After securing the final bobby pin in my hair, my mom started getting sentimental. She said she’d be right back, and I was so caught up in my own thoughts, it didn’t even occur to me that she was getting the camera, which was exactly what I didn’t want her to do.
The next thing I knew, my mom was in my bedroom doorway, snapping pictures of me in front of the mirror. My hair looked ready for the dance, but that was it. I was wearing boxers and one of Rush’s old jerseys, and I hadn’t even begun the monumental task of putting on makeup.
“Mom! What are you doing?”
“This is a big moment, Hawthorn. You’ll want to remember it.”
She kept snapping photos, and the rest of my family heard the commotion and decided to see what it was all about, which is how my dad and Rush ended up in my doorway too. They all gushed about my hair and acted happy that I was participating in a school activity of my own free will, and I acted put out and embarrassed and tried to block myself from the camera, but the truth was that I was enjoying the whole thing.
I waited for Rush to make a comment about Enzo, about how he was a loser and didn’t deserve to take me to homecoming, but he kept his mouth shut, which I thought was really cool of him. I looked for signs of disapproval on my dad’s face, because I hadn’t forgotten his conversation with my mom that I’d overheard. But if he was unhappy, he hid it really well.
I swiped blush on my cheeks and applied mascara to my eyelashes and put on a peachy pink shade of lipstick. Yes, I was carefully putting on lipstick and blotting it, like a girl who went to dances on a regular basis. I was a girl who had exfoliated and plucked and perfumed and all the other things you were supposed to do before a date. I was a girl who was going to a dance, a girl who had a loving family that hovered, offering encouragement and good-natured teasing.
That wasn’t the girl I normally was. I liked it. I felt as if I’d slipped into someone else’s skin, and I wasn’t ready to go back to being me.
But I made my family leave the room while I changed into my dress because, you know, there’s such thing as being too close.
I put on my crazy eighties dress. Then came the shoes, silver heels that added at least three inches to my height and made my ability to walk questionable. Then I went to the full-length mirror, braced myself, and looked.
I was actually pleasantly surprised. The poofy dress was absurd. It fit me just right though, and that made it look less strange than it actually was. I didn’t look like Lizzie—I wasn’t golden and blond and curvy—but there are a bunch of girls at my school who are pretty even though they don’t have those qualities. Maybe I could be one of them or enough of one of them to get Enzo to notice me, like he had for that half second in his room while his hand was on my knee.
That’s when the enormity of the situation hit me. I sat down heavily on my desk chair. I’d just spent half the day getting ready to go to a high school dance, which was weird and unfamiliar in itself. And I was going to that dance with the boyfriend of a girl who was missing, probably a werewolf but possibly killed by said boyfriend. And the girl in question was none other than the cheerleader dream queen who I’d spent years resenting.
It was all bizarre and crazy, and I felt lost. What was I doing? What did I want?
I wanted Enzo to see me how he saw Lizzie. I wanted him to like me because I was different from Lizzie. I wanted Lizzie to be alive, but I also wanted her to stay away forever. I wanted my life to be interesting and complicated.
I could have sat at my desk thinking all night, but there was a knock on my door.
“Are you done yet? Mom wants more pictures before you go.”
“Just a second,” I shouted back at my brother.
I turned to the mirror and gazed at my reflection. I was a different person. Just for one night. That’s what I had been telling myself. Which meant I should try to shut off my mind. I needed to stop spurting out worries and questions. I needed to just be.
That was my goal on the night of the homecoming dance. For once, I was going to stop worrying about my motivations and just do what felt right.
• • •
There were so many pictures. Too many. My mom made me pose with my brother and my dad. Then the hippies saw what we were doing and wandered over, and Mom had me take a few photos with them. Sundog told me I looked beautiful and gave me some sort of blessing that was probably really nice but sounded like gibberish to me. The whole thing was super overwhelming, but I was trying not to be the kind of girl who got overwhelmed.
“I’ll want pictures of you and Enzo when he gets here,” my mom said after snapping a photo of me standing in front of the house.
“Mom, no. It’s not like that. We’re just friends.”
“You can’t take pictures with your friends?”
“How’s he getting here anyway?” Rush asked. “I thought he was too artistic to drive.”
There it was. I knew my brother couldn’t make it through the entire evening without taking a jab at Enzo.
“He’s taking the bus here. Then I’ll drive us to the dance.”
“Chivalrous,” Rush said. He said it dryly, obviously as an insult. But I actually thought it was kind of a nice gesture. Usually, I picked Enzo up. He couldn’t drive me to the dance, but he was meeting me at my house. He was doing his best.
“Be nice to your sister,” my dad said, but he frowned a little, and I knew he was secretly on Rush’s side.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “This isn’t a date. We’re just going to the dance.”
No one believed me though, and I sort of didn’t mind.
“Can you guys, like, give me some space? I swear I’ll let you know when Enzo’s here.”
I made my way over to the porch swing to wait for Enzo. My mom wanted to sit with me, but my dad dragged her inside, which I appreciated. Having my family around while I was getting ready was one thing, but when Enzo arrived, I wanted the moment all to myself.
