Top Ten Uses for an Unworn Prom Dress

by Tina Ferraro

  Zoe was doing warm-up stretches when I shuffled into the locker room later. I was beat from the long day, but even with all the stuff going on in my life, I couldn't think of a place where I'd rather be than practice. I needed some mind-numbing, physically exhausting, plain old girl time. I didn't even care if Coach Luther spent the two hours screeching at me.

  “Did you see Rascal's nose?” Zoe asked as I was pulling my hair back into a ponytail.

  I nodded and asked her what she'd heard.

  “A weekend football scrimmage. He's lucky he didn't break his neck.”

  “Did you hear that from Kylie?”

  “No. At my lunch table. Kylie hasn't spoken to me since I didn't show up for the group facial, remember?” Her dark eyebrows came together. “A hundred bucks just to wash your face. As if.”

  The furrow in her brow didn't soften as she resumed her stretches. In fact, when she glanced at me moments later, she looked downright bummed out.

  “Something wrong, Zoe?” I felt I had to ask.

  She shrugged. “Other than how my relationship with Matt seems to be disintegrating?”

  I sat down on the bench. Not so close as to invade her body space, but close enough to let her know I cared if she wanted to talk.

  “It's like he only wants me for one thing. Like today, he was going to pick me up after practice? We were going to go to his house for a while, you know?” she said, and almost smiled.

  I did know, and realized Zoe's relationship was a gazillion miles more advanced than anything I'd ever experienced.

  “Then he found out his mom was going to be home. Suddenly he's not picking me up … he's all like, what's the point?” She squinted so hard it looked painful. “He's making me feel like one of those friends with benefits couples.” Then she interrupted herself. “Oh,” she said, touching my arm. “Not that there's anything wrong with that, if that's what you're into.”

  I studied the guilt etched in her brow. Moments passed while my thoughts gelled.

  She meant Jared and me.… Oh God, she believed those stupid rumors! Did that mean other people did, too?

  Suddenly things made sense. Rascal on my doorstep. Mitch wanting to be “study buddies.” Harrison wanting to be “friends.” They were getting in line for their turn, to get some of the goods they thought I was giving Jared.

  And the thing was, short of pleading my innocence, there was very little I could do. Sure, I'd straightened Zoe out, but that was like putting a Band-Aid over a gushing wound.

  I threw my frustrations into my practice, slamming ball after ball. Coach Luther actually complimented me as she dismissed us, calling me a player who was “giving it her all.” I just hoped the other girls weren't thinking I was giving my all to the male student body, too.

  That night, I did my homework at the kitchen table while my mom worked on her laptop. Even though she kept biting her lower lip in frustration, I kind of liked just being near her.

  By the time I closed my geometry book, it was too late to call Alison. Or maybe I'd delayed the call on purpose because, while I knew she would try to make me feel better about the friends with benefits thing, I didn't really want to talk about it, to give her more reason to suspect things were changing between Jared and me.

  Lying in bed later, I tried telling myself that there were worse things that could be said about a person— although I had trouble thinking of many.

  When the clock flashed midnight, however, I decided I had better do something or I'd never sleep. Talking to Jared was the obvious course of action. But it was way too late to call. Pulling him over for a sudden heart-to-heart at school would most definitely be a disaster. So I got up, turned on my desk lamp, and wrote him a note I could fold up and slide under his windshield wiper:

  Call me. Stuff's going on. We need to talk. Nic.

  The next morning, energy hummed in my chest as I rounded the block to the street Jared parked on. I might not have happened upon a miracle cure, but I was doing something toward the betterment of my reputation and to settle the unspoken static between Alison and me.

  All this internal rambling was probably why the sharp pebbles of broken glass on the sidewalk up ahead didn't automatically register as disaster. I looked out at more glass on the street, and then the angry, splintered hole in Jared's windshield, before I truly understood what I was seeing.

  That was when I broke into a run toward the car, as if it was a dying person or something.

