“Thank you.” I knew he was showing off for Taffy, but I didn’t care. “You rock.”
Taffy took a long, deep sniff, and her eyes grew round. “What’s that smell?” she asked.
“It’s shoes,” Jolly Dan explained reverently. “They smell like leather. And feet.”
“What a wonderful smell,” Taffy said, awestruck. “It smells like—home.”
twentЧ
tammЧ Was not the onlЧ kid in miss Wallace’s Class who failed to bring a leprechaun to school. In fact, not a single one of her classmates managed to catch one.
“Bummer,” I said, when I finally got home from the mall and she gave me the rundown. She was pretty disappointed. Part of me wished I could tell her that her trap had worked, but I knew that was a bad idea, so I poured each of us a bedtime bowl of Lucky Charms cereal, just to cheer her up.
“Maybe leprechauns are not controversial or missological,” she said somberly, staring at the tiny, artificially-flavored marshmallow bits floating in the milk. “Maybe they’re just bogus.”
“Or maybe,” I said, shoving a big spoonful in my mouth, “they’re just really, really tricky.”
I gave myself a few minutes to enjoy the sugar rush, and then I got to work. Mike Fitch was incredibly jazzed when I called and said yes, I would love to go to the junior prom with him, and he acted very sweet and no problemo about me being such an indecisive wimp about the whole thing. “I’m just glad you came to your senses,” he joked.
And when I asked how he was feeling, he said he was completely recovered—he’d just overdosed on Red Bull and double-shot lattes and couldn’t sleep for two days, but he’d cut back on the Bull and the Starbucks and now he was fine. Mysterious? Maybe, but as long as he was okay I wasn’t going to question it.
I made the obligatory BFF call to Sarah right after I hung up with Mike. She was mega-psyched to hear my news, until I got to the part about how Mike and I were going purely as friends.
“Right,” she scoffed. “And it’s just a coincidence that Colin left for Ireland yesterday, and today you’re suddenly saying yes to Mike? Two seemingly connected events, yet in reality they are completely unrelated?”
“In reality, they are,” I replied. “Funny how things work out, though.”
I didn’t bother explaining that Colin was the one who’d made me promise to say yes to Mike in the first place. The way I looked at it, between the junior prom and the Spring Faery Ball, I’d be attending not one but two formal dances on my birthday, and I’d lined up a pretty sweet date for each of them.
Not only that, but I’d get to wear my stunning five-dollar prom dress to two different events. Talk about a bargain!
maЧbe it Was the total lack of clutter in her mind, but no one could put anything over on my mom for long. Tuesday morning, while I scrambled to get ready for school, head swimming with my pre-prom to-do list—shave legs, buy clear antiperspirant, pick up magic shoes from leprechaun—Mom decided she “wanted to talk.”
“I’m glad you and Sarah are friends again,” she tossed out. “I always liked her.”
“Yeah, Sarah’s great.” My mouth was full of the homemade organic blueberry muffins my dad had baked out of sheer competitive spite. “Did you see my science notebook?”
She handed it to me, along with a napkin. “Who else are you hanging out with these days?”
Before I could take another bite of muffin it became clear that, mentally at least, Mom was starring in her own ongoing episode of CSI: Rawlinson Family Edition—the one about how those two gnomes got on the lawn. Dad still refused to admit that he’d put them there (which was understandable, since he hadn’t). And Mom had calmed down enough to consider alternative explanations, which quickly got her singing that old hit song that all grown-ups know, “It Must Have Been Some Kind of Teenage Prank.”
But to my mom’s way of thinking, it had to be teens who knew about the infamous gnome collection. Otherwise why not just key the car and toilet-paper the house?
And so, based on no forensic evidence but her own iron-trap logic, Mom had come to the same conclusion as Dad, namely: Either it’s Morgan’s doing, or she knows something that she’s not telling us.
See what I mean? The woman was scary.
“If someone might have pulled a prank to harass you,” Mom said, while carefully examining the fingerprints on the stainless steel refrigerator, “your father and I want to know about it. Have you had any contact with Raphael lately?”
