read it?"
I gaze down at the ground, not wanting him to know.
Then he gets up from the bench and brushes right past me. "You will when you're ready," he says, walking
away.
"Where the heck did you go? Parker thinks you hate him." Jenay merges her brows together and shakes her head.
"He waited so long, he was late to class."
"Why would I hate him?" I ask, focusing my guilt-ridden gaze on the sidewalk, as we head toward home.
"Uh, because you ran off and never returned? I'm serious, Echo, you should've seen him. He just sat there
with your lunch right in front of him, wondering if he should save it, eat it, toss it, or what."
She's staring at me, I can feel it. But since Abby's in the middle, that means I'll have to go through her if I want
to confirm it. And I feel really uncomfortable talking about all of this, partly because it makes me feel weird, inept, and
embarrassed, but also because I know Abby likes Parker too. She has for years. She just won't admit it.
But Abby's totally on to me, and she's not about to let me off easy. "Don't be going all AWOL on my account.
So what if I think he's cute. I think a lot of guys are cute. And it's not like I was all attached or anything," she says,
kicking a rock out of her path and shrugging like she really doesn't care. "So if you really like him, then just go for it,
Echo. Don't hold back because of me."
"Do you like him?" Jenay asks, her eyes growing hopeful and wide as she waits for a definite answer.
Only the thing is, I don't have a definite answer. Because I'm not really sure how I feel. Though I do know
there's a "right" answer, one that will make her happy, and hopefully put an end to all of this. So I take a deep breath
and say, 'Totally. I mean, why wouldn't I? He's cute, and sweet, and smart. And it's not like there's anything wrong
with him, right?"
The second that's out, Abby starts cracking up. I mean full body bent over laughing, while Jenay just rolls her
eyes and shakes her head and goes, "That's it? You like him because there's nothing wrong with him? You like him
because he has no obvious defects? Jeez Echo, that's real romantic stuff. I mean, you're just head over heels then,
aren't you?"
"No, I just..." I gaze back down at the ground, wondering who I'm trying to convince more, me or her. "I like
him," I finally say. "Okay? Happy now? He's really nice, and a really good kisser too." I peek at both of them, feeling
relieved when I see Jenay smile, hoping that means she believes me.
"Then it's settled. He can ask you to homecoming and you won't say no?" Jenay asks, her voice full of hope.
"Cause it would be really fun if we could double date, don't you think?"
I nod at Jenay and then gaze at Abby. But she's no longer looking at me. She's busy staring straight ahead.
Eleven
Two days before the dance, I tell my mom I need a dress. Though of course Jenay had already bought hers, like the
day after my party. And Parker, just naturally assuming I'd already gotten mine too, kept quizzing me about the color
so his mom could order a matching corsage.
I didn't have the heart to tell him that I hadn't bothered to even think about a dress, much less go look for one.
So I lied and said I was torn between a black one and a white one, so any old flowers should do.
"It would've been nice if you could've given me just a little more notice," my mom says, shaking her head as
she trolls through the racks, trying to find something pretty and affordable that won't make me look like a slut.
I just stand there, amazed by the show of emotion. It's been so long since she's expressed sadness,
annoyance, or anything stronger than zombie-like calm.
"Zoë and I always used to make a day of it. We'd buy the dress, have lunch, and then go looking for a bag,
jewelry, and shoes. But this, this two days' notice." She shakes her head again, this time pursing her lips. "What if we
need alterations? Did you ever consider that?" She looks at me, eyes clearly alarmed at the thought. Well, as
alarmed as those happy pills allow.
But I just shrug. I mean, even though it's nice to see her thawing out of her usual, icy numbness, I really don't
appreciate having to compete with Zoë. Especially when I'm so clearly the loser. I mean, I may be the good,
obedient, straight-A daughter, but Zoë was the exciting one. Zoë was the fun one. Zoë was the glamorous one. Zoë
was the kind of daughter you actually miss.
"Well, I guess if it's too long, I'll just get higher heels or something," I finally say, determined to ignore that last
slight of hers and get through the rest of the day unscathed.
But she just ignores that, presses a handful of dresses into my arms, and goes, "Here. It's a start. Now where
the heck is that salesgirl?"
If you were going to categorize my mom, you'd obviously choose words like "organized," "controlling," and "type-A
personality." But that doesn't mean she can't be relaxed, compassionate, or fun. Though in the last year, it's like
she's been riding an emotional roller coaster, and it's been kind of hard to adjust to all of the surprising twists and
turns.
I mean, everything started off all fine and well. One of her papers finally got published and she was actually
awarded tenure, which is like a really big deal. But then the whole Zoë thing happened, and she headed straight into
this rapid descent, her tears and depression building at an alarming speed until one day, after an extended
couch-sitting, food-avoiding, sleep-depriving crying jag, she reached for that bottle of doctor-prescribed happy pills,
and ever since it's been miles of flat track, allowing for a safe but boring ride.