  Jared's beloved Camaro. The windows were smashed. Glass glittered on the dashboard, the seats, the pavement.

  And only one suspect came to mind.

  Rushing toward the school office, I thought about how Rascal had told me his football coach sometimes ran early-morning practices. If there'd been one this morning, Rascal would have an alibi. But come on, who would have done this but Rascal and his idiot friends?

  I ran through scenarios of how to report the crime. What to say and what not to say. As much as I wanted to rat Rascal out, there was an unwritten code that students held against authority, and the last thing I wanted to add to my list of problems was revenge for turning in a football player.

  When I got to the office, however, I could see that the dirty work had already been done. A lady in a tennis outfit was talking in hushed tones with Principal Carmody, the words “smashed” and “group of boys” escaping the huddle.

  Before I could take a breath, Jared blew into the office. His gaze flew past me and straight to Mr. Carmody. “Yeah,” he said, storming toward the group. “That license plate you announced over the PA is mine. What happened?”

  I tucked myself in between the counter and a photocopy machine to get out of the line of fire.

  Mr. Carmody (practically bald, no doubt from pulling his hair out over stunts just like this) told Jared that his windows had been broken. He explained that this woman had dropped her kid off and was on her way home when she saw three guys running away from the Camaro with baseball bats. While she couldn't ID them, they were Caucasian, medium to big, and wore below-the-knee shorts and T-shirts.

  Sounded like half the guys in the school. If you didn't know what I knew. Or what Jared knew.

  Jared stood ramrod straight, as if the overabundance of thoughts and emotions rushing through him needed every available inch. But when Mr. Carmody pressed him for possible suspects, he just shook his head. “No idea,” he said, so convincingly that I almost believed him.

  I swallowed my words. Part of me wanted Rascal called on the carpet. So this insanity would end. Rascal was the worst kind of bully: a bully with a lot of friends. What if they decided to go after Jared's head with the baseball bat next?

  I couldn't stand it. I wiggled out of my corner, prepared to ruin my life to save Jared's—

  But then he turned, caught my eye, and iced me with a glare. A glare with a distinct don't-you-dare flavor.

  “Yes?” Mr. Carmody said to me. “Nicolette, isn't it?”

  I nodded, my gaze still glued to Jared.

  “Do you know who vandalized the car?” the principal asked.

  My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I was confused, but I knew I couldn't snitch if Jared didn't want me to.

  “No,” I said, and reached into my pocket to weasel out the folded-up note. “Uh, here, Jared,” I said, and passed it from my palm to his. “I just needed to give you this.”

  Mr. Carmody turned his back on me—obviously irritated about the interruption—and told Jared to accompany him outside to identify the car.

  I stepped back to let them pass. Jared touched my arm as he moved by, in what felt like appreciation.

  I watched his back as he left, hoping he knew what he was doing. Because I sure didn't.

  •

  It wasn't too hard to find out if there had been an early football practice. All I had to do was check out the nonsweaty, sleepy faces of the players just arriving.

  Why was I not surprised?

  Everybody (everybody!) talked about Jared and his c
ar that day. Not just his friends, but people in my classes, in the halls, during morning break. At lunch.

  Everybody, except Alison. Whose response at lunch was a shrug. “Yeah,” she said. “I heard. Sucks to be him.”

  “You should have seen it,” I pressed on, because obviously she didn't understand how serious it was. “Glass was everywhere.”

  “How convenient that you happened to pass by.”

  “Convenient?” I stopped chewing some cashews. “Are you implying I had something to do with it?”

  “Not at all. It's just that everything Jared is involved in these days, you are, too.”

  “That's not fair.” Adrenaline surged through my system, readying me for the defensive. Or offensive. Or whatever.

  But she just shrugged and started talking about some new coffee place. And I acted like the subject change was normal.

  Still, it would have been great to unload my feelings to my best friend that day. To own up to my worries and my knocking guilt about staying quiet.