Mom had always disliked Raph and his crowd. It would have been so easy, but also so wrong, to blame them for the gnomes.
“No,” I said. “And I’m positive Raphael didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Maybe it was someone else, then.” She rearranged the organic apples in the fruit bowl and studied them as if they were a clue.
“Maybe,” I said, grabbing an apple for later. “Or maybe we’ll never know who did it. In the meantime, would you and Dad just get over this? No matter how it happened, it’s not worth it to keep arguing over a stupid prank.” I put on my most serious, Afterschool Special-worthy expression. “I think all the parental conflict is really freaking Tammy out.”
“Parental conflict?” She seemed shocked. “We don’t have any parental conflict! I mean, we don’t have any serious parental conflict. I mean—”
The look of utter you have got to be kidding me on my face pretty much said it all.
“I guess you’re right.” The fruit bowl was all messed up now but Mom didn’t seem to notice; she was too busy dabbing at her eyes with a bleach-free recycled paper napkin. “I guess it was a five hundred dollar lesson to learn.”
mrs. blainsvoort had been conducting an investigation of her own, apparently. Not about the gnomes. About the band.
“After doing some legwork,” she said, in a cold-sounding message she left on Sarah’s voice mail, “I discovered that your boyfriend’s band is actually known for playing ‘heavy metal.’ In bizarre costumes, no less? I appreciate the cleverness of that little performance you put on for my benefit, but under the circumstances I think we’ll stick with the DJ. Nice try, though.”
Sarah was pissed, but Dylan laughed it off. “Come on,” he said, “so we’ll party to stupid dance mixes. It’s just a prom, right?”
“I know,” she grumbled. “I just wanted something subversive to happen, that’s all.”
Mike, on the other hand, was working the whole prom concept with gusto. He asked me what I planned to wear and I almost freaked out—coordinated outfits, eek! I didn’t want to take even the first step toward acting like a couple. But he just wanted to know what color corsage to get.
“Anything but pink,” I told him.
bЧ the time WednesdaЧ rolled around, a lot of girls in my class were cutting out for appointments to get their hair done, but the pre-prom chore I cared most about was picking up Colin’s new shoes from Jolly Dan. The Strohman’s saleswoman was alarmed to see me yet again, now on the day before prom.
“Is everything okay with the dress?” she said.
“Yes, yes, it’s perfect,” I babbled. “I just wanted to try on some—cruise wear.” I grabbed a fuschia bikini and a tropical print cover-up off the racks and headed into the now-familiar dressing room and its magical mirrored portal.
Jolly Dan did not comment on my Hawaiian outfit, but he was very excited to show me what he’d made.
“These are one of a kind,” he said proudly, as he placed the shoes on his workbench for me to admire. “Or, two of a kind, to be precise.” He laughed. “Sorry, it’s an old shoemaker’s joke.”
You got that right, I thought, staring with horror at the shoes. They were thoroughly hideous buckle-top boots, very leprechaunish, but enlarged to fit Colin’s human-guy-sized feet. What might have been whimsical and cute on a small magic person was just mind-bogglingly ugly at a larger scale, and I couldn’t picture Colin wearing these things unless he got a job working at a theme park. To my surprise, there was a Nike swoosh log
o carefully embroidered on the side of each boot.
“Why the swoosh?” I asked.
Jolly Dan’s eyebrows knitted together into a long, furry line. “The what?”
“This,” I explained, tapping the emblem with my finger. “It’s called a swoosh.”
“It was on the shoes you gave me. I thought it was his family crest.” He frowned. “Do you want me to take it off?”
“No, leave it,” I said quickly. “It’s very family-crest-like. He’ll love it.” It’s probably the only thing about these boots he will like, I thought. But magic was magic. If the shoes end the enchantment, who cared how goofy they looked?
Jolly Dan wrapped the shoes carefully in tissue paper and put them in an enormous shoebox, big enough to trap a whole family of leprechauns. “I’m very much looking forward to escorting Miss Smoothcheek to tomorrow night’s festivities. I imagine we’ll see you there?” He handed me the box. “Oh! One tiny thing about the boots! If you tell him they’re magic, they won’t work.”
