Love and Other Secrets

by Christina Mandelski

  She holds up the sign and makes a goofy face. “This is so bad.” She puts it down and starts on the exclamation point. “I don’t know. You’re always giving advice to your friends, about relationships and stuff. You ever thought about being a counselor or something like that? Maybe major in Psychology?”

  Nope. Never ever thought about that. “Sounds hard.”

  She pffts out a breath. “I like hard things.”

  “That’s what she said,” I say, and she cracks up, but then I catch her giving me a serious look. I think of that goal list on her bedroom wall. I don’t even have a goal, singular, much less enough to make a list. Psychology? Maybe I’ll look into it.

  I finish applying the last of the glitter to the poster board I’m working on and shake the excess into the trash can. Both posters are on the floor now. The sparkling letters are catching the light from above us.

  “Yeah, that’ll work,” I say.

  She stares at them and says nothing.

  “What?” I ask. “You don’t like them?”

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s not that.”

  “What then?”

  “Nothing.”

  This is a lie. I know her better than that. Her eyes flick to mine, light gray and also sparkling. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I’m stuck on what happens to us after he says yes. I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing. Odds are, she’s not.

  It won’t be a bad thing, exactly. Caleb is a friend, and if they date, we’ll still hang out, in public even. Maybe we’ll all go to the prom together, in a limo, her and Caleb, maybe Eli and Nora, me and—

  No, I’m not going.

  She inhales, from her deepest, furthest toe.

  “You nervous?” I ask.

  “No!” She frowns. “Maybe? I guess so. Wouldn’t you be?”

  I clench my jaw, then shake my head. This is hard. “If I was asking Tex to prom, yeah, I would be very nervous. Dude’s a stone-cold fox.”

  “Shut up.” She pushes the side of my arm. “You’re lucky you always get asked, and Devon’s going to do it, like, any minute.”

  I stare at her. “I’m not going with Devon.”

  She leans back on her hands. “Why not? I figured she was your mystery girl.”

  Some previously unknown muscle tightens in my chest. “You think I should?”

  Bailey pulls up her knees and hugs them with her arm. “I don’t know. She’s nice.”

  I laugh. “Oh. Nice, huh? She called you Bindi. She knows that’s not your name.”

  She shrugs. “Maybe she’s got a bad memory? That’s probably a good thing. Maybe she won’t remember what a jagweed you are.”

  “Jagweed?” I laugh and shake my head. “Man, you gotta up your insult game.”

  She ignores me and touches a finger to one of the letters on the poster beside her, the C in the word Cow. It’s not quite dry. “He’s going to say yes, right?”

  I scratch at the scruff on my face that is driving me nuts. “He better.”

  She sticks out her tongue and makes a gagging sound. “God, I hate this. Can we watch a movie or something? Come on, next on the list?”

  No, I don’t feel like sitting in the dark and not talking. If it all goes the way I think it will on Friday night, I want to spend this last bit of time with her doing things. Real things. “No,” I say. “When she called, my mom said she wants you to see the dresses. She made me promise.”

  She did mention them, but I didn’t promise her anything.

  “God, she’s so nice, but I can’t just take a dress. I really can find one on my own. I plan to hit the thrift shops in Ocala next weekend. If he says yes.”

  “He’s going to say yes!” I practically shout. “I talked to him about you.”

  “You did?” She looks terrified and also like she might puke. “What did you say?”

  “I mean, I don’t know. That I thought you and him would get along.”

  She frowns. “Get along?”

  “Yeah. Why, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. I guess.” A weird gurgling noise comes out of her.

  “What was that?”

  Her head moves slowly back and forth. “Nothing. I’m probably gonna hurl, that’s all.”

  I hop up. Enough of this bullshit Tex talk. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.” I hold out a hand to help her up. She doesn’t argue, and I’m worried. What if she picks a killer dress and Tex totally flips his shit? What if he falls in love with her?

