I hug her. "Thank you!"
"This is going to be the best night!" She pulls out her phone and immediately calls her mom, leaving a message and informing her of our plan. "It's all set."
I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out how to get myself to Isabella's house after school-without parking Darth Vader there. No way do I want Isabella or her parents to see that horrible van sitting in front of their beautiful home. Finally, I decide my only option is to zip out to the van, gather up my dress and everything, and be all ready to catch a ride with Isabella right after school. And maybe, if I'm lucky, she'll ask me to spend the night at her house too. That would be heavenly!
"What's all that?" Isabella asks me when I meet up with her after school.
"My stuff for the dance," I explain slightly breathlessly. "I thought I was going to your house with you."
"Oh yeah." She nods eagerly. "So, you want to ride with me?"
"If you don't mind."
"Not at all." She glances around. "I still haven't seen Bristol this afternoon." She waves over to Lily. "Is Bristol around? Is she catching a ride home with you?"
"No." Lily closes her phone as she comes over to join us. "But that was her. She cut her last class and had her mom come get her so they could go dress shopping. Then she asked me to meet her at her house afterward, and we'll get ready there."
"Nothing like last minute." Isabella chuckles. "Hope the poor girl can find something decent to wear."
"Knowing Bristol, she will," Lily says with confidence.
Then we say good-bye and that we'll see them later and part ways. To my relief, Isabella is so consumed with her plans for giving us both facials with a new kit she recently got that she doesn't question why I wanted to ride home with her like this. And as soon as we're in her house, which looks even bigger and fancier than the last time I saw it-maybe because my house got so much smaller since then-she insists on seeing my dress and shoes. To my dismay, she doesn't seem quite as impressed with the dress as I had hoped.
"It's a nice dress," she says after examining it. "But when you said vintage, I assumed it was a designer, like Chanel or Gucci."
"Oh . . ." I sigh as I slip the plastic back over it.
Now she spies the red-soled shoes in my bag, letting out a small shriek of delight. "You got Christian Louboutin shoes!"
Fortunately I left the shoebox in the van, so it's not too obvious these are knockoffs. Still, I'm not sure whether I want to continue with this part of the charade or not. It's not like Isabella doesn't have a few imitations herself. And my life is so phony already, it would feel good to be honest about something. I seriously wonder if I'll ever know when or where to draw the line between fact and fiction again.
"These are absolutely gorgeous." Isabella kicks off her own shoes, then slips my black sandals on like they're made of gold. "And they fit me too." Now she's strutting around her oversized bedroom, checking herself out in her full-length mirror and practically drooling over my shoes. "Did you get these online too?"
I simply nod, deciding to just go with fiction. Really, in light of everything else, what's the difference? And fortunately she doesn't question the authenticity of these shoes. After we give each other facials and manicures, we spend even more time primping-and I actually start to feel a bit like a princess. Then Isabella's mom not only helps us with our hair but insists on taking lots of photos as we strike pose after pose in Isabella's bedroom. Isabella accuses her mother of hovering, but I like this attention. I like everything about this night. I'm having so much fun. I almost feel like I'm someone else.
"What are you wearing to keep you warm?" Mrs. Marx asks me.
"Good question." Isabella goes into her oversized walk-in closet, then emerges wearing a furry silver jacket. "Check this out. Mom's letting me use my grandmother's old mink."
"Real mink?" I reach over to touch the incredibly soft fur.
"I had to get it out of cold storage," Mrs. Marx explains. "But I thought, why not? Still, I'm worried about you, Adele." She touches my bare arm. "You'll be freezing out there tonight."
I shrug. "I guess I hadn't even thought of that."
"I have this little black cape," Mrs. Marx says suddenly. "It's an old Ralph Lauren I've had since Isabella was a baby."
"Yes!" Isabella exclaims. "That cape would be perfect."
And just like that, Mrs. Marx exits and within minutes
returns with a lovely black velvet cape lined with luxurious satin.
"this is so nice," I say as she slips it over my shoulders. "Are you sure you don't mind loaning it to me?"
