All this talk of the future and the excitement of seeing the shop today as such a real, tangible thing had made me totally forget about my actual future.
The one I didn’t have.
Chapter Fifteen. MORE THAN FEAR
The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition … -“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”
Caspian still hadn’t woken up by the time I had to go to school the next morning, and I hated leaving him behind. I made a quick call to Sophie, and she assured me that she’d stop over to chat with Mom and keep an eye on things. I felt a little bit of relief knowing that at least she’d be there if he woke up.
I spent most of the day thinking about Abbey’s Hollow, and the fact that I’d been handed my dreams on a silver platter, yet I wasn’t going to live long enough to see them come true. It wasn’t until Mrs. Marks called on me in English class to read part of a poem that I was jerked out of my contemplative mood.
I stood up, clearing my throat. As my eyes filtered over the page in front of me, bits and pieces started to assemble themselves into images inside my brain, and I noticed the beautiful flow and rhythm the poem had. Then I really began to notice the words.
We are the hidden people
lost and in between.
So much of none
yet still, begun.
Shadows draped upon our walls.
We are the hidden people,
and when you think the end has come
you’ll turn and see.
There are none.
We are the hidden.
People.
All one.
For hidden you will become.
Something more than fear,
it resides here.
As Mrs. Marks asked the class questions about who the poet might have been talking about, all I could hear were the words “We are the hidden people,” and I thought about what that meant. Thought about it in a whole new way.
The poem was about me. About what I was going to become.
Shades were the hidden people. The other half. Living in the shadows. Part of this world and the next. Here, but not here. And I understood that, in a way no one else could.
As the bell rang, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Something more than fear, it resides here.
Was I afraid? Yes. And no. But I was special. Unique. My gift was to be one of the hidden people.
It was who I was meant to be.
Beth caught up with me after class and pulled me back into the present. “You ready to do this thing?” she called, coming down the hallway from the opposite direction. “I have my mom’s car.”
“What thing?”
“Shopping? For the Hollow Ball? Today’s Wednesday.”
“Um, yeah.” I wasn’t crazy about the idea of not going home to be with Caspian, but Sophie still hadn’t called my cell. Which meant that he hadn’t woken up yet. “Sure. Just let me dump my books off at my locker. I don’t have any homework that can’t wait until tomorrow.”
She came over and waited beside me.
“Any ideas where we should go?” I asked.
“There’s this specialty dress store in Jersey,” she said, giving me an arched look. “I know. Jersey, right? But I have a friend who swears by it. Says they have the best designer stuff for half the price. They probably get it after it falls off a truck, but, hey. I’m not going to complain.”
“We’ll probably be gone all afternoon, right?”
“Uh, yeah. Why? Do you have an afternoon curfew?” Beth laughed.
I smiled weakly at her. “No, no. Just want to make sure my mom doesn’t call and bug me about it, like, a million times. No big.”
“Okay. Let’s go, then.” She clapped her hands together.
I crammed my books into my locker and then followed her outside. A dusty blue Chevy was sitting by the curb, and we got in. Beth turned up the heat as we drove away from the school, and she started talking about Lewis right away.
We headed away from Sleepy Hollow and across the Tappan Zee Bridge. I stretched my legs out in front of me and shifted in my seat. Already I was wondering if Caspian was okay. What if he was asleep for too long? What if this time he didn’t wake up?
“… and then he said that I should just go with Grant if that made me happy. Ugh. Boys.”
Beth glanced over at me, waiting for me to say something.
But I’d zoned out completely.
“Are you daydreaming, Abbey?” she said with a little smile. “You know, there’s a cure for that. … A hot boy. I mean, a hot guy. Forget boys. Who needs ’em?”
I smiled back.
“Do we need to go cruising for some hotties?” she asked. “We can still crash the beach house for a weekend. Granted, it’s the off-season, but you never know when a cute lifeguard in training might show up or something.”
I laughed. “No. We don’t need to go pick up a lifeguard hottie. Although, I appreciate your willingness to help me out on that one.”
“It’s the thought that counts.”
I remembered those words coming from someone else. Caspian had said them to me once. I glanced away, out the window. A pickup truck passed us on the right, with two guys in the front seat. They were keeping pace with us, and Beth noticed.
“That driver is kind of cute,” she said. Leaning over, she smiled flirtatiously at them. The driver honked his horn, and his passenger did some sort of hand motion that either meant Call me or Give me more. I couldn’t tell which.
“Keep us on the road, Beth,” I said with a grin when she kept looking at them.
“You never know. Those could be our Hollow Ball dates.”
The truck edged forward, the driver holding up a sheet of paper next to his window with a phone number scribbled on it. Hey, hotie, textt me, it said.
I burst out laughing as Beth made a face. “At least we know they can spell,” I said to her. She stepped on the gas, blowing past them with a smile, and her laughter filled the car.