  I’ll admit, I don’t want that to happen, but here I am, having to act like none of this bugs me. I have to somehow keep my own shit together and remain just a friend, because that’s all I’ll ever be.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bailey

  He leads me through the house to the stairs. This place is massive and monstrous and beautiful. They have art everywhere, from old traditional paintings to sculptures that I don’t get at all. They’ve got a wood-paneled library full of books that I don’t think anyone ever reads, because they look brand new. There’s that formal dining room, a parlor, a music room, and even a ballroom. When I was a little, one of my favorite movies was Clue, based on the board game and so hilarious. Alex literally lives in the Clue mansion.

  The thing about this place, though—I’ve never left the first floor. It shouldn’t matter to me now that we’re going upstairs so I don’t know why my chest feels tight, and my feet feel heavy. I don’t know why I’d be nervous to see where he sleeps and showers and gets dressed and lives his life. I also wonder how many girls have been up here, besides me. The thought makes me feel slightly ill, though I know it shouldn’t. I have no right to feel anything whatsoever about the girls who have seen his room. I’m not jealous. I told him so back in the coffee shop.

  I still can’t help but feel like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be, though, like taking a path that says, “Do not enter.”

  At the top of the stairs, he sticks his hands in his front pockets and clears his throat. For a second, I think he’s nervous, too. “I assume you want the tour?” His voice is sort of high and not at all Alex like.

  “Oh.” I shrug. “Sure?” I step up on the landing and immediately trip on the edge of the carpet runner. I laugh, trying to downplay what a fidgety mess I’ve become.

  We’re in a wide hallway that runs the length of the house. He points left. “Down that way, parents’ bedroom, guest bedrooms. He opens the door in front of him, flips the light on.

  “My dad’s office.”

  I lift my chin. “Nice.”

  He points to the right and walks in that direction. “More guest rooms.” Alex runs his hand along the pristine white walls like a little kid would do. It’s kind of adorable, but of course I keep that to myself. “And my room—” He flings open a door and turns on the light. He walks in and holds out an arm, then he does that head tilt mixed with the cute smile thing. “Take it in,” he says. “The lair.”

  My face flushes hot again, and my feet feel even heavier now.

  Somehow I manage to cross the threshold still standing.

  The room itself doesn’t surprise me. It’s a pretty basic setup. The walls are plastered with posters—indie bands, girls in swimsuits, lacrosse players, there’s a giant Star Wars poster prominently featuring Darth Vader framed above his bed.

  “The original?”

  He nods. “What, you’re the only one who can appreciate the classics?” He smiles, and I die inside. That’s when I notice the bed, the place where he sleeps, piled high with pillows and a thick dark gray comforter. My mind wanders before I can keep it in check. It looks soft and comfortable and… Never mind.

  I walk around to the far side of the bed, over by his weight bench, mostly to put some distance between us. I give his room the same inspection he gave mine, though mine was at least two hundred square feet faster. There’s a desk with a bulletin board above it covered with random things like ticket stubs, old wristbands, ski lift tickets. There are some old pictures wit
h little kids in them.

  He walks over and stands next to me, and I swear my heart comes to a complete stop. The air is so still, except I can hear his breathing, and I imagine a pull, like a magnetic field, coming off of him. It’s making the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end.

  “That’s me.” He points to a photo of kids standing on the deck of a swimming pool. His hair was blond and as long as it is now. “And that’s Eli, when we graduated kindergarten.”

  “Cute.” I touch the edge of the picture and laugh, even though all of a sudden I feel sad. As well as I think I know him, I want to know him more. It sounds silly, even to me, because I’m about to ask someone to prom, and maybe that promposal will become something more, and then Alex is going to college in the fall and there won’t be time for us.

  This could be as far as we go. Secret friends with no future.

  Along the edges of the bulletin board he has tacked up a bunch of strips from photo booths. He’s with girls in all of them, some I recognize and some I don’t. This helps me back to reality.

  I uncross my arms. “It’s nice.”

  “It’s okay,” he says.

  “Surprisingly clean.”

  “That’s all Miriam.”

