships where you never really know where you stand, you know? But he’s a good guy, I swear.”
Okay, the story wasn’t that long. My next question was automatic.
“Is he cute?”
She smiled a little. “Not in the conventional way. He’s sort of band-geek chic. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him.”
* * *
Hannah kept my new job quiet at dinner, like I asked her to, and ended up staying with us for homework time.
“You know, I said we needed to build a library instead of a stupid man cave and look at us now,” Taylor said as every available surface, including the floor, was taken up with books and people and computers. “I told you I wanted one of those bookcases with the ladder that rolls across it.”
“Well, maybe some people were waiting for some other people’s birthday to do that,” Hunter said, not looking up from his book. He and Dusty had their heads together over the same book.
“Whatever,” she said, going grumpily back to her book. “I have a point and you know it.”
“Yes, baby. Whatever you say, baby.” Taylor balled up a piece of paper and chucked it at him.
I was busy typing out a response to Brett while Hannah read for Pam’s class. I was honest in saying that I had no journalistic experience, but said I was eager to learn. I sent it off, and my email pinged only five minutes later with a response.
Brett was thrilled and wanted me to come in for an official interview at some point in the next few days. He told me to pick up a copy of the AP Stylebook at the library, as well. I had no idea what that was, but I’d figure it out. I typed back a quick response telling him when I was free and he wrote back a few seconds later saying he’d see me at four on Friday at the office in the Union. I’d walked by it enough times, so I knew where it was. Now all I had to do was panic about it until then.
My only other mission that night was to get Dusty alone so I could ask him about the night before, but doing that was going to be tricky with a houseful of people watching. If I asked to talk to him, that would look crazy suspicious, so I’d just have to wait for a good opportunity.
I seized one when he got up to grab a soda from the fridge. Pretending I needed more tea—which I actually did—I followed him into the kitchen.
“So, you proposed to the coffeepot yet?” I said, filling my mug up and putting it in the microwave. He came and stood right behind me. Clearly, he had never learned anything about personal space.
“Shh, I’m planning to do it in an elaborate viral video. I’m still trying to find some backup singers and dancers, and I’m waiting on a hot air balloon, so don’t say anything.” He put his fingers to his lips and pointed at the coffeepot. “I want it to be a surprise.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I said as I took my cup out of the microwave and put the tea bag in. “So, sorry about last night and you getting wrapped up in the drama.”
“It’s no big deal. I just wanted to make sure nobody broke out a chair or called the cops or anything.”
“Is that how it was in your house?” He’d never really talked about growing up, except for vague statements that, reading between
the lines, led me to believe it hadn’t been great.
“Sometimes.” I nearly collapsed in shock at the honesty in his answer. “But that’s ancient history.” He cracked his soda open and looked at me as if he was waiting for something. I was completely distracted from my original plan to ask what he’d been about to say last night. This was much more interesting.
“My mom’s been married four times. My dad three. I have so many half and stepsiblings I can’t name them all when people ask,” I said, stirring my tea. I didn’t know how much Renee or anyone else had told him about our situation, but he didn’t look surprised.
“I’ve lost count how many houses I’ve lived in, and I’ve had to switch schools a bunch of times,” I continued. He just stayed silent, so I kept talking, like he was somehow pulling the words out of me. Stupid mesmerizing eyes.
I expected him to share something about his own childhood, but he didn’t.
“That must have been rough.” He came and leaned his back on the counter next to me. There it was again, that smell of clean laundry with just a hint of cologne.
“It was. Remember when you said I had this ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe?”
He smiled. “How I could I forget? I remember everything you say.” Hold up. He, what?
I looked at him, questioning.
He raised his hand and dragged a piece of my hair through his fingers and sighed.
“You don’t make things easy, Red.”
“I don’t make what easy?” Sometimes I felt like he was talking in code and I needed a translator. It would be a hell of a lot easier if he would just talk in a way that I could understand.
“Why do you do that? I feel like you’re always talking about something I don’t know about.” He dropped his hand and looked down and let out a breath.
“Nothing. I didn’t mean anything.”
I shook my head.
“No, I want you to tell me what you meant, and I want to know how you would have responded last night when Renee asked you how you would protect me before I crashed into the door and interrupted.” Screw it, they probably all knew I was listening.
My Sweet Escape Page 15
