I thought about calling my mom. She’d know the perfect thing to wear to such an event and where to get it. Maybe we could go to a ritzy salon on Newbury Street in Boston for manicures and facials, and I could get my hair done, too. But then, she didn’t even bother to call when she got the clipping from the Keech Town Crier of my valedictorian picture. So screw her. I asked Flo instead.
“A dress-up party? We better call Ebbie,” Flo said. “She waits tables over at that yacht club sometimes.”
Within minutes, we heard Ebbie’s scooter buzz into the driveway.
“Up here!” Flo yelled when the front door opened.
“The Admiral’s Ball! That’s top notch. You’ve got to go into the big city for something like that,” Ebbie said, striding into my room. “All the way to Bangor?!” Flo said.
“Bangor? You clueless old hick!” Ebbie said.
“Boston!” Flo said it like a swear word.
“Boston? She’s not going to a coronation! Portland. A nice dress shop in Portland. But then again, you can’t look like you’re trying too hard. Like you buy a new dress, but you take an old purse, but you’re just a kid so you wouldn’t have an old purse … also, it depends on who you’re going with.”
“The Tooheys,” Flo said, again like a swear word.
“Shoot. Where are your dresses?” Ebbie asked.
“That side of the closet,” Flo pointed left. She had rearranged my closet again by type because I decided the color thing wasn’t working.
Ebbie shut her eyes and reached in. She pulled out the blue linen one I wore to graduation.
“Wear this,” she said with her eyes still shut.
“You don’t even know what you’re holding,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter. You need the confidence of a gal who doesn’t care what she wears to the Admiral’s Ball, or them Tooheys will eat you alive like a swarm of no-see-ums.”