  “Oh. Right.” I glance at the bed again. “So. Should we go to the ‘blue room,’ milord?’” I say with a bad British accent.

  He twists up his mouth. “Sure.” He leaves my side, and I exit his room for what might be the last time. First and last time. The next girl in there will likely be Devon McGill, and I’m not even in the mood to contemplate that right now. So I follow and find him at the end of the hall in front of a set of open double doors.

  “The blue room, milady,” he says as I walk in past him.

  I walk into the huge space. It’s more like a movie set than a bedroom, and there is blue on every surface. There’s a massive bed with a canopy of blue fabric embroidered all over with birds and flowers. The fireplace opposite it is surrounded by ornate blue tiles. The walls are blue, the rugs are blue. It’s a lot.

  “Huh. I wonder why they call it the blue room?”

  He laughs. “I know. Seems a little bit of a stretch.”

  Alex walks to the far end of the room to another set of doors. He opens it, and my jaw drops. “Here you go,” he says. “Grandma’s closet. Have at it.”

  “Oh my God.” I feel like I’m floating, dead and out of my body. This closet is enormous, easily twice the size of my bedroom, and stuffed with so many hanging dresses, all organized by color. There’s a three-way mirror in one corner and one of those old-fashioned screen things to change behind. It’s like a department store, only in his house.

  Alex watches me. “Why do you look so scared? They’re clothes.”

  I swallow and step further in. This is like the scene in Pretty Woman where the hooker with a heart of gold gets to buy whatever she wants. A classic.

  “I mean, yeah, but…” I wipe my hands off on my pants and reach out tentatively to touch a skirt of the palest pink silk. It feels so expensive and special, like it should be on display in a museum and never on me. “This is crazy. I don’t know where to start.”

  He heads to the blues. Extreme jock Alex Koviak is looking for a prom dress for me. It’s kind of funny.

  “I’ll tell you where to start,” he says. “You like blue, right?”

  I can’t believe he remembers that. I mentioned it once, maybe a month ago. “Within reason, yeah. I’m not sure I’d cover every surface of my room in it, but I like it.”

  He pushes aside dresses. “Yeah, this was my great-grandmother’s room. Apparently, Granny Helen went all in, too, no matter what she did.” He examines each dress as he works his way down the rack. “They say she was a real badass. I think no one’s ever changed the room because they’re afraid she’ll haunt the shit out of them if they do.”

  I check out the pink dress. I’m not a big fan of the color on me, but it’s still beautiful. “Maybe I should avoid the blue ones then,” I say. “I don’t need a haunted prom gown.”

  “Yeah.” He holds one out; it’s baby blue with a lace overlay. “Ugly.”

  “He didn’t mean that, Granny Helen!” I yell, in case she’s around. I put the pink one back. This feels so weird. “These look brand new. Does your mom ever wear them?”

  “Are you kidding?” he says. “You should see her closet. Don’t worry, she’s fine.”

  “They’re so beautiful, though.” I pull out one of the black ones; it’s heavy silk, strapless, fitted bodice, with a full skirt. The label catches my eye. “Oh my God,” I shriek and immediately put it back.

  “What? Did you find one you like?”

  I point to it and try to catch my breath. I can’t touch it any more. I’m not worthy. “Holy shit, Alex. It’s a Givenchy. Like, an actual Givenchy.” I’m almost hyperventilating and definitely about to die.

  Alex goes right to it and pulls it off the rack. “It’s hot. Try it on.”

  “Uh uh, no way!” I back away like he’s holding a vial of Ebola. “That’s a collector’s item, not a prom dress. Seriously, Audrey Hepburn wore Givenchy.”

  “She the one in the movie with the leopard?”

  “No, that was Katharine Hepburn. Bringing Up Baby.” Such a classic. “I mean Audrey. Remember Breakfast at Tiffany’s?” That movie is also a favorite. I run my hand along the bodice. This dress is perfect.

  “Who cares? You’re just trying it on,” he says like I try on Givenchy dresses every damn day. He hands me the dress and heads back to the blues. “And I think I fell asleep in that movie. Wasn’t there a cat or something?”

