The suit didn’t fit.
I stood in the middle of the garage, tugging at the navy sleeves as if that would make them grow longer. I’d been noticing lately that my pants and sweaters all seemed short and tight, like they’d shrunk in the wash.
Astrid stated the obvious. “You’ve grown.”
“The dance is in two days.”
“Don’t worry, Lilla Gubben. We’ll just have to take you shopping.”
“But we don’t have much money.”
“So? We’ve always been awesome thrifters. And there are some great secondhand stores near here.”
The next day after school we hit two different shops, one run by the Salvation Army and the other by the SPCA. I did really well. I got a new pair of jeans, three T-shirts and a sweater, and, for the dance, a button-up shirt, dress pants and a suit jacket. Astrid peeled off no more than two of those twenty-dollar bills to pay for it all.
My favorite find was a red polo shirt that looked almost brand-new. It had a small grease stain on the bottom front, but you could hardly see it. “The color looks great with your skin tone and hair,” Astrid said.
On Friday morning, Dylan told me his dad had offered to drive the four of us. “We can come get you,” Dylan said. “I still haven’t seen where you live.”
“It’s okay. I’ll just come to your house. Really. My place is out of your way.”
I stopped at the florist after school to pick up Winnie’s wrist corsage. When I got back to the garage, Astrid was already there, ironing my shirt and pants on a piece of cardboard propped on top of a recycling bin. “Since when do we own an iron?”
“Since today. I can’t have my boy looking anything less than super-duper for his first dance.”
I made a face. “Super-duper?”
When she was done ironing, I climbed into the van and changed. The pants were a little more threadbare than I remembered and the sleeves of the jacket were a bit frayed and there was a hole in one of the pockets, but other than that, it looked great. When I stepped out, Astrid whistled. “You look amazing.” She combed out my hair, giving it maximum volume. “Let me see the wrist corsage.” I showed her the yellow rose in its plastic container. “It’s perfect. She’ll love it.”
Astrid fed me a quick dinner, then walked with me to the Brinkerhoffs’. It was a crisp, cool night. The stars were bright. When we arrived I asked, “Do you want to come in and say hi?”
She shook her head. “I think I won’t.” I noticed there were tears in her eyes. “Your first dance. I love you, Felix.”
“I love you, Astrid.”
She kissed my forehead and walked away.
Alberta opened the door. “Oh my God, you look way too cute,” she said, mussing my hair.
Dylan catapulted down the stairs. His dress shirt was wrinkled, and it was only half-tucked into his gray dress pants, but he still looked neater and tidier than I’d ever seen him. “Dad, let’s go!”
While we waited for Mr. Brinkerhoff we endured Alberta’s teasing. “Do you have condoms?”
“Shut up,” said Dylan.
“We don’t want any teen pregnancies.”
“Doofus! We’re twelve!”
“They say kids are getting started younger and younger these days.”
Thankfully Mr. Brinkerhoff appeared, and we were off.
We picked Sophie up first. She wore pleather pants and a hot-pink top. Mr. Brinkerhoff introduced himself; Dylan just grunted. “So, Sophie,” said Mr. Brinkerhoff, trying to fill the silence, “how’s seventh grade treating you?”
“Fine.”
No one said another word on the rest of the drive to Winnie’s.
I hopped out when we arrived at her building. Winnie was waiting in the lobby with her mom. She wore a shimmery silver sleeveless dress that stopped just above her knees and silver ballet flats. A white shawl was draped around her shoulders.
She looked, just…wow.
“You must be Felix,” her mom said. “I’m Eleanor, Winnie’s mom.”
“Pleased to meet you, Eleanor.” We shook hands. “You deliver babies.”
“Yes, I do.”
Winnie cleared her throat. “Why, thank you, Felix, you look nice, too.”
“Huh?”
Eleanor smiled. “I think my rather rude daughter is fishing for a compliment.”
Oh. “You look nice,” I said. Winnie’s expression darkened. “Very nice?”
“Please have her home by eleven,” Eleanor said.
“I will.” We turned to leave the building. Winnie cleared her throat. Once. Twice. “You coming down with something?”
“Take my arm.”
Eleanor gave me an encouraging smile. I took Winnie’s arm. “Duì nǐ de péngyǒu hǎo yī diǎn,” she called after us.
“She told me to be nice to you in Mandarin,” Winnie explained. “Since when am I not nice?”
Halfway to the car I remembered the box in my hand. “Oh yeah. Here’s your corsage thingy.” I handed it to her and kept walking.
Winnie stopped. “Felix.”
“What?”
“Take it out of the box and put it on my wrist.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“Because you’re supposed to do it.”
“But this isn’t even supposed to be a real date!” She glared at me. My P.O.O. told me this was going very badly, but I had no idea why. “Fine!” I slipped the corsage onto her wrist. “You happy now?”
“No!”
