The Tattered Gloves

by J. L. Berg

  “Okay, here it is,” she said, reaching into the closet and quickly unzipping the bag.

  Inside, I caught the faintest glimpse of teal fabric as she worked the dress out. Giving up on trying to get the hanger loose, she finally pulled the dress free and held it in front of herself, doing a slight twirl, as she smiled.

  I wasn’t much into clothes or fashion. That much was obvious by the lack of color I infused into my standard long-sleeved-shirt-and-jean combo, but I had to admit, I was a little wowed by it.

  Strapless with a lace overlay and tiny sequins scattered here and there, it was formal yet casual at the same time. It was one of those dresses you could easily dress down or up, depending on what you wore with it. And, if I knew Allison, she wasn’t going to go for casual.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said earnestly.

  “My mom and I picked it up last weekend on a trip into Leesburg. Clearance rack. Can you believe it?”

  Another thing I’d assumed about Allison was that she was a rich snob. The truth was, she came from a fairly modest family and bought all her clothes from secondhand stores or off the clearance rack. She was the biggest bargain shopper I’d ever met.

  “My mother taught me well.” She laughed, showing me the slashed price on the tag. “And we got an additional twenty percent off that!”

  Dang, maybe I should take her shopping with me next time.

  “Now, show me yours,” she said, placing her dress down on the bed next to me.

  I took one long last look at her cheery teal dress and stood. “Okay, but swear you’re not going to laugh.”

  “Why would I laugh?” she asked, genuine concern written across her features.

  “It’s different,” I warned.

  She rolled her eyes as her arms crossed over her chest. “Just show it to me, will you?”

  Diving into the closet, I reached into the back and pulled out a similar garment bag to the one she’d brought. As the zipper slowly descended and the dress I’d bought alongside my aunt appeared, I wondered if I was doing the right thing… stepping out of my element, trying new things.

  Maybe it was better to just hide.

  To never trust again.

  Then, there would be no chance of getting hurt.

  “I love it!” Allison exclaimed, running her hands over the dark fabric, before I’d even had the chance to fully remove it from the garment bag. “Where did you get it?”

  “Um, I honestly don’t remember what the store was called. Addy helped me pick it out.”

  Allison took over, pulling the dress out and holding it in front of me. For once, I’d gone for something other than black. Although the dark magenta wasn’t far off.

  “We’ll match,” she pointed out, fingering the dense lace.

  I wasn’t really sure how I could stand next to her and, in any sense of the word… match, but I nodded nonetheless, taking a moment to appreciate the dress Addy had bought me. She really had done the impossible, finding a dress that was both flattering and provided the coverage I needed.

  When she’d said she could help, I’d imagined showing up to the dance, wearing a long robe like a nun or a big white toga. But the dress we’d purchased was nothing like either of those. With thick burgundy lace over a thick black fabric, it covered me from neck to knees.

  A pair of tights and some combat boots finished the look.

  “Are you really going to wear boots? To a dance?” Allison asked as we busied ourselves with getting ready.

  She was deeply involved with her makeup routine while I mostly just sat around and watched. Makeup had never really been my thing, but I was kind of fascinated, watching how many different tools and products she used.

  Some, I swore, looked like torture devices.

  “I like my boots,” I answered.

  She applied another coat of mascara to her already black lashes. “I have a pair of heels you could borrow.” She tried one more time.

  “You do not want to see me in heels. I’d end up falling face-first onto the pavement.”

  She laughed, a small snort escaping her newly painted lips. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do your makeup? Not even a little?”

  She stretched her hand toward me, holding a tube of mascara along with blush. As much as I trusted her, my heart sped up at the idea of having someone’s hands on me, and I immediately shook my head. She seemed a little disappointed at my dismissal, and her eyes fell to my covered hands.

  I could sense the hesitation as she worked up the courage to ask the question I was sure would follow. But, for once, I wasn’t scared to answer.

  For once, I actually felt like telling someone.

  Maybe this was the outlet my aunt had told me I needed.

  “Why do you wear them?” Allison asked softly, her eyes round with warmth and compassion.

  “I don’t like to be touched,” I answered, matching her tone.

  She nodded, as if this confirmed something she’d already worked out for herself.

  “Did someone… I mean, was it because of something that happened to you? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added quickly.

  “Yes,” I said quietly. The open and honest feelings I had swiftly began to crumble as the events of the past came rushing back to the surface… the dark room, the sound of his boots.

  She seemed to pick up on my growing nerves and changed direction. “Megan Bell has been telling everyone you have a fake hand.”

  That made me laugh out loud, the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach abating instantly. “That’s horrifying.”

  She laughed, too. “Right? I also heard someone in gym say that you had a skin condition and were covering it up to keep it from spreading.”

  “Gross,” I replied, shaking my head. “People suck.”

  She agreed, “They really do.”

  Looking down at the makeup in front of her, I picked up a collection of eye shadows and opened it. “Do you think you could teach me?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Absolutely!”