  And when a cinnamon-apple scent floated by my locker later, my first thought was that I was going to get that chance. With Kylie, of all people. I knew, more than anything else, that the homecoming-queen-to-be wanted peace between the guys—so her dress wouldn't hang beside mine in the Unworn Hall of Fame.

  I turned to her, expecting an ally. Only to see a mascara-rimmed glare targeted straight at me.

  “Stay away from Rascal.”

  Huh?

  “I know he was at your house on Sunday. I know Jared was there, and hit him. I know everything. And all I can say is if you even look at Rascal again, you'll be sorry!”

  Considering half the school thought I was “benefiting” Jared, I couldn't get too worked up over having Kylie or anyone else knowing I'd simply kissed Rascal during their breakup.

  Although who told her was a curious mystery.

  I decided to lob the ball back to her side of the court. “Come on, Kylie—what are you going to do, go to the prom with him again?”

  But her scowl didn't break. Go figure.

  “No—I'm going to have a nice long conversation with Coach Luther.”

  Huh? Okay, I'd lied to get out of a practice. But that had been for a good reason, and if need be, I could get Dad to vouch for me. And how would she even know? And then there was the friends with benefits rumor, but even if it was true, why would Luther care?

  “What,” I said, trying to sound all snotty right back, “are you even talking about?”

  “Drinking on the beach. A certain digital photo?”

  Whoa. How on earth did she get a copy of that?

  “Oh, yeah?” I said, running a hand through my hair in what I hoped was a casual way. When all I could think was, no team, no starting position. No scholarship, no college.

  “Yeah,” she answered with a smug smile.

  Crap. I couldn't risk her showing that photo to Luther. I had no choice but to work with her. “Look, Kylie,” I said, and swallowed with my very dry mouth. “There's nothing between Rascal and me. I admit I had the mother of all crushes on him, but real life has a way of taking care of that sometimes.”

  Her face wrinkled like she smelled something foul. “You mean, you …”

  Her voice trailed off, making me think that when she said she knew “everything,” she meant the lawn but not the couch?

  I decided to hold my cards closer to my chest. I had to give her enough to believe I was nonthreatening without admitting to anything…directly. “You don't have to worry about me. Okay?” I zeroed in on her squinty eyes. “And I don't have to worry about you showing that picture to Luther, right?”

  She gave me something I took for a nod, then turned away.

  I was dying to ask where the hell she'd gotten the picture, anyway, but I didn't want to rock the boat. Apparently she had good sources. And me in a tight spot.

  •

  I waited around at Alison's locker after the last bell, but when she didn't show, I had to hightail it to the locker room.

  The team was doing warm-up laps when I shuffled into the gym. Zoe slowed to let me fall into step with her, but I waved her on, saying I was tired.

  Nothing personal, I just didn't feel like talking to anyone. Except maybe Alison. Could she possibly have stabbed me in the back? It was almost as if she'd set me up to take that photo, like someone had paid her to do it or something. Which was crazy. She had all the money she could ever want.

  A few laps later, Zoe appeared beside me. “Okay, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  “Huh?”

  Sweat beaded her brow. “You seem upset. I'm upset. And don't they say misery loves company?”

  A smile tugged at my mouth. Actually, it was nice that someone seemed to care. Still, I couldn't reveal the whole truth about my blue mood. I didn't even know the whole truth.

  “It's Alison,” I said, giving up what I felt I could. “She's, uh, been acting weird since I started spending time with her brother.”

  “That sucks,” she said, huffing. “But you can'tentirely blame her.”

  Yeah, except the beach picture happened way before Jared and I started hanging together. Back when I was swapping kisses with Canadian Guy and still moping over Rascal.

  We rounded a corner of the gym and she added, “Still, it seems you two should be able to work it out. Get it out in the open, set some guidelines or something. Better than Matt and me, who are now done for good.” She turned and looked at me. “He gave me the let's-be-friends line last night.”

  Ouch! “Oh, Zoe.”