“Oh, well. Guess neither one of them was Prince Charming after all.”
We came to a ramp and slowed down, pulling off at exit twenty-four. The road went through a little town with a speed limit of thirty-five, which Beth had a hard time staying at, and we bumped along the way. The town was one giant pothole.
“We’re looking for Denim Street,” Beth said, keeping an eye on street signs. “How fitting.”
It came up on our left, and she made the turn. A bright orange cement building with a pink and green striped awning sat surrounded by vacant storefronts. The parking lot was filled to capacity. “Guess the secret’s out,” I mused. “Looks like everyone else knows about this place too.”
“Great,” Beth said. “I hope there’s still some good stuff left.”
We parked two blocks away and walked down to the store. Two girls were struggling with a giant puffy garment bag that was snagged on the exit door, with another girl pushing behind them, trying to make her way out.
“I hope we don’t get trampled or anything,” I whispered as we ducked under the garment bag and slipped in.
“Stampede!” Beth said, mimicking a cowboy.
We walked into the main showroom, and immediately I saw why it was so busy. Rack upon rack filled the massive place, all sorted by designer, color, or occasion. It was a free-for-all. Girls everywhere were pulling out handfuls of dresses at a time.
“How are we supposed to find what we want?” I asked, taking it all in.
“Start at one end and pull what you want. Pull what you’re unsure of too, in case I want it, and I’ll do the same. But be careful. I heard about this brawl that started over in the Betsey Johnson section, and it took the cops to pull everyone apart. Assault and battery charges were filed.”
“Jeez, Beth.” I looked at her. “What did you bring us into?”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Just stick with me. All my years of running track will come in handy when I book it from one end of the room to the other to
beat out the girl who is grabbing the perfect gown.”
“Oh, I’m definitely sticking with you. No doubt about it.”
We headed into the fray, and divvied up sections. I found myself on one end of a metal rack, thumbing through dresses and shouting back to her when I found something.
“There’s a pink dress with one shoulder strap and some sequins on the hem here,” I called out. “You want it?”
“Light pink or hot pink?” she asked.
“Hot pink.”
“If it’s in my size, pull it.”
I yanked the dress off the hanger and draped it over my shoulder, then continued flipping through the plastic dress coverings. I wasn’t sure what I wanted yet. Purple? Blue? Or maybe something pink? To match Beth.
A little voice in the back of my head started whispering, What color would Caspian like? Something green to match his eyes? Or black? To match the stripe in his hair?
I tried to push those thoughts away. I tried not to think about the pang that hurt my heart.
“Yo, Abbey!” Beth suddenly called. “What about this?”
She held up a deep red sleeveless satin dress that looked like something a flamenco dancer would wear to do the tango in. It had a plunging neckline, a thigh-high slit, and black roses embroidered along the bottom.
I walked over and gave her the pink dress. Then I took the red one. It was daring. Something I’d never pictured myself wearing, but it fit Ben’s crazy personality to a T. “I kind of like it,” I said. “I’m gonna try it on.”
Draping it over my arm, I went to go find a fitting room. There was a line a mile long, but eventually a room opened up, and I went in. I had to wiggle my way into the dress, and it fit me like a glove. I stood back and took in my reflection.
The slit was high, the top low, but it looked damn good. I piled my hair on top of my head and held it up with one hand. A few wispy curls straggled down around my ears, and I turned to check out the back. It was a sexy dress, and for a moment I wondered if it was too sexy to wear for a friend date with Ben. But the longer I looked at it, the more I had to have it.
It was perfect.
A knock came on the door, and I opened it a crack, sticking my head out to see who it was. Beth stood there, shifting a huge pile of dresses from one arm to the other. “I thought I saw you grab this dressing room,” she said. “Can I come in? This line is atrocious.”
“Yeah, sure. But I’m going to go with this dress, so I’m done.”
She nudged the door open wider, and her eyes grew large. “Yup. That’s the one. Ben is totally going to want to do you.”
I could feel my face get warm. “That’s not the look I’m going for. Maybe I should get a different-”
“If you don’t get this one, Browning, I will kill you. Slowly.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” She shuffled into the small space, and piled the heap of dresses onto the changing bench nearby. “That’s the one. Get it.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll get it.”
Beth turned away and bent over to pick out a dress. Loosening the plastic, she pulled one out and hung it up on the hook by the mirror. As I changed back into my regular clothes, all I could hear was the whooshing of voluminous fabric as she struggled to find the arm and neck holes.
“Do you need help?” I asked.
“Nope.” Her head popped through. “I got it.” She glanced at herself in the mirror and made a face. The bottom of the white dress she was trying on stood out from her body in a huge ball of bunched-up fabric.
“It’s … poofy,” I said.
“‘Poofy’ isn’t quite the word I’d use. More like ‘fugly.’ Next.”
