Wrong in All the Right Ways

by Tiffany Brownlee

  “My bad,” he says with a grimace, as if in pain. “I didn’t know it was yours.”

  As he speaks, my eyes fall to the now-empty bowl sitting in front of him. First my parents, then my attention span—kind of—and now my cereal. What else is he going to steal from me?

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t really hungry anyway.” I pour the milk down the drain, hoping he isn’t going to call me out on being wasteful, and grab two apples before starting toward the back door. I still have homework to do before dress shopping.

  “Emma.” My heartbeat hastens the second I hear my name pass over his lips. I don’t turn to face him, struggling to play it cool. I don’t want him to know how excited I am for us to finally talk about the elephant in the room.

  “Yeah?”

  “About the other night … I—I don’t think we should do it … Date, I mean.”

  The smile has barely settled in on my face before it fades, and my heart starts to sink. “Okay.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I care about you. I really do. It’s just not what’s best for us now. I hope you understand.”

  “Yeah. I understand completely. It was stupid to think that it could work, anyway.” I don’t believe a word that’s coming out of my mouth, but I don’t want him to see how truly disappointed I am.

  * * *

  When I arrive at She’s So Chic Formalwear, Karmin and Keegan are already there, leaning up against the white truck I rode in not too long ago. I glance at the clock on my dashboard. Twelve o’clock on the dot. I’m not late; they’re just early.

  “I thought you’d forgotten,” Karmin whines when I get out of the car. “I was starting to think that the only opinion I was going to have on my dress was going to be my brother’s. But, crisis averted. Let’s shop.”

  Keegan and I exchange a look as we follow behind her. “I hope you’re ready for this. We’re both in for a wild ride.” He grins, but I can’t return the pleasantries. With Dylan’s words still fresh on my mind, I don’t have much to be happy or excited about.

  Upon entering the store, Karmin has the clerk grab a handful of dresses and lead us all to the waiting room. She’s modeled and discarded four different gowns by the time I decide to break out a book and catch up on my reading.

  “Wuthering Heights, huh? You must be in that combined English class with Lawrence.”

  “Yep.” I know that he’s just trying to be friendly, but I’m not in the mood for it today. Over the top of my book, I watch his eyes flicker back and forth between the book in my hands and my face.

  “It’s crazy how they had to combine your class with the English II class, isn’t it?”

  I mumble something in agreement and continue reading.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, leaning over to let his elbows rest on his knees. Behind him, through the viewing window, I watch a family of four wander across the street to the Literary Lovers Festival. I wonder if Dylan has made it there yet. Wait, I counter, I’m not allowed to care about what he’s doing.

  “Perfectly fine, actually.” I turn the page of the book and focus on making my eyes skim across the page in a believable manner.

  “I’m fine, too. I’d be a lot better, though, if I wasn’t here watching Karmin play dress-up. But, hey, at least I have you to keep me entertained.” I purse my lips in an attempt to hold back my smile, but after a while, it sort of slithers onto my face.

  “Is that a smile I see?” he says, tilting his head to the side as if trying to get a better view of my grin. “So you do have one of those.”

  “Do you have nothing better to do than stare at me?” I ask, gently smirking.

  “Well, I’ve gotta pass the time somehow. This”—he waves his hands encompassingly—“could last for hours.” He struggles to get comfortable in his seat, but gives up when he realizes that it’s an impossible task. “You going to homecoming?”

  More questions. “Haven’t decided yet.”

  After a long pause, he says, “It’s okay. I don’t have a date either.”

  “What makes you think I don’t have a date?”

  “Because you’re not trying on a dress.”

  I don’t want him to think that I haven’t at least been asked out by someone, but I also don’t want to give him any ideas about trying to ask me to the dance, so I close my book and set it aside. “I’m going to go check on Karmin.”

  Walking through the perfume-scented store, I see Karmin throw a short white gown over the top of her changing room. That must be her “No” pile.

  “Hey, how’s it going in there?”

