Stella rested her hand on the cold metal clothing rack. It was packed with bridesmaid dresses, a cloth rainbow of greens, purples, browns, and blues. “So we should each pick a different style, but we’ll all do satin and we’ll all be in the same color—apple green,” she said authoritatively, pinching a pale green dress between her fingers. She’d picked the color out of a French Vogue wedding spread.
Lola and Andie sat on the beige settee, quietly nodding. Cate was texting furiously on her mobile. She hadn’t taken her Prada sunglasses off since they left the town house, not even when they entered the soft lighting of the Vera Wang dressing suite. Emma stood on a pedestal in the middle of the room as Gloria tucked her fingers into the sweetheart neckline of her dress, pulling it up.
Cate dropped her iPhone into her black Prada Cervo pleat bag. “Sophie says hi,” she said breezily, picking up an armful of dresses without even looking at them.
Stella gripped the metal rack tighter. “That’s funny, I just talked to her.” Cate had been trying to taunt her all day—bragging about how she and Priya had run around the Central Park reservoir during gym, or how Sophie had said the funniest thing in geometry. But Stella hadn’t flinched. She’d been texting all day with Blythe and Priya, and she had talked to Sophie online after school. They kept asking her about the Haverford basketball team and when they were going to hang out with them again. Stella had promised something was “in the works,” but she hadn’t talked to the boys since yesterday. And she wouldn’t…not until the girls voted her their leader.
Cate picked up the skirt of one of the pale green dresses and scrunched up her nose. “Ugh. Of course you picked this color. I’m going to look so washed out.” She strutted into the dressing room, slamming the oak door shut.
Andie and Lola began thumbing through the rack like they were in slow motion, every now and then pulling out a dress only to put it right back. Gloria fanned out the small train of Emma’s gown. Her gold bracelets clinked together, making a sound like wind chimes. When Gloria had told Vera Wang Emma Childs was getting married—this Sunday—she’d offered one of her couture gowns as a wedding present.
“I adore this floral waist corsage—breathtaking,” Gloria cooed, pressing her fingers to the fabric on the side of the dress. It was delicately formed into roselike flowers. Stella had already oohed and aahed over the mermaid dress. It could have been covered in rubies and diamonds—it didn’t change the fact that her mum was getting married this Sunday and stranding them, permanently, in New York.
Lola pulled a bubble-hem satin gown off the rack and held it up to her lanky frame. “This is gorgeous!” she cried.
“That wouldn’t look right on you,” Stella said, taking the hanger from her. She picked out a full-length strapless dress with an empire waist and shoved it in Lola’s arms. “This one’s for you, and this,” she said, passing the short dress to Andie, “is for you.”
“Thanks, Stella!” Andie said brightly, hugging the dress to her chest. Then she retreated to the dressing room.
“Cheers,” Lola mumbled. Lately her self-confidence had been on a roller coaster. She’d felt good yesterday, pretty, even, hanging out with Kyle. But suddenly she felt like the ugly duckling again. She couldn’t help but remember the way that man with the skinny little legs at Fashion Week had looked at her at first—like he couldn’t believe she was Emma’s daughter. Lola turned the dress over in her hands and looked at her mom, who was studying her reflection in the mirror. Sometimes Lola couldn’t believe it either.
Stella turned back to the rack and her gaze fell on another full-length satin dress with a deep V-neck in the front and the back. With the exception of the pale green color, which screamed Wedding!, it was just the kind of dress she would wear.
She pulled off her red gingham halter and slipped the soft satin dress over her head. It clung perfectly to every curve—not that Stella had much in that department, but it emphasized what was there. She’d pair it with her silver Manolo Blahniks with the brooch on the toe and twist her curly hair up, a few tendrils falling in front of her face. A diamond solitaire in each ear would be the finishing touch. She stared at her reflection and smiled.
“Mum!” she called, opening the door of the dressing room. Gloria and Emma looked up from studying the Chantilly lace detailing on the front of the wedding dress. It reminded Stella of the curtains in her grandmother’s sitting room.
“Nice,” Gloria said flatly, then went back to Emma’s dress, fluffing the small train. Her face was stiff and expressionless, like it had been blasted with liquid nitrogen.
“It’s lovely, Stella.” Emma pushed a blond tendril away from her face.