  I tsk and roll my eyes. “I swear for someone who sleeps in the same house as a Givenchy, you are so uncultured.”

  “That’s why I hang out with you, so I can get cultured.” He points to the changing screen. “Now go behind that thing and try on that dress.”

  I try to calm myself down and take this all in. It’s overwhelming, but he’s right, I’m only trying it on. No commitment. I hang the dress on a hook and quickly pull off my purple polo. Only then does it occur to me that I am getting naked and Alex is in the same room. Granted, it’s a giant room, but still. Tentatively, I take off my jeans and peek around the side of the screen. He’s still busy looking at the dresses, his hair sticking in every direction, his deliciously wide shoulders taking up way too much space for my sanity.

  Stop it, Bailey. Stop it right now.

  I swing back around and unhook my bra, holding the ends together for second and then letting go. I think of his bed, and my mind goes to a very dangerous place that is also delicious and what the heck is wrong with me?

  “This is really, truly nuts,” I murmur, and I’m not talking about trying on a Givenchy.

  “Oh yeah, and why’s that?”

  Dude, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking. I quickly shift gears. “Because I planned to buy my dress at a thrift shop, not borrow a vintage couture gown from your grandma’s haunted closet.” I step into the dress and pull it up. It’s not easy. I have to wriggle it slowly over my hips, praying that I don’t rip or pull or ruin anything. The silk feels liquid and gives me goose bumps. I peek around the side of the screen.

  Alex holds up another blue dress. It’s pretty.

  “Just think of this as a thrift store with higher end things and no cooties.”

  “Cooties? Thrift stores don’t have cooties, you snob.” I reach back to try the zipper and manage to get it mid-way up my back.

  “You got it on?” he calls.

  “Um, pretty much.”

  When his face appears on my side of the screen, I screech and clutch the bodice to my chest. “Oh my God!” I yell. “I’m naked!”

  He jerks backward. “Sorry,” he says from the other side. “I was gonna help. Also, you are not naked.”

  I try the zipper for a few more seconds, but my fingers are shaking too hard to make any progress. “Okay, fine. Come help.”

  “If you’re sure…”
/>
  He peeks around the edge of the screen. Face on fire, I turn my back to him.

  He must be standing really close, because I can feel his body heat against my back, and his scent—clean, spicy, boy—fills the small space behind the screen. I breathe through my mouth to keep it from overwhelming me. He tugs on the zipper for a few seconds, but finally it gives.

  “See,” he says, and I feel the word on my bare back. Every nerve in my body goes on high alert. “I know when you need me.”

  His fingertips release the zipper pull and brush the skin between my shoulders, and I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from making a very inappropriate sound in front of a friend.

  The second I’m able, I step away and face him, determined to behave and stop thinking about this friend like he’s more than that.

  “Wow.” He stares at my body. Downright ogles me. “Go look.”

  Right. The dress.

  I smooth the skirt. It fits like Mr. Givenchy made it for me. When I stand in front of the three-way mirror, I want to weep. This dress is everything. So very Audrey. I hold up my dark hair and imagine that I am a taller, slightly thicker, less glamorous version of the woman herself.

  “What do you think?” I ask.

  He scowls and rubs his chin. “Nuh-uh. Nope.”

  I turn to him and frown. “What? But I love it.”

  He goes back to the dresses, shaking his head. “You can’t choose the first one you try on. You need more.”

  So I try on more. He flings some crazy choices behind the screen—big flower prints and trippy patterns, definitely from the seventies; a tomato red shoulder-padded gown, totally from the eighties. Some I like, some are ridiculous, some I love.

  Alex gives them all a thumbs-down.

  After an hour, I’m about done. “All right,” I yell from behind the screen as I take off yet another reject. “I’ll try one more on, and if I don’t like it, it’s the black one.”

  “This is it,” he says.

  I peek around the side of the screen, and the dress he’s holding takes my breath away. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Try this one?” Alex asks.