The drive to the school was short but deadly. Mr. Brinkerhoff tried to crack jokes. “Where do Canadians keep their armies?” No one answered. “Up their sleevies!” We filed silently out of the car. “For God’s sake, try to have fun!” he shouted after us.
The gym had been decorated with streamers and balloons. The lights were dim. No one was dancing yet. Kids stood on the perimeter of the dance floor, eating snacks or goofing around.
I brought Winnie a glass of punch. She stood with her arms across her chest, scowling. “Winnie. Forgive me if I’m confused. You told me I was your cover. That this was research for the school paper. Then you want me to behave all…datelike.”
“For a supposedly smart guy, you’re really stupid.”
“What?”
“Did it honestly never occur to you that I like you?”
No. It had not. I suddenly felt very warm inside, in a not-unpleasant way.
“See, this is what I hate about school dances,” she continued. “They get hopes up, and then those hopes are crushed, and you feel embarrassed and humiliated.”
A slow song came on.
“Anyway, do whatever you want. It’s not your fault, it’s mine.”
“Winnie—”
“I’m the idiot here, not you. Me.”
“Winnie—”
“Story of my life, really, you probably haven’t noticed but I’m not the greatest reader of social cues—”
“Winnie.” She shut up. I held out my hand. She looked at it, puzzled, then her eyes lit up. I walked her to the middle of the dance floor. We were the first couple out there. I put my arms around her waist. I’d never slow-danced in my life, so I just shuffled around in a little circle.
After a while, more kids joined us. Winnie rested her head on my shoulder, which felt nice.
We only left the dance floor twice, once for snacks and once to pee.
Winnie never wrote her scathing exposé on school dances.
Mr. Brinkerhoff picked us up just after ten. We dropped Winnie off first, then Sophie. Once Sophie was out of the car, Dylan exhaled loudly from the front seat. “Thank God that’s over. That was awful! I’m so sweaty!” It wasn’t from dancing; he and Sophie had barely hit the dance floor.
“I thought you liked her,” Mr. Brinkerhoff said.
“I thought I did, too. But then she said that she thinks poltergeists are restless spirits who want to cause pain and suffering, and I was like, ‘That is so not Bernard!’ Bernard’s a practical joker, but he looks out for us, too! And she wasn’t buying it. And I was like, ‘How do you know? I’m the one with the poltergeist!’ ”
I caught Mr. Brinkerhoff’s eye in the rearview mirror, and he winked. “Felix, where do you live?” he asked.
“It’s out of your way. Just drop me at the bus stop.”
“Absolutely not. We’re driving you home.”
“But—”
“No buts. What’s the address?”
I drew a blank. How could I give them an address when I didn’t have an address?
I remembered I’d told Dylan I lived on the edge of the catchment area on the first day of school. So I blurted out the one address I knew that fit that description.
Soleil’s.
As we drove farther and farther away from the van, Mr. Brinkerhoff told us stories about school dances he’d been to when he was young. I couldn’t concentrate. Halfway there, I started to hiccup. As we pulled up outside Soleil’s house, Dylan’s dad wrapped up his latest tale. “Never a good idea to vomit on your date’s new shoes!”
He stopped the car. Dylan gave a low whistle. “Wow. Nice digs, Felix!”
“We’re just—hic!—renting the basement.”
Mr. Brinkerhoff turned off the ignition. He started to get out of the car. “I’ll walk you to the door. Say a quick hi to your mom.”
“You can’t!” I said, louder than I meant to. “I mean—she’s out. On a date. But I’ll tell her—hic!—you said hi.”
He looked at me for a few seconds longer than was comfortable. “Okay. Well. We’ll just wait here till you get inside.”
“Great. Thanks for the ride.” I got out of the car, my suit jacket flung over my arm. I walked across the street. There were still a couple of lights on in Soleil’s house, including, thank goodness, one in the basement.
I walked down the path at the side of the house. I opened the gate. A floodlight went on, with me directly in the beam. Please, please, don’t let anyone look outside.
I waved once more to Dylan and his dad. As gently as I could, I closed the gate. I tiptoed through Soleil’s yard to the back gate, the one that led into the alley. A dog started barking inside the house.
Soleil and her family had got a dog. Maybe they’d gotten a dog because they were afraid. Maybe they were afraid because someone had recently broken into their house.
I fled through the back gate. The arm of my brand-new used dress shirt got caught on something, and I heard a ripping sound. More lights went on in the house, and I heard the back door open. “Who’s out there?” Soleil’s husband, Arpad.
I ran down the alley. When I was a few blocks away, I pulled out my phone and texted Dylan: Safe inside!
The beautiful, clear night had turned frosty and cold. I pulled the suit jacket on, but I shivered as I waited for the bus, which was late. When it finally arrived I sat by one of the heaters, trying to warm up. I inspected the tear in my shirt. It was about three inches long. I wanted to cry.
But I didn’t.
After all, it had been a mostly wonderful night.