  “So far, not very good. I swore I’d found the perfect dress, but it was a little too small for my boobs. These Puerto Rican genes—they’re a blessing and a curse.” She cracks open the door and pokes her face through the opening. “It’ll probably look really good on you, though—not saying that your boobs are small, but you know what I mean. You should try it on!”

  “Karmin, I—”

  “I don’t want to hear any buts. Try on that dress!” Before I can get another word out, she slams the door in my face. I’ve only been Karmin’s friend for a few weeks, but I know that if I go against any one of her wishes—especially when it comes to fashion—I’ll be getting hell for it later. So I pull the dress from the top of her changing area and ask the clerk for a room.

  In my dressing room, I sit and stare at the gown for a full five minutes before taking it off the hanger. It’s a strapless minidress made of white satin and tulle, with a carefully draped bodice, puffy-but-not-too-fluffy tutu bottom, and lace-up backing. I don’t know how I’ve gone my entire life without it. I slip it on without too much effort, and when it falls over my body, I feel my fingers tingle with excitement. It’s perfect.

  “Emma!” I hear Karmin call from just outside the fitting rooms as I twirl in front of the mirror. “Come quick! I think I’ve found the one!”

  My dress isn’t laced yet, but I exit anyway, with hopes that someone will help me tighten things up.

  Karmin is standing on the circular pedestal in a floor-length lavender cut-out dress when I emerge from my changing room. “I can hear my mom now. ‘Oh, Karmincita, you look so pretty.’” Even in a mocking tone her Spanish accent is beautiful, with rolling Rs gingerly dispersed like punctuation.

  “Yeah,” I say, pulling my dress closer to my body. “That color is gorgeous on you.”

  “Gorgeous is nice and all, but more importantly, this dress makes my boobs look amazing!” I hear Keegan cough uncomfortably from the corner. I’m sure discussing his twin sister’s boobs wasn’t something he planned on doing today—or ever. “Without a doubt, Sam’s going to love me in this … out of it, too.”

  With that, Keegan hops up, not exactly sure what to do. He can’t leave because he’s Karmin’s ride, but listening to her joke about her homecoming sex plans with her boyfriend is more than he can handle.

  “Do you need some help with that?” he asks me, pointing to the corset on my dress. I nod and he rushes to my aid. He must do this a lot with Karmin, because he effortlessly tightens the back of the dress until it hugs me in all the right places.

  “Wow,” Keegan breathes, causing me to blush. He grabs my hand and twirls me around slowly like I’m a princess at a grand ball.

  “What did I tell you?” Karmin chimes in. “You look killer in that dress. It’s like it was made for you. You have to get it.”

  Flipping over the price tag, I frown. “Not exactly in my price range for a one-wear homecoming dress.” I run my fingers over the tulle bottom and smile, but not for too long. “And I’m not even sure if I’m going yet.” I motion for Keegan to undo the corset ribbons and sigh. “Maybe if I do decide to go, this dress will still be here.”

  “Nobody looks that good in a dress and puts it back on the rack. Now, say it with me: ‘I’m going to the dance.’” Karmin stares me down, waiting for me to repeat her words, but I look at the price tag again.

  “I’m still not sure.”

  “Fine
.” Karmin shrugs, uncaringly. “Well, I think I’ve found my dress, so let’s pay and head off for lunch. I’m starving.”

  I return to my dressing room and say my goodbyes to the most perfect dress I’ve ever seen on my body. Keegan is in charge of their mother’s credit card, so while he handles payment, Karmin and I head to the car.

  “You should really think about going to homecoming. That dress fits you like a glove. Even Keegan thought so.”

  Yeah. I noticed, I want to tell her, but don’t. I saw the way Keegan’s green eyes lit up when I walked out of the dressing room. It’s the same way Dylan looked at me right before he kissed me in his studio last week.

  “Still on the fence,” I tell her, but what I really mean is Still waiting on Dylan to ask me.

