DRESSING IS NINE-TENTHS OF THE LAW

Thursday, 5:49 P.M.

“I’m not so sure about this!” Paige yelled over the blare of car horns and squealing tires. “Can’t we go home and practice my speech?”

“Hold up.” I stopped at the corner of Michigan and Chicago, standing at the edge of a crowd watching an old man beat out a staccato rhythm on an African drum. The body of the drum was long and the head was made of animal skin stretched taut. The Beat had brought something similar to rehearsal once. A djembe, I remembered. If Zander were here, he’d give some useless but adorable trivia about some obscure drummer he loved.

“I have to give my speech to the entire grade tomorrow.” Paige tapped her watch impatiently. The wind whipping around the corner made her bob fly in a million different directions.

“Yup. And unless you follow my advice, we’ll both be listening to Quinn Wilder’s victory speech on Monday.”

As we set off down Chicago Avenue, I snuck a quick glance at my watch. Five fifty-two. Still plenty of time to make sure Paige was suitably dressed for tomorrow’s presidential rally and get to Andersonville to meet Zander for our first date.

Our. First. Date. Possibly the most beautiful words in the English language. Unless, of course, we were just “hanging out” in a way that was “no big thing.”

“I don’t know why I need a new outfit,” Paige argued, sidestepping a half-dozen elementary school kids in backpacks, marching in dutiful single file behind two harried adults. “I have plenty of clothes at home.”

“No, I have plenty of clothes at home. You have a closet full of the most depressing goth threads I’ve ever seen.” I held up my palm before she could chide me for my honesty. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. And it’s also true that you need to look amazing tomorrow.”

“Have you ever listened to anything I’ve said in the history of our friendship?” When Paige huffed, her breath clouded resentfully in front of us. I charged through it. “Politics is about ideas. Not outfits.”

“If people don’t like your outfits, they don’t listen to your ideas! Why do you think Michelle Obama wears J.Crew twenty-four-seven-three-sixty-five? You have to be a role model, Paige. And that includes fashion.”

“All the stores down here are too fancy for me. I don’t have that much holiday money left, you know.”

“That’s why we’re goooooing… here.” We stopped directly in front of the glass doors of Nordstrom Rack. “My mom gets sale stuff here all the time. Good stuff. Maybe we can even get you a dress for the dance, too.”

Paige opened her mouth like she was about to protest. Instead, she squinted thoughtfully at our reflections in the storefront. “I do like Michelle Obama…”

“Why? Because her wardrobe is killer. Her arms are, too, but we’re working on limited time here.” I shoved Paige through the doors into a brightly lit white-and-chrome entrance.

We joined the bevy of chic shoppers riding the long escalators to the first floor. If we had time, maybe I’d pick up a new set of bangles for tonight. My black pants, silky mint-green top, and patent flats suddenly felt blah. Plus, Zander had already seen me in this outfit at school. That settled it. I needed a new… everything.

“Hey.” Paige snapped her fingers in front of my face. I blinked. “Are you listening? Repeat what I just said.”

“Ummm… something dull about politics or principles? Wait. No. You quoted a dead president.” I crossed my fingers and held them up, faking excitement. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Hilaaaaarious. What’s going on in there?” She wiggled her index finger in front of my nose. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

I took a deep breath. Paige was my and Zander’s biggest cheerleader. But what if it didn’t work out? What if, halfway through the concert, Zander decided he didn’t like me anymore? Sure, things seemed good now. But things could change. People could change their minds. Like my dad did. And like I was hoping to make my mom and Gabe do now.

“Are you okay?” Paige cocked her head to the side and peered into my eyes. “You don’t look so good.”

“I—I’m sort of hanging out with Zander tonight.”

“I KNEW IT!” she shrieked, pinning me to the escalator rail. I gripped the rubber edge to steady myself. “I knew you guys were together! I totally saw you holding hands in The Square.”

On the step ahead of us, a lady in bloodred lipstick and a fur pillbox hat turned around and glared.

“Paige!” I hissed. “Chill. We’re not together.” Just in time, I hopped off the escalator and out of her reach. Ahead of us stretched an endless array of outfit possibilities. Designer jeans were packed on rolling racks. Colorful cashmere scarves hung from accessory displays. And ruthless bargain hunters clawed through stacks of folded cardigans with jeweled buttons.

“You need jeans,” I decided. “Like, nice jeans that say, I’m in charge here, but also, I can be casual. Agree?”

“I’m not agreeing to anything until you tell me what’s going on with you and Zander.” I hadn’t seen Paige look this determined since first grade, when we got to our classroom on St. Patrick’s Day to find all the desks overturned and green glitter everywhere. It was the work, said our teacher, Mrs. Phelps, of mischievous leprechauns. Horrified at the disrespect for school property, Paige launched a full-scale investigation to find said leprechauns, until Mrs. Phelps quietly pulled her aside and confessed.

“Can we at least talk and try on clothes at the same time? I’m supposed to meet Zander at seven thirty.” I spotted a pair of gray wax-coated skinnies and tossed them over one arm. “These are a definite yes. They’ll make you look taller, which will make you look more presidential.”

“Okay! Whatever! Tell me everything!”

“We’re just hanging out tonight at that café in Andersonville. It’s not really like a date date. More like a friend thing. A ‘no big deal’ thing.” Or was it a big deal? We had kissed. I turned away, pretending to check the price on a pair of leather fingerless gloves. “Before you freak, these are for me.”

