29

After tugging on my nightshirt and pajama pants (the ones covered in giant candy logos), I put on my bravest face and head downstairs to Dad and Evelyn’s room.

“Can I come in?” I ask to the open doorway.

“Of course, honey.” Evelyn is sitting in their oversized bed, propped up by a bazillion pillows. A cooking show plays on the TV on the opposite wall, and her bedside lamp casts a warm glow around the otherwise dark room.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask.

“Oh, he’s in his office. He’s got a big meeting with his agent in the morning. They’ve gotta figure out his UK rights.”

“Ahh. Right.” I look around the room and consider going in to interrupt him, but I think better of it. “Evelyn, I wanted to say thank you again for the brownies, and I’m sorry for snapping at you in my room earlier. It was a really nice thing to do. So thank you.”

“Honey, of course.” She smiles mildly. “I should probably have asked first.”

“No, it’s okay. And, anyway, I guess that’s not the only reason I came down here. Umm. Tomorrow night is the Rally thing at school. It’s, like, a big dance or whatever.”

“I know about it. They sent fliers home. I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for it.”

“Well, I’m probably not up for it, but I’m going anyway. Going to school functions together is sort of a tradition for Grant and me, so he really wants me to go. So…” I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat won’t budge. “I said I would go, but the thing is, my friends want me to dress up, and I hadn’t planned on that, and I don’t—”

Evelyn reaches over and pats the bed beside her, but I don’t move.

“I don’t really have anything to wear.”

I stood in my closet before coming downstairs and looked through everything I have that could possibly be considered a dress. The last time I wore one, it was a size sixteen. Nothing else I have even comes close.

My stupid eyes are filling up with stupid tears and I am trying to will them back into my stupid skull, but they fall anyway.

“It’s just that, I’m kinda big…” My voice wavers as my cheeks start to flush. “And I don’t exactly fit into every dress off the rack in regular stores. So I don’t know if it’s a futile endeavor or not, but…I’m willing to try. I know that it will be hard to find something pretty in my size…but…”

My head dips into my hands as the tears fall.

I’m so embarrassed. Asking my size-two stepmom to take me on an emergency plus-sized dress run in the morning. This is horrible.

I’m startled by Evelyn’s arms around me. She pulls my hands from my face and looks at me with her own tear-filled eyes and says, “Darling, don’t you even think about worrying. Don’t you even dare. We’ve got tomorrow, and we’re going to figure something out.

It’s a promise.”

“Thanks, Evelyn.”

She hugs me again, and I glance over at my dad’s side of the bed, made up and undisturbed. I remember his side of the bed used to be Mom’s side of the bed. It makes me wonder if he started sleeping on Mom’s side because he missed her or because he wanted to be sure that nobody else ever slept there again except for him.

Antonique and I clamber back into the house with bags on our arms and French fries in our bellies at five minutes past four on Saturday afternoon. Brice and Evelyn have been scheming all day on something for me to wear, and Antonique was charged with keeping me out of the house. We’re barely through the door before I hear Brice squawking to me from my bedroom.

“I’m scared. Should I be scared?” I ask her.

“Probably,” she says.

“Come sit,” Brice demands. “It’s hair and makeup time.”

He immediately begins working on Antonique’s makeup while I check my phone for the billionth time in the past few hours. After Grant’s initial “Going in” text this morning, I haven’t heard a word.

I’m super-bummed because, even though have tons of faith in him, maybe things aren’t going well. I wish I could be there cheering for his nerdy domination.

“Why is your face glued to your phone?” Brice asks from the floor where he’s sweeping Antonique’s braids up and pinning them into position.

“I’m just waiting to hear from Grant about his big science competition this morning.” I scoot nearer them, and Brice shoves some bottles and tubes of beauty products across the carpet toward me.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. I’m sure he’s doing awesome,” he says. “Here, put on this moisturizer for me and then this primer.”

The light is still coming in, but it will deepen soon. The days aren’t lasting as long as they used to, and we’ll be finishing our makeup by the crappy overhead lighting for sure.

“Imogen, your dress is going to be so amazing. Grant is going to just collapse,” Brice says as he applies something to Antonique’s eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll remain conscious. No need to worry.”

“I’m serious! It’s so you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I? Can I please see it now?”

“Patience, my pretty.”

Before long, Brice has finished his second masterpiece of the evening. My longish hair has been loosely curled and pulled back off my face. He’s swept it to one side and adorned it with this great, embellished hair clip that looks like the traditional comedy/tragedy masks, but they’re covered in shiny, black crystals. My eye makeup is dark and smoky, but still bright. Way less depressing than my normal look. I’ve got sheer, glossy, pink lips and a pop of color on my round cheeks.

From the neck up, I look pretty stinking cute.

And it feels nice to think so. It does.

The time has come for me to put on my dress.

We enter the spacious dressing area inside the giant master bathroom. The skylight in the ceiling shoots the last bit of sunshine over the tile floor.

“Hi, darling. I’m so excited I might die!” Evelyn is standing like a creeper in her closet next to a long garment bag hanging on the top of the door. “I want you to cover your eyes with this.” She holds out a black silk scarf.

These crazy bats have hidden my dress to make it a surprise.

But whatever. I’m in theatre. I’m a sucker for dramatic flair.