  * * *

  I haven’t even been home for five minutes when I hear the engine of Dylan’s car in the driveway. It’s almost nighttime; I spent the rest of my day at the Literary Lovers Festival, purchasing a hefty haul with hopes that it would heal my broken heart, and more devious hopes that I’d run into Dylan. But I didn’t. The pain of my rejection had subsided when I was with Karmin and Keegan, but now that I’m home, it’s back for round two. Right before I head to the shower, I hear three small knocks at my door.

  “Emma?” Dylan calls from outside. I’m sure he’s surprised that it’s locked this time. “Can I come in? I want to talk.”

  What more could he possibly have to say to me? I’m pretty sure I understood everything crystal clearly the first time. You don’t want me, and it’s time to move on.

  “What is it?” I ask through the door.

  He’s quiet at first, but then I hear him take a deep breath and ask, “Were you and Karmin at She’s So Chic Formalwear today? I think I saw your car there.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And … that guy there? The one who helped you lace up your dress? Is he … like … your homecoming date?”

  I roll my eyes and put my back to the door. “It’s really none of your business who I spend my time with.”

  “It just looked … I don’t know … like you like him.”

  “Were you spying on me or something?”

  “No. I … I just,” he stammers before sighing again. “Can you please open the door so we can talk? It’s important.”

  “Yeah. Give me a second.” Turning around to look at my vanity mirror, I run my fingers through my hair and groan; there’s no need for me to try to look good for him anymore. I open the door, and before he can step over the threshold, his hands are cupping my face and his lips are on mine again. God, I don’t want this to be a dream.

  “Dylan,” I try to get in, but can’t seem to with his tongue weaving in and out of my mouth. “I thought—”

  “I know,” he says, finally letting me catch my breath. “I know what I said earlier, but … I don’t know. When I’m with you, something … something just feels right.”

  “Dylan,” I breathe in a voice so low that even I can barely hear it. I spent the entire day trying to convince myself that we were wrong for each other, and now that he’s flipped the script again, I don’t know what to think. I search his face for answers, but his honey-colored eyes leave me hanging, and I come up short. “Aren’t you worried that something bad might happen? That they will take you away?”

  “I don’t care what happens.” He’s gotten pretty good at reading my mind, and before I can squeeze in another word, he says, “I just want you.”

  Dear God, please let this not be a dream. Please.

  * * *

  I go back and forth a million times in the following days, but I finally settle on the idea that everything that’s happening between Dylan and me is real. Dreams don’t last this long, and they usually stop just when it’s getting good. This got good way too long ago to be a dream.

  I find it hard not to smile nowadays. I wake up with it on. I go to school with it on. I even have it on when I’m hungry—and I am usually not the happiest person in the world when I’ve missed a meal or two. I wish I could attribute this to something more than just a boy, but I know it’s all Dylan. When he’s on my mind, which is about ninety percent of the time, I beam. I can’t help it.

  So this is what I’ve been missing out on? This is how it feels to have a guy you like, like you back. No wonder girls get so attached to their first boyfriends—Dylan and I aren’t even a couple yet, and I’m already attached. I know I’m falling fast, but it’s hard to put the brakes on this high; whenever he’s around or on my mind, it’s as if someone has turned off the gravity and I’m floating.

  “So what do you think, Emma?” I hear my mom say from across the dinner table.

  “Sorry. What?” I’m too busy playing footsie with Dylan to hear what her question is even about. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to catch dinner with my family, and they probably think that I’m bored out of my mind with them.

  “I’m thinking about writing a book. What do you think?”

  “Oh, right. Just curious, what is it going to be about?”

  “My experience being a foster parent. The highs, the lows, and things like that.”

  My fork clinks against my plate when I drop it, mid-bite. “This isn’t going to be a tell-all book, is it? I’d rather not have my personal business out there for the world to read about.”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. I promise, it’ll be about me, not you guys.”

  “But, what if—?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Emma,” my mom says, cutting me off. “It’s not about you, but in the event that I have to talk about you, I’ll make sure it’s something nice.”