  By the time my aunt came in to call us into her salon to do our hair, my head was nearly spinning from the information Allison had thrown at me. I told her she should host her own YouTube channel — helping poor, unfortunate people like me who were clueless when it came to proper eyeliner application.

  She rolled her eyes at the idea, but I could see she was pleased.

  My aunt did a simple hairstyle on Allison, curling her long blonde mane, while I tried my best to copy her motions. I knew Addy was a little disappointed I wouldn’t take a turn in the chair, too, but she didn’t say a word as I scurried off to find my shoes and grab my purse.

  Stopping by the bathroom, I took a quick peek in the mirror. I barely recognized the girl staring back at me.

  She was happy and radiant.

  Nothing like the emptiness that still lurked beneath the surface.

  I REALLY HADN’T thought this whole thing through.

  I’d been so concerned with showing up to the dance, looking like a nun, that I hadn’t thought about the actual dance.

  As Allison and I arrived at the school, I suddenly remembered all those prom scenes in movies.

  Darkness.

  Darkness everywhere.

  “Hey, will there be any lights on in the gym?” I asked, trying to mask the panic in my voice, as we got out of the sedan Allison had borrowed from her parents for the evening.

  “A few, I guess,” she answered casually. “But they turn off the overhead lights, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She turned to me as we began walking toward the school, my steps slow but somewhat steady.

  Suddenly, she stopped. “Oh my gosh.”

  “What?” I said.

  “You’ve never been to a school dance before?” she blurted out.

  “That wasn’t obvious by the clothes and the crazy gloves, Allison? I’m not much of a social butterfly.”

  “You underestimate yourself so much. Okay, this will be
great. You’ll love it. But, before we go in, I need to know. The lights being out? Is that bad?”

  I bit my bottom lip, trying to figure out how to explain without having to explain. It wasn’t something I really wanted to get into right then.

  She held up her hands, like a white flag of surrender. “I got it. So, we’ll stick to the well-lit areas, okay? And, if you need to, just step into the hallway for a breather.”

  I nodded, grateful for Allison and her never-ending patience.

  “Now, let’s go have some fun!” she demanded.

  “Lead the way,” I said, feeling both extremely nervous and slightly excited.

  I’d always wondered what exactly went on at a school dance. Were they as drama-driven as TV made them out to be? Did kids really spike the punch and get wasted on the dance floor?

  So many questions…

  One aspect that was spot-on was the music. It was trendy and loud and made me instantly want to go home.

  “Sorry!” Allison shouted. “The DJ the school hired kind of sucks!”

  The boy-band chart-topper went on and on as Allison and I made our way into the gym. It was odd — being at school after-hours. Here, in the place where I usually dripped of sweat in my modified gym clothes — shorts over leggings and a long-sleeved Sugar Tree High School shirt — while running laps or participating in some other crazy physical activity that was equivalent to an hour in hell, had now been transformed into something completely different.

  In the corners were larger-than-life wire trees with paper branches and tiny twinkling lights. Bird cages and fall foliage hung from the ceiling, creating a sort of autumn wonderland. Even my typically underwhelmed heart appreciated the effort.

  Despite the pulsating music, Allison managed to give me a tour around the gym, showing me the refreshments table and places to sit. She even laughed when I asked her whether spiking the punch was real.

  “Do you see a punch bowl?” she asked, pointing at the table where rows and rows of soda cans were lined up.

  I had to admit, at that moment, I was a little let down by my TV education.

  I spent most of the time being Allison’s sidekick, walking with her, as she greeted friend after friend. I tried to be engaged and social, but the introvert in me reared her ugly head, and I soon found myself taking a step back and fading into the background.

  It didn’t take long for Allison to notice.

  She was attentive like that.

  “You’re not having fun, are you?”

  I tried to think of something to say, but I knew lying would only make the situation worse.

  “Do you want to dance?” she asked.

  She broke out into a large grin as she watched my face morph into abject horror.

  “Okay, so that’s a hard no then?”

  I laughed, and she seemed genuinely pleased to have caused it.

  “What if we grab a couple of sodas and chairs and I tell you some stories?”

  I had no idea what she was talking about, but I couldn’t say no to being antisocial. Taking a spot at one of the only tables not occupied by a vomit-inducing couple staring deep into each other’s eyes, we each popped open a soda and started munching on a few handfuls of chips we’d grabbed.

  “So, since you’re new here and everyone has made it their business to talk about you, I figured it was only fair to give up all the juicy gossip on everyone else.”

  “Isn’t that basically just doing the same thing they’ve been doing to me?” I asked, my mouth half full with Doritos.

  She shook her head, blonde curls bouncing back and forth. “Not really. Just think of it as a history lesson.”

  “You will make an excellent lawyer someday, you know that?”

  She sat tall in her chair, grinning. “That’s what my daddy says!” Her eyes left mine and began scanning the room.

  It was somewhat dark, but the lights near the DJ still kept it well lit.

  That was why I hadn’t run out, screaming like a crazy person, the second I entered.