Lola stumbled out of the dressing room in her strapless gown, her jeans still twisted around one ankle. She hopped on one foot, kicking furiously as if a denim boa constrictor had grabbed hold of her leg. The top of the dress sagged at her chest, and the crisscrossing tan lines on her back made it look like she was wearing a white Speedo.
“No, no, no.” Gloria ran her mauve fingernails through her thin hair. “We need to cover up those tan lines. And you’d need a padded bra.”
Emma pressed two fingers to her lips. “Let’s try something else, luv,” she said, offering Lola a weak smile.
Andie emerged from the dressing room wearing the bubble-hem dress that Stella had picked out for her. The style was perfect. She looked like a pale green bell. “What do you think?” she asked, biting her lip nervously.
“You look like quite the young lady,” Emma cooed.
“Thanks, Emma!” Andie cried, her face turning a pleased pink. She spun around twice, admiring herself in the mirror, then returned to her dressing room.
Stella watched as Lola adjusted her Burberry headband, the nose twitch just barely visible. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll help you find something else.” They returned to the rack and started thumbing through it again as Gloria and Emma disappeared into the wide curtained dressing room designed especially for brides.
The door to Cate’s dressing room swung open and she strutted out, a pleased grin on her face. She had twisted her dark brown hair up into a sleek bun, and she was wearing a full-length gown with a deep V-neck in the front and in the back. It was a beautiful dress. It was also the same one Stella was wearing.
“Too late,” Stella snapped.
Cate scanned Stella’s outfit, then rested her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, ‘too late’?” she asked indignantly. “This dress looks amazing on me.”
“Well, I’ve already decided I’m wearing it.” Stella stepped toward the full-length mirror on the wall, annoyed. It was shopping 101—first to try is first to buy.
“No, you’re not—it fits me perfectly.” Cate followed Stella to the mirror and stood behind her, talking over her shoulder at her reflection.
Stella met Cate’s gaze in the mirror. “I’d rather snap the heels off my Louboutins than let you wear it,” she said coolly, turning to the side to see her profile.
“Lola!” Cate cried, spinning around. Lola froze, one hand on the dressing room door. “Who looks better in this dress—me or Stella?” Cate demanded.
Stella rested her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows as if to say, You already know the answer to this question. Stella was the one who had taken care of Heath Bar when Lola was at equestrian camp last summer—she had even let the little furball sleep on her pillow!
“Um…right,” Lola bit her finger and looked back and forth between the girls, her skin second-degree-sunburn red.
“Lola, it’s a simple question—who looks better in it?” Stella kept her eyes on Lola. Fine, she hadn’t spent the last week French-braiding Lola’s hair, but she was still her sister.
Just then, Gloria pulled the curtain open and Emma stepped out. She had changed back into her bright yellow dress with thick rope halter straps. Gloria passed Emma her black heels while arguing with her mobile. “You will never work again!” she threatened, staring menacingly at the glossy screen.
“Forget it,” Cate growled. “I’m wearing it. I’m the head of Chi Beta Phi and I’ve decided I want this dress—you have to listen to me.”
“No way,” Stella cried. “We’re having a revote tomorrow. You’re not going to be in power for long.” Soon Cate would be carrying her books.
Emma sat down on the small beige couch and eyed the girls. “Stella,” Emma said in a calm but serious voice, “it’s not a big deal. Just pick another dress.”
“Mum!” Stella squealed, spinning around. “I tried this on first!” But Emma shot her a look that said, That wasn’t a question.
Stella was about to head back into the dressing room but thought better of it. She pulled up the hem of her long gown, holding up one silver Sigerson Morrison wedge for Cate to see. “Like my shoes?” she whispered. “Blythe lent them to me.” Blythe had pulled her aside after Jackson Hole and told her what a great idea the revote was.
Cate slapped her palms to her cheeks in mock surprise. “I thought I recognized those,” she cried. “Her senile golden retriever peed on them last year. She swore she’d never wear them again.” Cate leaned forward so that she was close to Stella’s ear. “They’re rejects—just like you.” Stella retreated to her dressing room, slamming the door shut.
Cate grinned. So it was a lie; Blythe had never even had a dog. But Cate was like the NASA space station—it was dangerous to push her buttons. She twirled around in the mirror and looked at the dress one last time. It did look better on her. Forget the wedding. She’d wear it Saturday, for her victory lap around the town house.