  Across the table, Dylan sends me a look that reads, Be supportive. I thought I was, but I guess I need to make it more obvious. “You’re right, Mom. It’s not about me, so you know what … follow your dreams. Don’t let anyone or anything stand in your way. If it feels right, go for it.”

  She gives me a look. “When did you start becoming so idealistic? You used to be a lot more jaded about those aphorisms.”

  “Well, that was before I wanted to become a writer. And I guess I’m changing inside.”

  I see my father drop his fork and slip into a fit of oh-God-my-daughter-is-a-woman coughs.

  “Not that way, Dad.” I laugh, though it’s partly true. “I just mean that there are so many obstacles that keep us from the things we love. If you can find a way to keep that thing in your life, make it happen.”

  “Remind me to have you make the toast at my book release party. You’re becoming quite the motivational speaker.”

  “Yeah, Emma,” Matthew says, extending his cup into the middle of the table. “Cheers.” He has already finished his juice, and the cup in his hands is empty.

  “Matthew, you have to have something in your cup to toast.” Dylan chuckles as he refills Matthew’s cup to the halfway mark. I haven’t seen him stop smiling since he knocked on my door and kissed me passionately in the moonlight. And it seems like everything else has fallen into place since that moment. I’m finally starting to fit in at school, my GPA is going strong, and I feel like nothing can go wrong.

  “Excellent dinner, honey,” I hear my dad say as I continue to daydream about Dylan.

  “I agree, Mrs. Ellenburg,” Dylan says. “Dinner was really good, but I have some chemistry homework to finish. So I’m going to head upstairs.” In his eyes, he asks me if I’m coming, too.

  “Oh yeah. I have to show him how to draw some of the Lewis structures. I gotta go too, Mom.” I pick up my plate and give my mom and dad a good-night kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

  “Nice lie,” Dylan says when I walk into his room. I’ve barely entered when he draws me close and kisses me. “I’ve been waiting to do that all day.”

  “Me too.” As I pull away from him, I stare into his golden eyes and feel a bolt of guilt zap through me. I haven’t really seen him all day, thanks to my rigorous dance practice schedule. “I’m sorry, Dylan,” I whisper
into the space between us. “Since homecoming’s only three weeks away, Coach Denise has extended practice for an entire hour this week so we can nail our performance.” Breaking his gaze, I grab his chemistry book from his desk and lie down beside him, my feet dangling off the edge of the bed. “But enough of my boring dance team talk. Let’s get down to business. Chapter Seven: Lewis Structures.”

  “Oh, you were serious about doing homework? I thought you were kidding.”

  “Well, if anyone walks in here, we have to make it look believable, don’t we?”

  “Pass. I’d rather do this.” He steals another kiss, and I push him away.

  “I’m serious. You should study.”

  He rejects my advice by playfully hitting me with a pillow, and then the wrestling commences. Before I know it, we’re on the floor, I have my legs straddled across him, and I’m choking down laughter, trying to keep him from tickling me. The longer we wrestle, the harder it becomes to stifle my laughter, and I fear that my parents will discover us.

  “I want in,” Matthew yells as he bursts through the door. “You guys sound like you’re having so much fun in here. I want to play, too.”

  “Matt,” Dylan says, pushing me off of him, “we were just taking a break from studying.” He picks himself up off of the floor and races over to Matthew. “Do you want to play a game of tickle tag? It’s just like regular tag, but instead of tagging the person, you have to tickle them.”

  “Awesome! I’m first!”

  “Okay, cool. We’ll be right down as soon as we put our books away.” I love how big-brotherly Dylan is with Matthew. It’s like he knows exactly what to say to keep him smiling. “That was a close one,” he says when Matthew is out of the room.

  “That was my fault. I don’t think I pushed the door closed all of the way.”

  “We need to be more careful. That could have easily been your parents.”

  “I agree. After Matthew gets put to bed, let’s meet in your studio.” It comes out as if I’m planning a sexy rendezvous, but it’s a lot more serious than that.