  “I saw it coming, I really did.” She inhaled through her nose. Bravely, I thought. “Still, to break up. And so close to the homecoming dance.”

  “Did you buy a dress already?”

  “I was still saving.”

  “Well, that's good.”

  “I guess.”

  But getting dumped—dress or no dress—was definitely the pits.

  Run the silky pink fabric up the school flagpole in solidarity with all girls who'ev been cruelly ditched, dodged, and dumped

  Zoe and I hung together for the rest of practice, doing drills, passing the ball, letting out long sighs. Later, we walked out together.

  Leaning against an SUV in the teachers' parking lot was Jared. To say he was the last person I expected to see would be an exaggeration. That would have been my dad—or maybe Caffeine, if I could even remember what she looked like.

  A smile tugging one side of his mouth, he crooked a finger at me.

  “See you later,” Zoe singsonged, and turned away.

  I moved toward Jared, my pulse oddly elevated.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey yourself.”

  I understood the unspoken offer of a ride and figured it was better than walking. We silently climbed into his mom's car. After he started the engine, he turned to me.

  “Your note. Sorry it took me so long to get back to you, with my windows and everything. What's up?”

  I crossed one leg and then the other. I couldn't get comfortable. What had felt unbearable in the darkness had lessened during the course of this hectic and very confusing day. Still, I had to tell him. “Friends with benefits,” I blurted out. “That's what people are calling us. I mean, not just as a joke. For real.”

  A full smile captured his face. But when he glanced back my way, his gaze was appropriately stony. “Yeah. I'll talk to Keith and Mitch and those guys.”

  He put the car in gear and backed out of the spot in silence, then pulled onto the main road.

  “You know, Jared, Mitch has been calling me.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Wanting to get together. Probably wanting … well, I don't have to spell it out, do I?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I'll handle him.”

  “And Harrison.”

  He came to a full stop at a yield sign, and suddenly his eyes were all over my face. “Him, too? Crap, this has really gotten crazy. Don't worry. I'll take care
of it.”

  “Not like you did with Rascal—okay?”

  He exhaled, then nodded.

  “You need to explain how a stupid joke got out of hand. And how you and I aren't even really friends anyway.”

  Jared leaned over and adjusted the AC. His hand came within inches of my knee, but just like the guy himself, it kept a straight course.

  “Today, in the office. Thanks for keeping your mouth shut about Rascal.”

  I felt myself nodding, but the real Nicolette seemed to be lost somewhere inside my head, hiding among the twisted thoughts. I knew that somehow getting things right with Jared was of major importance, and yet I couldn't get past his mercy date offer. I didn't want to be Alison's-friend-that-he-should-be-nice-to. Or poor-Nic-with-the-virgin-prom-dress. I realized I wanted to be important to him because I was me. And I wasn't sure what to make of that.

  He made a lane change. “And in the car the other day … you got mad and everything. I was stupid. Can we forget about that?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, then took a leap to safer ground. “As long as you can forget about this stupid feud with Rascal. I mean, you're not going to jump him or break his windows or anything—right?”

  He flipped down his visor to block the late-afternoon sun. “Yeah, this thing's gotten crazy. If it goes any further, one of us will get expelled or arrested. I don't want it to be me.

  “And the thing is,” he went on, glancing my way, “I already played my next card. Kylie grabbed me and fired questions about Rascal and what really happened on Sunday. So I told her. It seemed like payback, even if it was pretty weak.”

  Of course—it was him. I'd told her to ask him what had happened. I laced my fingers in my lap. “Did you tell her what went on after Rascal came inside my house?”

  “How could I? I don't know … I don't want to know.”

  “But you listened in on my conversation with Alison.”

  “Did I?” A frown and a smile had a collision on his face, the smile barely winning out. “Look, I'm not about making things harder for you. I just want you to be done with Rascal once and for all.” He steered the SUV to the curb in front of my house and stopped, turning to look at me. “You are done with him, aren't you, Nic?”