She just laughs. "Absolutely. Really, it's indestructible."
Isabella nods to affirm this. "I've heard that, as a baby, I threw up all over it on our way home from my grandparents' once.
I look nervously down at the cape.
"Don't worry, it's been cleaned since then," Mrs. Marx assures me as she leaves Isabella and me standing in front of the mirror admiring our grown-up-looking selves.
"What about a purse?" I ask Isabella.
Isabella holds up a small beaded evening bag. "Mom loaned this to me, but I don't really want to carry it around. I mean, I'll probably just end up losing it." She frowns. "But I should probably take my phone and lip gloss."
"Do you want me to carry the bag for you?"
She sticks her hand into what appears to be a pocket tucked into the side of her fur coat with a surprised expression. "Hey, this will work." She slips her phone and lip gloss into the pocket and grins. "Perfect."
I check the cape to discover it has no pockets.
"Don't worry," Isabella assures me. "We'll just share the lip gloss, and if we need a phone, which seems unlikely, I've got mine. That way we'll both travel light."
"Cool." I toss my phone back with my other stuff. "My phone's almost dead anyway."
And as if Mrs. Marx hasn't been generous enough already, she's also prepared a bunch of appetizers and things for us downstairs. Then to my surprise, as we're waiting for the guys to arrive, Isabella's dad opens a bottle of real champagne and offers us both a small glass to celebrate our big night. I honestly feel like I'm starring in one of the Princess Diary movies-like this is all a sweet dream. But it's real. And despite my usual undercurrent of uneasiness, I wish this night could just go on and on. I even imagine that it can. Maybe Isabella's parents will decide to adopt me tomorrow morning.
It's around six thirty when Ethan and Jayden arrive, and Isabella's mom poses us by the staircase, taking even more photos. The guys eat some of the appetizers, although no champagne is offered to them. And then it's time to go and pick up the others. As we're walking out to where an elegant white stretch Hummer is parked in the circular driveway, Jayden takes my hand and whispers in my ear, "You look absolutely beautiful tonight, Adele."
I thank him and compliment him on his suit. Then, like a perfect gentleman, he helps me into the limo. I feel so very grown up and unbelievably happy . . . and somewhat unreal. But it's good ... very good. The other guys, Garth and Caleb, are already in the limo, and then we're off to pick up the other girls, who are waiting at Bristol's house only a few blocks away. I've never been to Bristol's before, but I'm not too surprised to see that it's higher up the hill than Isabella's. And it's bigger and fancier too.
As the Hummer pulls into the long driveway, we discuss whether we should all go in, but Ethan checks the time and decides that we should let Caleb and Garth get the other girls so we can get moving and make it to the restaurant to secure our reservation. This is a relief to me since I don't really want to go inside Bristol's house. And although I'm trying to think positively, I really don't look forward to seeing Bristol tonight. I have a feeling that Jayden feels the same as he takes my hand in his and gives it a warm squeeze.
Of course, both Bristol and Lily look gorgeous. Lily's dress is creamy white satin, trimmed with rhinestones. But, oddly enough, Bristol has on a little black dress that's not much different than mine. I'm not sure
whether to be dismayed or flattered because I know Bristol heard me describing my dress during art, so it can't be a coincidence. And considering how Isabella wanted our dresses to be complementary to each other, I'm curious as to her reaction but am relieved she's not mentioning it. So I will try to ignore this little irritation too. At least I'm the girl with Jayden!
Our group makes pleasant small talk as we are transported in style across town. And I'm not sure if it's my imagination or not, but Bristol seems unusually quiet and cool. However, once we're at the restaurant waiting to be seated, it's as if she's become the life of the party. She is pleasant and cheerful to everyone. Even me. And as we're led to our table, she insists we sit in boy-girl order, and naturally, she manages to snag the seat next to Jayden. Still, I don't care. I know that Jayden has no interest in her.
Dinner goes relatively smoothly, but for some reason I feel like my guard is up with Bristol. I'm not even sure why since she's actually being exceptionally nice. Maybe it's because she's being so nice, so sweet and complimentary to everyone ... especially Jayden. Or maybe I'm just paranoid.