“It so is a date.” She scoffed. “You guys just don’t want to call it that. Does Molly know?”

“No.” I whacked the gloves against Paige’s arm. “And she’s not going to know until I figure out how to tell her.” I lifted my pinky finger menacingly. “Swear.”

“Okay, okay.” Paige latched her pinky to mine. We shook. “Like you have to worry about me gossiping with Molly. Please.” She spotted a boxy black blazer and yanked it from the hanger. “How about this?”

“Throw on a dude’s shirt and a tie with that and you could pass for Imran Bhatt.” My gaze fell on a bald mannequin sporting a cropped charcoal blazer with black leather piping. “Now this is a blazer.” I whipped it off the display, leaving the mannequin bare-boobed. “You might actually look like a girl in this one.”

“Gee, thanks.” Paige sniffed behind me. “Besides, I heard from one of my best sources that Imran dropped out of the race this afternoon.”

“Seriously? Because of Quinn?” I held the blazer up to Paige’s frame.

Paige nodded, her eyes suddenly glassy behind her smudged lenses. “I should go back and practice my speech. What if—”

“Look. Here. Try this on,” I said gently. I lifted her messenger bag over her head and helped her out of her peacoat. “You already have everything you need to beat Quinn. You have better ideas, an actual track record. This is just the finishing touch.”

Paige slid into the blazer and checked out her reflection in a mirrored column.

“It’s not bad.” She cleaned her glasses on the hem of her black T-shirt, then took a step closer to the mirror. “It looks professional, at least.”

“And the leather ups the cool factor.” I draped my arm over her shoulder and brushed her bangs away from her eyes with my other hand. “Makes you much more relatable.”

Paige’s lips curved into a small smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“Give me a few lines from your speech.”

“Huh? Here?”

“Why not? See if it fits with the new threads.”

“Umm, okay. I’ll try out the part about Quinn.” Paige blinked at the mirror and buttoned the center button on the blazer, then unbuttoned it again. “My opponent is trying to ride the popularity wave right into office,” she said disdainfully. “Sure, he’s got a ton of friends, and I hear he’s super fun at parties. He’s promised to make our field trips more fun, and if it’s up to him, we’ll probably have nothing but junk food and soda in the vending machines.”

“Uh, Paige? Don’t we want people not to vote for Quinn?”

“But do you know what he doesn’t have, people?” Paige planted her palm on the mirror and glared into it, her voice getting stronger. “He doesn’t have experience. None. Zip. Nada. So when it comes time for you to vote on Monday, you have a choice. Do you want the candidate with years of leadership experience? Or do you—”

Just then, my cell phone buzzed. “Oops. Sorry.” I checked the screen.

Stevie. Ugh.

“Kacey! You killed my flow!” Paige stomped her foot.

“I have to take this. Sorry. You’re doing great! Great flow!” I lifted the phone to my ear and made a beeline for a rack of plus-sized fur coats. “Hello?” I ducked between two coats, creating a soundproof barrier.

“I got more details on this hot-air balloon date.” Stevie’s voice was almost a whisper. “He’s doing it Friday night.”

“As in tomorrow? The same night as the dance?” I whispered back.

“Yeah. And he went out and bought a new shirt today. And he shaved.”

“So, basically, he’s acting like a normal, hygienic person.” I closed my eyes.

“He hasn’t bought a new shirt since I was born. This is a problem. I think he’s gonna drop the L-bomb.”

My blood ran cold. “Okay. First, nobody says ‘L-bomb.’ And second, what do you want me to do about it? We’ve tried to break them up, but they’re too into each other.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. We have to figure out a way to make your mom miss the date completely. He’ll think she stood him up, and he’ll break it off.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?” I pictured Gabe standing alone next to a hot-air balloon, weeping softly in a brand-new shirt made of wheat.

“Do you want them to get married?”

“Okay. She’ll miss the date,” I said quickly. “It’s just gonna be hard to figure this out on the same night we’re playing the dance.”

“Kacey?” Paige’s scuffed black boots shuffled impatiently on the other side of the coat curtain. “Everything okay in there?”

I pressed my hand over the receiver. “Fine! Everything’s great.”

“I found a hot dress for the dance. And one for you, too!” A teal tulle-wrapped mini bobbed next to her boots.

“Love it. I’ll meet you at the dressing rooms?”

“Okaaay.” After a few seconds, Paige’s boots and the mini meandered off.

“Hello?” I whispered into the receiver. “I’m back.”

“Yippee,” Stevie muttered. “Just figure something out. We all know you’re great at coming up with plans that totally ruin other people’s lives.”

“If I had any idea what you were talking about, I’d say you were being way too dramatic,” I said sweetly. “I’ll call you later.”

“You better. Because I am not sharing a room with you.”

I hung up on her and buried my face in the closest fur coat. My brain was jumbled with everyone else’s problems: Paige’s campaign. Mom and Gabe’s fling. Stevie’s fear that if we ever had to share a closet, she’d realize that my clothes were way better than hers. The poor animal that had given its fur for this ugly coat. For one night, for just a few hours, I didn’t want to think about anyone else.

Well, about anyone other than Zander. And me. Together, on our very first (maybe) date.