But that little show of annoyance back there in the store, when she compared me to Zoë and got all upset?
Well, that's something she's never actually done before. And I wonder if it signals another drop ahead, one that I
won't realize until it's too late.
"Well, under the conditions, I'd say that went much better than I anticipated," she says, carefully placing her
linen napkin across the lap of her jeans, but not those high-rise, tapered-ankle, multipleated "mom jeans" (thank
God), but still, dark blue and no-nonsense. "And you've got quite the figure, young lady. Who knew?" She raises her
thin, arched eyebrows and cracks a brief smile.
"Yeah, quite the stick figure," I say, gazing down at my nearly concave chest, wondering if it will ever progress.
"Don't kid yourself. You've got your great-aunt Eleanor's figure." She nods, her short, brown, wash-and-wear
hair barely moving. "And she was a model for Saks."
I think about Zoë, and how she always wanted to be a model, and I wonder if my mom ever said that to her.
"So tell me about this young man." She leans forward, taking a sip of iced tea.
I gaze down at my lap, knowing she's only trying to connect, and wishing I felt more comfortable talking about
things like this. "Well, I've known him forever, but we never really hung out until now, and I don't know, his best friend
asked Jenay, and so, he asked me." I shrug, using my straw to move the lemon wedge and block of ice that's
impeding my progress to the good stuff below.
"Do you like him?" she asks, as though we always engage in these heart-to-heart girl talks, as though nothing's
changed, like we're just picking up right where we left off. And it's been so long since she even tried, that it makes me
want to give the right answer, the one that will keep it going, the one that will keep her feeling th
is way.
But I also don't want to lie. So instead, I just nod.
"Well, your father and I are looking forward to meeting him. And I'm so glad we went with that cobalt blue dress,
aren't you? I was thinking maybe a silver purse and shoes? What are your thoughts?"
I reach for my menu and pretend to read it. "Urn, I guess something cute and dressy, that I can actually walk in
without falling over." I shrug.
"I know just the place." She nods.
The whole time Jenay's stepmom is taking our picture, all I can think about is Abby. And how she's missing. And how
she should be standing right here beside us, overdressed, overexcited, and anxious to take part in her first limo, first
dance, and first date too. But even though Jenay tried her best to set her up, Abby wouldn't have anything to do with
it. Insisting she had a "family thing" that'd been planned for months, and that she'd "completely forgotten all about."
But I know better. I know Abby's just romantic enough to want a date who asked her for real, and stubborn
enough to insist on that, or not go at all.
"Okay, everyone, just lean in, a little bit closer. Echo, move your hair out of your eyes so I can see your
beautiful face," Jenay's stepmom says, the fingers on her free hand directing us toward the center, while she holds
the tiny digital camera with the other. "Perfect. Hold it...great. One more. Okay, I'll e-mail copies to all of your
parents." She leans against Jenay's dad and smiles. "Oops! There goes Landon! I knew it wouldn't last. Okay, have
fun everyone, and girls, you look gorgeous!"
She hugs Jenay and me, careful not to mess up our hair, then runs upstairs to the nursery in her bare feet,
snug jeans, and tight pink T-shirt, with her stream of blond hair trailing behind her, making her look more like Jenay's
hip older sister than her father's second wife.
"Okay, the limo's outside waiting. So everyone, be good, have fun, and stay out of trouble," her dad says,
delivering the exact same speech my dad gave, just half an hour before.
One by one we crawl into the back of the limo, sliding across the long, leather seat. The second the door is
closed and the driver pulls away from the curb, Jenay leans her head back, heaves a dramatic sigh, and goes,
"Thank God that's over."
Chess grabs her hand and smiles. "What do you mean? Your mom's really nice, and your dad seems cool
too." He shrugs.
"Well, she's actually my stepmom. My real mom died when I was little, and my dad didn't remarry until about
four years ago. So yeah, she's nice and all, and it's good to have a mom again and not be the only girl in the house
for a change. But still, parents, you know?" She smiles.
"Echo's parents are way cool," Parker says, obviously wanting to say something positive, even if it means he
has to lie.
But Jenay and I just look at each other and burst out laughing. And even though it's really not all that funny,
every time we look at each other we laugh that much harder. And I know it's kind of rude, and I know it excludes the
guys, but still, being able to share a private joke like this makes me feel calmer, reminding me how whatever happens
tonight, we're both in it together.
We go to this restaurant called the Blue Water Grill even though our town is completely landlocked and there's no
blue water anywhere to be found (including the lake at the park where the water is polluted, murky, and brown). I
mean, let's face it, a name like that can't help but conjure up images of vast ocean views and glamorous diners
docking their yachts, before strolling inside for a nice sunset meal.
But here, instead of ocean views, you get a parking lot. And instead of a yacht, you get a smiling, plywood,
cartoon pelican ushering you into the nautical-themed interior that's a lot closer to Moby Dick than luxury liner.