• • •
I waited a long time. Then I waited some more.
I tried to look straight ahead or down at my feet or anywhere that could distract me. The goal was not to look down the street in the direction of the closest bus stop, the direction that Enzo would be coming from. I didn’t want him to find me like that, hunched over on the front porch, eagerly waiting for his slouchy, shuffling arrival at my house.
So instead, I attempted to focus on other things, because it wasn’t so much like I was waiting for him that way. I was just looking at where the porch railing was scratched or how the poppies in the flowerbed were starting to die or the way our mailbox tilted very slightly to the left. I told myself to concentrate on those details, and eventually, I would glance casually up the street only to find Enzo, standing on the edge of the lawn, a sheepish look on his face and some story about how the bus had broken down or the homeless man who always rides in the back row pulled out a machete and held everyone hostage or something. Anything.
But every time I glanced up, I was still alone, and eventually, I stopped pretending and just watched the road. What did it matter if Enzo saw me sitting patiently, desperately waiting for him to arrive?
More time passed, and I became positive that looking for Enzo really didn’t matter. I could watch the road or run out into the middle of it if I wanted. I could kneel down on the front lawn and scream at the sky. I could cry and rage and do whatever I wanted without worrying about Enzo finding me that way, because Enzo was not going to show up.
It was getting dark when my mom opened the door and poked her head out.
“Everything OK?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should give him a call?”
“Maybe later.”
“All right,” my mom said, though I knew she was hesitant to leave me sitting by myself without first bestowing hippie wisdom about how we all need space to un
cover our true emotions or something. “Just let me know if you need anything, OK?”
What I needed was someone to shake me and tell me I should have expected this. Enzo was unreliable. Enzo didn’t care about a high school dance. Enzo didn’t really care about me, not the way he cared about Lizzie. What did I think was going to happen? He was going to wander off the bus, still smelling like diesel fumes, and whisk me away to a magical homecoming event? Enzo, with his cigarettes and messy hair and ratty sweaters, was going to suddenly turn into some 1950s superjock stereotype, and I would be pretty in pink, and we’d go to the dance, and all the other kids there would somehow forget that they’d spent the last four years hating me? More likely, I would have ended up covered in pig’s blood.
I watched the neighborhood get dark. Crickets chirped. Lightning bugs came out. A few miles away, there was a dance just getting into full swing. It would be just like the movies, with kids laughing and dancing and judging what other kids were wearing and who they’d shown up with. Chaperones would pretend not to see alcohol being passed around. There would be talk about who was having the best after-party and who would be getting laid that night and, of course, who the homecoming queen and king would be. No one would notice that I wasn’t there.
The next time the front door opened, it was Rush. He ventured out and sat next to me on the swing.
“Did Mom tell you to check on me?”
“No. I just thought you could use some company while you waited.”
“I’m not waiting,” I said.
“What are you doing then?”
“Nothing. Just sitting. He’s not going to show.” I tried to play it off like it didn’t matter, like I hadn’t spent half the day preparing for the dance.
“Maybe he’s just running really late. He could have fallen asleep or something. You should call,” Rush said.
“I appreciate the optimism, but he’s not coming.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
It would have been easier if he mocked me or said, “I told you so.” Rush’s concern made me feel like crying, which would be especially unfortunate, considering the mascara I’d put on.
“Just give me some space?” I asked. “And let Mom know I’m OK so she stops peeking out the window every two minutes?”
“Sure thing.” Rush squeezed my shoulder as he stood up, just a simple gesture to let me know he loved me, and my eyes stung, and my lips trembled. I took a deep breath. I was not going to cry.
I rocked on the porch swing and thought about Enzo until I was shivering in the cool October night. I considered going in and getting a sweater or just climbing into bed in my dress and heels and bobby pins. I also thought about walking to the back of the house to get warm around Sundog’s fire. But I didn’t do any of those things. It would have taken too much energy. So instead, I just sat and felt sorry for myself.
When the headlights swept across my front lawn, my heart leaped. Enzo. Maybe something happened with the bus and he’d had to find a ride to my house? I held up my hand, trying to shield my eyes, but couldn’t see anything in the glare. Then the headlights were turned off, and the yard plunged into darkness. Before my eyes could readjust, I heard a car door slam and an incredulous voice.
“Thorny? What the hell are you wearing?”
Not Enzo.
Connor plodded up the porch steps, grinning. He stopped when he saw my glowering face.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m supposed to be at the homecoming dance,” I said. “Clearly, that didn’t work out.”
“Was the dance taking place in 1985?”
I gathered a handful of my pink skirt and examined it. “I thought it would be a funny thing to wear. It’s not.”
“So why are you sitting here like the rest of The Breakfast Club went out partying and forgot to take you along?”
I kept looking at my dress, because I couldn’t bear to meet Connor’s gaze. “That’s not so far off, I guess. Enzo was supposed to take me to the dance. He must have found a better party.”
“He’s a dick,” Connor said.