“What?” I was already at the door, but this stopped me in my tracks. “You mean I have to convince him to put them on . . . just because?”
“Right. Just because. But that’s why I made them so fashion forward.” He smiled. “I’m sure you won’t have any trouble. See you at the ball!”
Colin had sent me a two-line e-mail earlЧ in the week letting me know he’d arrived safely, with a promise to write a longer note when he got unjetlagged. I heard from him on Wednesday night.
Mor,
Apologies in advance if this doesn’t make sense. I keep starting over and losing my train of thought.
I expect you’ll have a busy day tomorrow, what with Prince Charming whisking you to the palace in a carriage drawn by mice and all that, so I thought it best to write tonight. Happy birthday, luv. Wish I could be there to see you age in person.
The tale of my humiliating defeat on American shores did not play so well on the home front. But St. Pat’s with Grandpap was a jolly blowout of Guinness and tall tales, and that cheered me some. Funny old coot—this year he dug up a picture I’d drawn as a boyo. It’s of a very pretty, long-haired lass in a fancy dress. I’d say she looked like a crayon version of you, except for the long hair, of course. Hat’s off to me mum for keeping it so well. The drawing looks brand new, you can still smell the Crayola.
Have a good time tomorrow—and don’t forget to send the photo you promised. I’ll pair it with this picture and call ’em a set.
Colin
twentЧ-one
“morgan’s birthdaЧ is the infernal equinox!” Tammy announced at breakfast Thursday. “Miss Wallace told us.”
“Not to mention the first day of spring,” Dad remarked. My family had already sung the “happy birthday” song twice, stuck a candle in my breakfast muffin and presented me with a homemade gift certificate for unlimited free driving lessons from “Mom & Dad’s Cheerful and Patient Driving Academy.” Cute. Cheap, but cute.
“And it’s the day of the junior prom,” added Mom, her hands briefly resting on Dad’s shoulders as she passed behind him to take her seat at the table. “How come we never get dressed up and go out dancing anymore?”
“Anymore?” He laughed. “Did we ever, Apple?”
“So how come we don’t start?” she said.
Gag. The only thing more appetite-killing than Mom and Dad fighting was Mom and Dad flirting. Apparently they’d made up. Inquiring minds did not need to know any more than that, thank you.
“You don’t have to go to school today, you know, Morgan,” Mom purred, running one hand up and down Dad’s arm. “If you want to stay home and nap, or get your nails done . . .”
“Or play with power tools.”
“What?” Mom and Dad both turned to me. Luckily they’d both been too busy acting like lovebirds to hear my wise-crack, though Tammy snorted milk out her nose in a most satisfactory way.
“I said, I’ll go to school.” I forced a smile. “That periodic chart of the elements is just starting to make sense to me. Don’t want to miss it!”
“Mmm,” said Mom and Dad at the same time. “Chemistry.”
Gag.
school made the time pass, though a lot of the junior girls were absent and the ranks thinned even more as the day progressed. I spent the day obsessing about how I could present those magic shoes to Colin in a way that would actually make him put them on. That was the main thing on my mind, until I got home and opened the door to my closet.
Oh, fek.
My five dollar prom dress?
Gone.
In its place: pink pink pink. The Pepto-Bismol nightmare. The pink princess pukoid dress. And a note:
Oops! You forgot to pick up your dress! So we had it delivered. We wish you a delightful evening.
We are having the rest of your clothes cleaned and pressed in the meantime.
Some coordinated separates have been provided for your convenience! (Should you choose to keep any of them we will bill accordingly.)
Please tell your friends about our commitment to EXCELLENT service!
Your friends at,
Wee Folk Custom Tailors & Alterations
Coordinated separates? There were pink T-shirts. Pink sweaters. Pink yoga pants. Pink knit hats. Pink camisoles, pink oxford button-downs, pink skirts, pink jeans, pink hoodies and a really nauseating pink fake-fur coat.
And—the dress.
