JENNI’S TINY FORD FIESTA screeches to a halt outside.
“What is it?!” she shouts as soon as I answer the door. Her high ponytail is just the slightest bit askew, the only sign that she rushed over here. Otherwise, she looks flawless. I herd her into the living room, where Lincoln is dumping out the giant garbage bag full of dresses we looked through before.
“You’re going!” She claps her hands together.
“I want to finish what I started,” I say. “And—”
My mom walks into the room. “I’m sorry, did I hear the sound of someone not cleaning?”
She stops in her tracks when she sees the three of us huddled around the pile of tulle. Ever practical, Mom doesn’t waste any time. Instead, she asks, “What are you wearing?”
Lincoln holds up a very sequined, very neon-green dress. “One of our Nickel and Dime treasures.”
Jenni puts a hand on my arm. “I’m only saying this because I’m your friend. That dress looks like a Post-it note.”
My mom wrinkles her nose, clearly skeezed out by the prospect of a pre-worn dress. “You’re not seriously going to wear one of these, are you?”
“Don’t worry,” I say, waving a hand in the air. “I won’t wear the one with bloodstains.”
Mom crosses her arms, then starts walking away. “Wait here.”
Lincoln angrily paws through the dresses. “Frankly, I don’t appreciate her disparaging thrift stores. It’s one of the few ethically conscious fashion choices you can make.”
“It’s true,” Jenni nods. “Fast fashion is way bad.”
“Uh, guys?” I look back and forth between them. “No time for a discussion about ethics right now, okay? Jenni, when you said that thing about everything exerting a force on everything else, it made me realize—”
“Ta-da!” Mom steps into the room, holding a pale pink dress in front of her.
Jenni and Lincoln gasp in unison, but for different reasons.
“It’s beautiful,” Jenni exhales.
“That would get so much money at Nickel and Dime,” Lincoln mutters.
“Well, it’s not for you,” Mom says. “It’s for Mallory. If she wants it. This is something I’ve had since high school. It was old-fashioned at the time, and I know it’s not necessarily in style.…”
I hold it up against my body. It couldn’t be more different from the yards and yards of shiny, crunchy fabric that Lincoln brought home. There are no sequins or rhinestones, for starters. It’s shimmery but not sparkly, with short scalloped sleeves, and it looks like it will hit somewhere above my knees—and I have to admit, I love it.
“It’s a classic shift dress,” Jenni explains. “With the right hair and makeup, you’re going to look like you stepped straight out of the sixties.”
“I’m going to try it on,” I say, running to the bathroom.
A bit of tricky zippering later, I pop out of the bathroom and do a spin for everyone.
Jenni covers her mouth with her hands. “You look like Audrey Hepburn! Or Kate Middleton on a casual day!”
“Are you sure you don’t want to let me sell it?” Lincoln asks, and Mom smacks his arm.
I look down at myself. I have to admit, I do look pretty good. At least I know no one else at the dance will have this dress. “Wanna do my hair?” I ask Jenni.
“Let me grab my emergency supply bag,” Jenni says before she runs out to her car.
Several hours later, Jenni has coaxed my hair into a sleek high bun and arranged her own hair in a complicated braided updo.
I check my makeup in the mirror one last time. The winged eyeliner Jenni gave me really does make me look like I’m from another era. Lincoln, in his slightly-too-small gray suit, swears that my cheekbones “could cut somebody!” He says this like it’s a good thing, so I’ll just believe him.
Jenni, as usual, looks gorgeous in a lacy teal dress that fans out below her waist.
“You look like a very sophisticated figure skater,” I say, trying to repay the Audrey Hepburn compliment she gave me earlier.
“Thank you?” she says tentatively, staring at me in the mirror as she swipes on coral lipstick.
My mom pops her head into my room. “Picture time!” she shouts, waving her iPhone.
Lincoln sighs. “Like I want this tiny suit immortalized on film.”
“Shut up and smile!” I say, throwing my arms around him and Jenni and pulling them close. Lincoln sighs and leans his head on my shoulder; Jenni pops out her arm and tilts her head in her classic photo stance. My mom snaps picture after picture, and I flash a genuine smile.
No matter what happens tonight, even if Brad doesn’t want to talk to me ever again after what I said, even if things with Jake are too far gone to repair, this is the moment I want to remember. Getting ready with my best friend and my brother, feeling more beautiful than I ever have in my life, and being with my family … the people who really matter.
Someone honks in the driveway. Lincoln wiggles his eyebrows goofily. “I’ve got a surprise for you guys. Scott borrowed his dad’s old Cadillac so we can show up to the dance in style.”
Jenni does a little hop in the air. “Oh my God, this is just like an old movie. But, like, I’m showing up with you guys instead of a cute date. I mean, no offense. But at least we’re dateless together, right?”
I want to ask Jenni a million questions—what are her feelings for Brad? What does she think about Jake? Why has she clearly been putting her own feelings on the back burner while helping me win? But I don’t have time to ask anything, because Lincoln says, “Scott’s a-waiting!” and ushers us both downstairs.
We say our good-byes to my mom, who’s already parked herself on the couch with a glass of wine and a marathon of Property Brothers (she swears she watches it to get ideas for houses and not because she just thinks they’re cute, but I’ve seen the way she stares at those twins). Outside, Scott’s leaning against the front of his Cadillac, looking for all the world like Jake Ryan at the end of Sixteen Candles, another movie Jenni made me watch when I would way rather have been watching Alien for the five hundredth time.
Except that instead of leaning against a fancy, bright red sports car, Scott is leaning against a more than slightly rusted blue Cadillac.
“So what I failed to mention,” Scott says before any of us can get a word out, “is that my dad’s Cadillac is so old that it may have been driven by dinosaurs.”
Lincoln puts an arm around Scott. “I love you despite the fact that you expect us to ride in this jalopy.”
Jenni and I look at each other and raise our eyebrows. Love?
“Please just say it runs,” I say, getting anxious to get to the dance and talk to Brad.
Scott nods. “I promise that it will get us to the dance and back. I cannot promise that the ride will be smooth.”
I look at the rusted car and think about how much could go wrong in the two blocks between here and the high school. A blowout. Hitting a wayward pedestrian. A sudden, inexplicable bout of road rage from Scott that kills several civilians and lands us all on the news, saying things like, “He just seemed so nice. This is a total shock.”
But nothing in my life lately has been a smooth ride. Being on homecoming court, hanging out with the Kirkpatricks, leaving the house … it’s all been rough. As I look around at my friends, I think, Hasn’t it been worth it?
I turn around and give my house one more glance. To my surprise, I see my mom looking out the window. She waves at me, and I raise my hand.
The house isn’t going anywhere, and neither is my mom. They’ll both be waiting for me when I come home tonight.
“Let’s do this,” I say, reaching to open the back door.
The door handle comes off in my hands.
“Oh God,” Lincoln sighs. “The perfect start to a perfect night.”