"So, who do you think will win homecoming queen this year?" Lily says as a decadent chocolate dessert is being served. Now, we're all well aware that Isabella's name is on the ballot. But Isabella didn't campaign and she played the whole thing down, so much so that I nearly forgot. No one even expects her to win.
"I think Emily Hershey has this one in the bag," Isabella proclaims. "I even voted for her myself."
"You mean you didn't vote for yourself?" Ethan says.
She just laughs. "Of course not, silly. I don't want to be queen.
"Well, I think you have a serious chance," Bristol tells her. "I voted for you."
Now everyone else at the table admits they voted for Isabella as well. I say the same thing, although it's another lie. The truth is, I was so distracted with my life that I forgot to vote. And my guess is that Emily Hershey will probably win. I even stopped by one of her campaign tables for a free chocolate bar last week. But to be fair I was hungry that day. Even so, I act like Isabella has a chance.
Bristol holds up her water glass like she's about to make a toast. "Here's to Bella-no matter what the outcome is tonight, she's still our queen."
Everyone follows suit, saying, "Here's to Queen Isabella!"
Isabella is beaming. "Well, even if I don't win, and I don't expect to, you guys are all very sweet."
Bristol is earning a lot of brownie points tonight. And not just with Isabella either. It's like everyone at the table, even Jayden, is warming up to her. And for some reason this is making me very uncomfortable. Maybe I'm imagining things, but something about this does not feel right.
hen we're back in the Hummer on our way to the hotel where the dance is being held, Bristol turns her attention to me. "Well, Adele, it looks like we could pass for sisters tonight," she says in a voice that, to my ears, sounds coated with saccharine.
"You two do look a bit alike," Lily agrees. "Same hair color. And your dresses are really similar and-"
"Mine's just a Valentino," Bristol says. "Tonight was such short notice that my mom actually borrowed it from a friend of hers, then had some quick alterations done so it would fit me."
I nod. "It's very pretty."
"What's your dress?" Bristol asks. "Let me guess . . ." She frowns slightly as she looks at it. "Hmm ... I'm not sure."
"Chanel?" ventures Lily with what almost seems like a wicked glimmer in her eye, like she knows it's nothing special.
"No . . ." I glance out the window where the blur of car lights zips past us in the opposite direction. "I'm not really sure who made it."
"You didn't even look at the label?" Bristol looks stunned.
"What is it with some girls and designers?" Jayden wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Who cares whose name is on a label anyway? What's the big deal? I think Adele looks like a million bucks."
I smile at him. "Thanks."
"Oh, it's not that big of a deal," Bristol says quickly. "It's just that some people pretend to be wearing designers ... you know, putting on pretenses and acting like they're something they're not.
"Wannabes and posers," Lily says in a superior way. "I can't stand them."
Bristol nods. "I personally find it irritating when people attempt to pass themselves off like that. I can't stand phonies." She's staring directly at me now. "How about you, Adele? Do you like phonies?"
I swallow hard and try to think of a response.
"Well, her dress might not be a designer," Isabella says, "but did you see her shoes?"
Bristol just shrugs.
Isabella points to my feet. "Check them out. Christian Louboutin. I told Adele to watch out because I might resort to some shoe-snatching before the night is over."
"They're not real Christian Louboutin." The way Bristol says this is confusing. I'm not sure if she's making a statement or asking a question. All I know is this is not good.
"Yes," Isabella declares on my behalf. "Check out those red soles. They're the real deal. I already tried them on and they're delicious."
"I'd like to check them out." Bristol nods at me like she expects me to stick my foot up in the air. Perhaps in her face, which I wouldn't mind doing just now. Instead, I simply force a very stiff smile.
"Well?" she says, like she's waiting for me to do something.
"Let's see the soles of your shoes, Adele."
I gracefully raise my foot to reveal the red sole beneath the pretty shoe and then, feeling worried, quickly put it back down.
"Let's see that shoe again." Bristol clicks on the overhead light, which really brightens the interior of the limo.