I expected for us to exchange small talk for a few more minutes, then for Connor to excuse himself to see Rush. A little while later, they’d come out of the house together and leave for some college party, passing by me, sitting there in my pathetic pink dress with only the slightest acknowledgment.
What actually happened next was Connor held out his hand and said, “Come on.”
I stared at him. “What? Are you going to, like, take me to the dance as a pity date or something? This really is an eighties teen movie.”
Connor laughed. “I’m not exactly dressed for a formal dance. But I can get you off the front porch at least.”
He was still holding out his hand. It’s not like I had anything better going on, so I reached out and took it.
• • •
It was the second time in the past month I’d been in Connor’s car, which was pretty weird.
I leaned over and scanned the radio stations, finally settling for an oldies channel. Boys and girls from another lifetime sang about how breaking up was hard to do and how words of love weren’t enough to win a girl’s heart.
“I feel like I’m in a horror movie,” I told Connor.
“You what?”
“You know, it’s dark, and we’re driving through the woods, and there are scratchy-sounding old songs on the radio, and I’m in this stupid dress.”
“I’m still not getting the horror movie part.”
“Like, any moment now, a shadowy figure is going to dart in front of the car, and you’ll slam on the brakes, and there will be a girl standing on the side of the road, wearing some white 1950s dress.”
Connor laughed, getting what I meant. “And she’ll ask us for a ride home, right?”
“Yep. And then somehow, we’ll find out she died sixty years ago in a car accident on this very stretch of road.”
I sighed and rested my head on the back of the passenger seat, imagining a situation like that actually happening. I liked the idea that Enzo standing me up could be a good thing because I would end up doing something way more fascinating than going to a stupid dance.
Connor glanced at me and reached into his backseat, fumbling for a moment before pulling out a sweater.
“Here. You must be freezing.”
Being cold was the last thing on my mind, but I pulled the sweater over my head anyway. What did it matter if I was wearing a poofy dress and a men’s pullover? It’s not like I was going to homecoming.
The sweater smelled like boy, that earthy, almost dirty smell, like trees and beer. If it was Enzo’s sweater, it would have smelled like cigarettes too. I’d put his leather jacket on once when I was cold, and even after I took it off, the scent of tobacco clung to my skin.
For a while, we drove and listened to music and didn’t say much to each other. Then Connor asked if I was hungry. I hadn’t realized I was it until he asked. He pulled into the parking lot of DiCarlo’s, where you ordered pizza by the slice, and it came topped with a layer of unmelted cheese.
There wasn’t a dining room, so we took our food outside and sat on the hood of Connor’s car, eating quickly and shivering. The air felt heavy, like a storm was coming.
“So,” Connor said eventually. “What happened tonight?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. We were supposed to go to the dance. Enzo didn’t show. There’s not, like, a big story or anything.”
“So are you and Enzo together now?”
“No,” I said, focusing on my pizza.
“But you like him?”
“I don’t know.”
I pulled the sweater around me more tightly, wishing I had jeans covering my legs and tennis shoes on my feet instead of my embarrassingly optimistic high heels.
“It wasn’t like that,�
� I said. “Before, anyway. We were just trying to find his girlfriend. But then we were spending all this time together, and I started wondering if it meant something, you know?”
“Maybe you just feel like you’re supposed to like him,” Connor said nonchalantly. “Or you like him because he’s around. It happens.”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe you like him just because he belonged to Lizzie.”
I scowled. “You think I’m that shallow? Like, I’ve spent all this time wanting to be Lizzie or something, so I end up taking her boyfriend?”
“Stranger things have happened. I’d think a girl who believes in werewolves would be open to any possibility.”
He had a point.
“I just kind of wanted to go to homecoming.”
“Why? Since when do you care?”
“I guess I just wanted to feel normal for once.”
Connor laughed. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. There’re all these things happening, all this life happening around me. And I’m always on the outside, watching. For once, I wanted to experience it.”
“I went to all the high school dances,” Connor said after a moment.
“You don’t need to rub it in.”
“I’m not, believe me. I always felt out of place at them. Like it was some ritual we all needed to go through but no one really enjoyed, and I never knew how to pretend as well as everyone else.”
Connor finished a slice of pizza and wiped his greasy fingers on his jeans. We’d forgotten to ask for napkins, which was fine, because the thought of getting sauce on my dress and ruining it forever appealed to me.
“I went to senior prom with this girl Alyssa,” Connor said. “Do you remember her? Tall, dark hair, had a different designer purse for every season?”
I shook my head, and he went on.
“Anyway, the whole night was a mess. I didn’t even want to go with her, but neither of us had dates, and some of my friends were going with some of her friends, so it seemed like the right thing to do. A bunch of us went to this nice Italian place for dinner. I spent an entire paycheck on that meal, and she got pissed at me because I ordered pizza. Said you didn’t order pizza at a place like that. It was on the menu though. Why put it on the menu if you aren’t supposed to actually eat it? She spent the entire night bitching. I ended up ditching her at the dance and hanging out with a different group of people. And she bitched about that too. That’s what high school dances were like for me.”
The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett Page 19