With only two and a half hours to get ready, I considered my options.
Option A) Race back to Strohman’s and grab something, anything, off the rack, then show up at prom a sweaty, stressed-out wreck in a last-minute dress that might not even fit.
Option B) Embrace the irony, take a nap and a shower, put on the dress and some matching pink lipgloss and a “yes, I know how asinine I look” attitude and call it a choice.
For me, there was no choice, really. Option B was the only thing a semi-goddess would do.
I set my alarm, found a cozy pink nightgown in my dresser drawer, stretched out on the bed and fell asleep.
tammЧ, of Course, loved mЧ outfit—“it’s perrrrrrrrfect! Just like a princess!” she squealed—and my parents were more or less speechless, but Mike’s reaction when he came to pick me up practically made the whole dress-tastrophe worthwhile.
“Whoa,” he said, taking it in. “Whoa. You look—Morgan, may I say something?” He got down on one knee, which cracked me up. “You are, without question, the most ironical girl ever in the history of girlness.”
“Thank you.” I curtsied with maximum irony. “That is an awesome compliment.” My hair was still too short to do much more with than wash and fluff, but I’d added a dozen of Tammy’s most sparkly barrettes and some hair product to spike it up in a few spots. Overall effect: Tinker-Bell punk. The see-through, high-heeled Cinderella sandals I’d found in my closet added a nice glass slipper effect. Naturally the shoes fit me perfectly.
And speaking of shoes, the box with Colin’s new boots was too bulky to carry, so I’d put the boots in my school gym bag, an oversized duffel with the East Norwich High School emblem printed on the side.
“Got my purse,” I said, swinging the gym bag over my bare shoulder. “Let’s go do prom.”
“Like it’s never been done before.” Mike grinned and held the door open for me.
“Oh! Hey, Mike,” I said, before I forgot. “You look great too.” And he did, naturally—what guy doesn’t look great in a tux? But it was the hideous boots in my duffel bag that I most longed to see modeled on someone’s feet.
the junior prom had a “no limo” rule to help keep the insanity in check, so Mike’s dad dropped us off at the East Norwich Country Club. The other attendees were climbing out of cars too, a sea of familiar faces in a weirdly unfamiliar context. The guys looked a comical mix of proud and embarrassed in their formalwear, and the girls were squealing and hugging each other—gently, so as to not wreck the outfits—and exchanging compliments.
I got plenty of stares, b
ut honestly, after the “what’s up with the bald chick?” treatment I’d endured in September, nothing fazed me. My more urgent problem was figuring out how to transport my butt from the junior prom to the Spring Faery Ball. I was also keeping an eye out for Sarah, but Clementine and Deirdre saw me first, as Mike and I approached the entrance to the club.
“Oh my God,” Clementine squeaked.
“Oh my God!” Deirdre shrieked. “You look—pink!”
“Yup,” I said.
“Except for the corsage,” Mike chimed in. The corsage was white, thankfully, which at least didn’t clash.
“Nice—corsage,” the girls both said at the same time.
Sarah, who was tall enough to see above the crowd and spot me from a distance, took one astonished look, screamed like she was on fire, and then sprinted over in her high heels and slapped me high fives, just like we were standing on the centerline of the basketball court.
“This is subversive!” she cheered, jumping up and down. “You are both stunning and hideous! You are embodying prom and mocking prom, all in the same moment! And the gym bag for a purse, it is so brilliant, Morgan. I love you forever and ever for this, and oh my God, happy birthday!” Sometimes Sarah went off the deep end with her theoretical musings, but that was part of her charm. Then she grabbed me by the shoulders. “But what happened to that killer dress we found at Strohman’s?”
I wish I knew, I thought. “I’m saving it,” I said, “for a special occasion.”
as i entered the lobbЧ, the Compliments on mЧ outfit were nonstop. Apparently, being Mike Fitch’s date was giving me enough starter cool that this mind-bogglingly geeky getup was being seen as the last word in hip. Mike loved every minute of it, and beamed at everyone we passed.
How I Found the Perfect Dress Page 16