"Man, Bristol." Jayden frowns at her. "You need to get out more, girl."
"I just want a better look," Bristol says in a cheery voice. "You know how we girls are about shoes."
Hoping to get this over with, since it looks like we're almost to the hotel, I lift my foot again. Only this time, Bristol actually grabs my ankle, lifting the shoe to expose the red sole better. And then she laughs. "Just as I suspected."
"What?" I stare at her as she drops my foot so it lands with a dull thud.
"Fake." She nods with satisfaction as the limo pulls in front of the hotel. "Just like you."
"Bristol!" Isabella shakes a finger at her. "Don't act like such a-
"Sorry." Bristol makes an innocent face. "But I just have a serious problem with fakes."
"What do you mean?" Isabella demands. "Adele is not a fake."
"Oh yes, she is, and I can prove it." Bristol's eyes are locked on me now. In fact, everyone's eyes seem to be on me. I wish we could just get out of this car and get on with the dance and forget any of this happened, but it's like a bad dream that refuses to end.
"Knock it off, Bristol," Jayden firmly tells her. "No one is amused."
"I'm surprised at you." She turns to Jayden. "You of all people ... I thought you hated fakes even more than I do."
"Adele is not a fake." He reaches for my hand. "Let's go."
"Wait a minute," Bristol says. "At least you can hear the truth."
"From you?" Jayden frowns at Bristol.
"Then hear it from Adele." Bristol points her finger at me. "Why don't you just tell everyone what's really going on with you. Admit that your mom isn't sick and in the hospital. Tell us all about how your mom lost her job and how you guys got evicted from your condo and how you've been just playing all of us for a bunch of fools."
"Bristol Louise Allen," exclaims Isabella, "you have totally lost your mind."
"You seriously need to get over yourself, Bristol," Ethan adds. "This is not funny."
"And quit picking on Adele." Jayden is tugging on my hand now, trying to get me to stand up and exit the limo with him, but it's like I'm stuck to the leather seat, like my legs won't move.
"Don't let her get to you," Isabella tells me. "We should've known she'd pull a stunt like this."
Bristol just shrugs. "Hey, sometimes the truth hurt
s. But you don't have to shoot the messenger."
"You're totally nuts, Bristol." Jayden shakes his head as he pulls on my hand again. Somehow I manage to stand and get out of the limo with him helping to steady me. But my legs feel like rubber as Jayden guides me into the hotel. And then the beef medallions I just had for dinner begin doing somersaults in my stomach. So much so I'm afraid I might actually hurl all over the beautiful Oriental carpet of the posh hotel lobby.
"Excuse me," I say to Jayden. "I need to visit the ladies' room." He nods and I rush off in search of a bathroom or any place I can hide and attempt to figure this thing out. Part of me just wants to confess everything-get it out in the open and over with, admit that Bristol is right, and accept the consequences. Another part of me wants to stand up to Bristol and deny everything. And I almost think I could make it seem like she's really the devil in disguise by picking on a girl whose mother is possibly dying right now. And yet another part of me wants to play the kicked dog, tuck my tail between my legs, and just tear out of this place.
"Are you okay?" Isabella asks as she finds me in the ladies' room where I'm standing in front of a sink just staring at my image in the mirror, wondering who am I and how did I get here?
I shake my head, blinking to hold back the tears.
"I don't understand Bristol." Isabella puts a hand on my shoulder. "For a while she was being so nice, just like she used to be. Then totally out of the blue she launches this major attack on you. It's seriously deranged. I honestly think Bristol is losing it."
I press my lips together and nod. I have no words. No defense. No answers.
"I feel so bad that we even let her come with us," Isabella continues. "And I really don't know why she's acting like-"
"I'll tell you why Bristol is acting like this." Bristol is directly behind me now. I never even saw her come in. "Because Bristol is telling the truth."
Now Lily is behind Bristol too. All of us are looking at our reflections in the mirror. Four girls, dressed for a dance. It should've been such a delightful evening ... but it's all gone sideways.
"Isabella," Lily says, "you'd better listen to Bristol."
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