She bumped into me as she pulled her arms free, and I tried to move out of her way, but there wasn’t enough room. We did a little dance back and forth, but I was trapped up against the wall. “I think I’m going to just leave,” I said. “That okay with you?”
“Yeah.”
I cracked the door again, and then stood waiting outside. “Are you having any luck?” I called after a while.
There was a muffled curse, and then she said, “Nope. Just tried on the third one. I have about twelve more to go.”
Twelve? Good Lord. “Since you still have so many, do you mind if I go take a walk? I’m bored out of my skull.”
“Go ahead.”
I started to walk away, then came back. “Oh, hey. I left my dress in there. Do you want me to get it?”
“Nah. It’s fine where it is.”
“Okay. Call me when you find the one.”
I quickly left the dressing room behind, and went outside. The cool air was a blast of relief on my skin, and I didn’t even realize how hot it must have been in there.
Most of the nearby storefronts were empty, but I walked up to each one anyway, peering into dirty windows to see what had been left behind. One store still had a bunch of racks and display shelves with what looked like old pharmacy bottles stacked high against the wall. I could only imagine what the old labels would say.
Tearing myself away from the window, I walked farther up the street and found the antiques store we had passed on the way in. It was small, and looked like it was crammed with junk, but with the way Beth was going, it looked like I was going to have plenty of time to kill. Why not give it a shot?
So I went in.
Chapter Sixteen. THE PERFECT DRESS
The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed only suit of rusty black …
– “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”
Old toys and busted-up junk filled the shelves of Clutter and Cobwebs Antiques, a cross between a really bad estate sale and a going-out-of-business dollar store. As I looked closer, I could see remnants of yard sale stickers here and there. “Nice,” I muttered.
It seemed like a waste of space, and I was just about to leave when a steamer trunk caught my eye. It was pushed out of the way, half buried under a pile of moth-eaten fur coats in the back of the clothing section. But there was something about it that drew my attention. …
The trunk looked old. A lot older than any of the other stuff surrounding it, and it was covered in faded stickers. Shoving the coats out of my way, I knelt in front of it. The stickers were from everywhere-Madrid, Ireland, France, Turkey, Indonesia, Brazil.
A white piece of fabric hung out of the corner, trailing forlornly down the side. It looked really fragile.
I had the briefest notion that it was a wedding dress. That I’d just found someone’s long-forgotten wedding dress, but as I lifted the lid and removed an old wooden tray filled with handkerchiefs and gloves, I saw that I was wrong. It was a gown. A ball gown.
Digging deeper, gently pushing my way past petticoats and nightgowns, I pulled at the edge of the silvery-white fabric. It felt like gossamer in my hands.
Slowly, ever so slowly, it came free, and I lifted it up from the trunk. It was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen.
A full, flowing skirt fell away from the front in a graceful V shape, the color of a fresh pearl. Little silvery capped sleeves looked dainty and ethereal, while a black lace overlay ran from the corseted bodice down to the floor. It almost looked like someone had taken two dresses and put one on top of the other, then taken scissors and cut away the front so that the bottom dress could peek through. It was stunning.
I pulled it close, and a faint wave of rose scent drifted up to me. Closing my eyes, I was suddenly lost in a flood of hazy images.
Waving good-bye as your beloved goes to sea … Waiting for him, handkerchief in hand, stained with fresh tears … Red roses, given at a Christmas dance, now dried and pressed for all eternity … A watchful bride, walking the shore as she prays for her sailor to find the bottle she’s tossed into the waves … A stolen kiss …
Pulling the dress away from me, I stared down at it.
That all felt so … real.
Which was crazy. I ha
d no idea where this dress had come from or who it had belonged too. And yet something … something was calling to me. Even now, as I pushed it away, my fingers kept creeping back into the soft fabric.
It felt like mine. It felt like home.
Hardly daring to breathe, I looked at the tag. It was marked with pencil, and had an odd size on it. I didn’t know how it compared to my size, but I couldn’t let the dress stay there. I had to try it on. A sign by the front register said that dressing rooms were in the back, so I headed there.
Once inside the small room, I barricaded the door and hung the dress on the metal hook on the back of the door. Soft folds of fabric fell gracefully to the floor, whispering for me to try the gown on.
I took my clothes off swiftly. Carefully unlacing the front of the bodice, I tried not to pull too hard in case the strings were fragile. It opened easily, and I stepped inside, pulling the dress up over me. I held my breath until every last fold was in place and the front strings had been tightened once again, before daring to look in the mirror.
It wasn’t me. And yet … it was.
I looked closer, staring hard into the reflective surface. Somehow the dress had given my waist definition and had magically created an impressive amount of cleavage that certainly hadn’t been there before. Tiny capped sleeves graced my arms, while the black lace netting gave it a decidedly wicked look. The full fabric of the skirt rustled delicately as I turned from side to side to admire every angle. It was Gothic. It was Victorian. It was Gothic and Victorian all rolled into one, and I was in love.
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