The hostess leads us to a table where Teresa and Sean, Lisa and Drew, and Kaitlin and Mike are already
waiting, and I spend the entire time fiddling with my menu and napkin and pretty much doing whatever it takes to keep
my hands busy and as far away from Parker's as possible.
I know I'm acting all weird and uptight and ridiculous, and it's not like I can even explain why. I mean, I used to
love watching Zoë get ready for all her school dances, and I could hardly wait for the day when it would be my turn. I
even used to dream about us going together, you know double-dating, just two cool sisters and their cute, hottie
boyfriends, sharing a limo and acting all glamorous and sophisticated. And even after I learned how Zoë and her
friends usually only stayed long enough to take the formal pictures before heading out to go party somewhere else,
that still didn't change it for me.
I guess it just always seemed like Zoë was part of this mysterious, grown-up world, one that I couldn't wait to
join. Only now that I'm being admitted, I no longer feel ready. And since everything Zoë did was always bigger, and
brighter, and better than everyone else, I know that no matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to match her.
"Did I tell you how much I love your dress? That color is like, so amazing," Teresa says, leaning close to the
bathroom mirror and applying a layer of pale pink lip gloss over the dark pink lipstick she just applied.
I gaze down the length of my dress, all the way to my strappy sandals, amazed at how it all came together so
much better than I ever would've guessed.
"You and Parker are so cute together," she says, dropping her lip gloss into her bag and moving on to her
blond highlighted hair, which has been professionally twisted, curled, and pinned into the world's most complicated
updo.
I force my face into a smile, watching as she fishes around in her green, oversized tote bag, which I have to
admit looks incredibly odd with her pink shiny dress and gold shoes.
"Want some?" she asks, retrieving a water bottle filled with some kind of red homemade brew. "I brought
enough for everyone. That's why this bag is so big, in case you were wondering." She laughs. "I'll probably pass
them out in the limos. But let's just get a head start and take a little hit now, K?" She unscrews the lid and takes a
long, hearty sip. Then she shoves it toward me, urging me on with her wide, blue eyes. "Go ahead." She nods. "It's
awesome. So sweet you can barely taste the alcohol."
I hesitate, but only for a moment. Then I tilt the bottle back and take a gulp. A much bigger gulp than I'd planned.
Then I close my eyes and realize she's right. It is sweet. And other than the sting, burning its way down my throat, I
can hardly taste the vodka.
Twelve
The second the band starts playing a slow song, I try to bolt for the bathroom. But then Parker grabs my arm and
says, "No way. Forget it. Step away from the vodka, and come with me."
I grip his hand tightly as I follow behind, hoping he'll understand that my sudden display of hand passion has
more to do with the effects of drinking than any romantic or passionate connection, because if I've bonded with
anyone tonight it would definitely be Teresa, the former Queen Bee of Parkview Junior High. The girl with the
moonshine water bottles.
I mean Jenay, now free to make out with Chess whenever she chooses and no longer needing alcohol as an
excuse, took only a sip or two, before giving her bottle away. And even though everyone else was pretty much
drinking on the way to the dance, it was Teresa and I who kept at it long after we'd arrived. And it's not that I actually br />
like it all that much, because to be honest, it really is a little too sweet. But with Jenay totally focused on Chess and
ignoring me, there's no way I can not drink and still manage to have a good time.
It's like, I've barely finished my bottle, and already I'm feeling lighter, looser, and free. More like my sister, and
a lot less like me.
"Are you having fun?" Parker asks, tightening his grip on my waist and pulling me closer.
"Urn, yeah." I shrug, gazing around at all the sparkly silver decorations, the fake snow at the edge of the stage,
and the hot, sweaty lead singer, his eyes shut tight as he wails into the microphone, singing a song about lost love.
At first it all seems so pretty and sparkly, but soon it turns blurry and bendy. And when Parker brings his hand
to my cheek and says, "Look at me," I push him away and rush for the door, mumbling something about needing
some air.
"Are you okay?" he asks, concern in his voice as he trails close behind.
I rock from foot to foot, hugging myself with both arms, not having considered the cold in my rush to be free. All
I wanted was some time alone, so I could clear my head, settle my stomach, and stand in the dark, watching my
breath escape my body and then disappear into the night.
What I didn't want was for Parker to tag along. Partly because I wasn't sure if I was going to be sick, and partly
because I'm not sure I'm ready for Parker, and me, and all that we entail. But now that he's here, I don't want him to
think I'm a freak. So I try to say something just to fill up the quiet.
"Which one do you think is ours?" I ask, motioning to the long line of black shiny limos, as Parker removes his
jacket and places it over my narrow, pale, goose bump-covered shoulders.
He squints across the parking lot and smiles. "Third one," he says, nodding like he's sure.
"No way." I shake my head and gaze at the long line of generic cars. "I mean, how can you even tell? They all
look alike."
"See the guy standing next to it? He's our driver." He nods. "I can tell by the hat."
"They all wear hats, its part of the uniform," I say, gazing at him and laughing in spite of myself.