I resign myself to the experience while Evelyn begins to maneuver, and I feel her fiddling with my clothes. I almost reach out and push her away as this woman starts to unzip and tug and pull silky things all around me.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” I try not to jump away from her—I know I’ll fall down and crack my head on the bathtub since I can’t see anything.

“I’m just helping you get this on. Now stop fussing.”

She pulls my tunic off over my head. Here I am, standing physically exposed with a girl I’ve known for just a few weeks, a boy who’s been my friend for less than six months, and a grown woman that I’ve made a real effort to ignore for most of the past year. But I don’t feel uncovered.

And despite my fears, I’m getting excited.

I want to love this dress.

I feel the heavy weight of it come over my head, and I start to piece together what I know. I feel the roughness of lace. I feel the heft of layers. And I also feel a familiar weight on my shoulders.

Oh, man, what if they stick me in something stupid? I don’t want to look stupid in front of hundreds of kids who all look beautiful.

I start waving my hands around at my side. “Can I please see? I’m so nervous.”

“Why are you nervous? Don’t you trust me?” Brice’s voice cuts through the echo-y bathroom, and he and Antonique sound like they’re sitting on the edge of the tub beside me.

“Oh my God, Imogen. You look incredible,” Antonique says.

I hope this dress is barf-colored because I am so worried I’m about to be sick all over this thing. I put my hands on my stomach and try to press away the ache.

I feel the bumps of a corset-shaped piece around my torso, and I feel a familiar hug of fabric around my hips.

Oh, no.

Oh, please tell me Brice doesn’t want me to wear the costume that was immortalized on posters calling me a nutjob.

Hands on my waist turn me around to face where I know my friends are sitting.

“One more thing,” Brice says. He bends my arms and pulls them through tight sleeves—or I guess they’re long gloves that come up above my elbows. I wiggle my fingers through the open end.

Oh God, if the sleeves make my arms look like bratwursts, I’m going to melt into a puddle of shame and die.

Brice gasps. He’s already gushing, and I haven’t seen it yet. Evelyn finishes fastening up the back and pulling the laces, and I’m almost ready to pop when she says, “Imogen, dear, you look exquisite. Take a look.”

I reach up and pull off my blindfold and find myself standing beside her full-length mirror.

At first I think I’m going to panic.

I am wearing my costume from the show.

Sort of.

I see that the body is the same; the top is a corset, and the laces have drawn me in around the middle. There is still black piping all along the seams, but there are these incredible fingerless gloves made of stretchy black lace, and my giant wobbly arms are tucked inside them. Wrapped around the skirt of the dress are layers of black lace strung on a ribbon and tied around the back. The edges aren’t hemmed, and I can still see some of the pink coming through, but the effect is amazing. It’s like this hot-pink princess dress with a little bit of edge. It’s awesome. I feel pretty. Oh. So. Pretty.

I’m almost disappointed that Brice didn’t cue up the song for me. What a missed opportunity.

I smile. I look at myself, at my shape, at my body, and I smile.

Brice turned this smelly old costume into something amazing.

I look in the mirror and see Evelyn ducked behind me. The absence of my mother slams into me like the truck that took her. Putting on dresses and tying my bows. I wish she were here to do those simple things. I shrug the feelings away as Evelyn spins me around in my perfect, angsty-chic dress. I look at her and say, with more sincerity than I can believe, “I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Brice! How did you pull this off? How did you possibly do this? And please, dear Brice, tell me this has been dry-cleaned.”

“Evelyn and I talked when I first got here this morning, and I remembered how fabulous you looked in this costume. I knew that with a few layers of lace and those fabulous gloves from the Halloween store, I could make this dress look a little less Winnifred and a lot more you. I texted Gild, and she said that as long as I put it back to normal afterward, I could alter it for you to wear. Oh, and of course. Ew.”

He stands up and goes to put an arm around Evelyn. “And since Evelyn bought all of the material and I put it together, I guess we get to share the glory.” He turns to her and says, “I’ll be the ‘Fairy’ and you be the ‘Godmother!’” He starts laughing, and we all giggle with him.

I look in the mirror again and can’t make sense of how grateful I feel.

This could have been bad. A very bad situation. Too tight, too short, too sleeveless, too many things could have gone wrong.

I look down at my lacy black gloves and set my hand on my left forearm. “It’s perfect,” I say to no one in particular.

“I wish I could see you out there in those pretty lights with all of your friends,” Evelyn says with a smile. “I’d love to see both of my girls out there together actually.”

I feel my jaw go slack, and my eyes dart to Brice and Antonique, who look similarly freaked out.

“Carmella? You mean, she’s going? I didn’t even consider that she might be going.”

I glance sideways and see my chest flushing red in the mirror.

“Well, she spent the night with some friends last night, and they’re all getting ready over there, which is great because it gives me a chance to clean up her room tonight, but anyway, yes. She is on the dance team, so…”

I’m sure I look like I’ve been slapped in the face with a bag of bricks.

I summarize my new revelations. “Dance is part of fine arts. Of course she’s going.”

“Is…that okay?” She pauses. “Are you okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure,” I lie.

I’m great.

“Okay, then.” She smiles. “Maybe you girls can take a picture sometime tonight? I’d really love a shot of the two of you together. I don’t have one yet.”

A picture with Carmella. And me in a dress. Just shoot me.