  “Oh! Okay, here is a good one. See the girl about halfway across the room, dancing like she stepped out of 1998?”

  I wasn’t sure I knew what that meant, but I searched around the room anyway.

  It didn’t take long for me to spot her. She was stepping from side to side, bobbing her head and moving her arms, while everyone else kind of just moved their hips.

  “That is Katie Drew. She moved here in sixth grade from somewhere in Mississippi. I remember the state because our teacher had us all spell it the day she arrived, and being the slightly neurotic kid I was — am,” she corrected with a gleam of a smile, “I walked the whole way home, saying, ‘M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I.’ It was stuck in my head for weeks.”

  “That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard,” I joked.

  “See? I’m not all sunflowers and daisies.” She tried to convince me, causing me to nearly choke on my Diet Coke.

  “I know. I see it now — your checkered past.”

  “Anyway,” she went on, smiling, “Katie is probably one of the meanest, scariest girls you’ll meet in the entire state.”

  “The entire state?” I repeated, thinking her generalization was a bit grand.

  “She even hates me.”

  My mouth hung open.

  “Exactly. She’s so feared, the only reason she has friends at all is because they are too scared to run away.”

  “That’s sad.” I snuck another peek at the girl.

  She was average-looking, maybe a little less than. But then who was I to judge? She wore a pink dress that flattered her figure and matching shoes. A large group of people danced around her, all appearing to have a good time.

  Were they really?

  “Why is she so mean?”

  “Honestly? I think she doesn’t like herself very much.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on. That’s lame. A girl is mean because she has self-esteem issues? That’s about as cliché as—”

  “A girl who doesn’t want anyone to touch her because…”

  “Okay… point taken,” I conceded. “But, seriously, there’s got to be another reason for her anger. Tell me another one — and make it good this time.”

  Her eyes roamed around again and landed on a familiar face. “Sam. He’s a good one.”

  I shook my head.

  “What? You don’t want to know Sam’s history?”

  “He’s my boss. It would be too weird.”

  “It wasn’t weird when you yelled at him in the middle of the hallway.”

  “Yeah, actually, that was totally weird. He didn’t talk to me for the entire shift… or the rest of the week.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “Oh. Sorry about that.”

  “I didn’t say I regretted it. It felt good to stick up for a friend, but if we’re being honest, I don’t really want to get between you two again.”

  She nodded. “That’s fair. And I’m glad to hear you say that we’re friends.”

  “I did let you talk me into this ridiculousness,” I told her, holding my hands out to serve as a reminder of where we were.

  She instantly burst into laughter as we finished our sodas and dug into the rest of the chips.

  A moment later, a boy I didn’t recognize approached our table, obvious nervousness written across his sweet face. “Allison, I was wondering if you’d like to dance?” he asked.

  She looked to me, and I smiled.

  “I’m going to step out for some air. You kids have fun,” I said with a wink.

  She took his hand, and I watched him lead her out to the dance floor as a slow song began. Scoping out an exit, I quickly made my way toward the back, remembering Allison’s suggestion to head toward the halls for some peace and quiet.

  After almost an hour of horrible, loud music, it was just what I needed.

  A little peace and quiet.

  Unfortunately, all I found was Sam.

  AS SOON AS I saw the all-too familiar back of his head, I wa
nted to turn and make a run for it.

  Not because of the scene I’d caused or the uncomfortable silence that was sure to follow.

  I wanted to flee for the sheer fact that seeing him made me feel things.

  Want things.

  And that was something I was altogether not okay with.

  Sam had a way of making me want to run and hide and never leave at the same time. Even though I knew he had most likely done some horrible, despicable thing to my friend… even though I’d heard gossip following him wherever he went, I couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered in my stomach whenever I saw him.

  When he was around, I felt like one of those girls back on the dance floor, gazing into the dopey eyes of a boy.

  Completely besotted or some such crap.

  It was disturbing.

  Why him?

  Why not some badass rule-breaker or a guy who at least didn’t wear polos or T-shirts with comic book characters on a daily basis?

  But, man, if he didn’t look a little like Captain America…

  “Did you just sigh?” Sam’s voice cut through my awkward, slightly unsettling daydream.

  “What? No. Did you?” I fired back.

  “Didn’t figure you much for the school-dance type, Mittens,” he said, fully turning toward me, only to fall back against one of the lockers behind him. He did so with such ease and fluidity, like the whole world just bended to his will.

  Maybe it did.

  He was dressed better than I’d ever seen him. Wearing a nice pair of khakis and a navy blazer, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a country club or some fancy restaurant. Standing next to him in my combat boots made me feel awkward.

  “You know they’re not mittens, right?” I found myself blurting out.

  He smiled, his mouth forming a lazy grin. “Yes, I know.”

  I let out a frustrated puff of air, wrapping my arms around my waist. “I’m here with Allison.”

  He nodded, as if that was all the explanation needed. “She’s a hard one to say no to.”

  “But, clearly, you did,” I replied sharply.