They began with an ancient—and truly epic—flight jacket that had belonged to Mrs. Kinsale’s father. To that they added an old pair of her black jeans that she turned into something that she called jodhpurs. A trip to Senior Thrift up in Freeland unearthed a pair of knee-high brown boots that they polished to a dazzling shine, and the finishing piece was a baseball cap that Mrs. Kinsale turned into an old-fashioned flight helmet. To this, she added a pair of swim goggles, and Jenn was set. When she put it all on, she felt bizarre, but Mrs. Kinsale said, “Just you wait. You’ll be the best outfitted young lady there.”
When Cynthia arrived in her Seahawks-decorated Honda, Brian and Lexie trooped up to Mrs. Kinsale’s front door with her. It turned out that this was to be a group activity from start to finish: “One for all and all for one,” was how Lexie put it. She was outfitted as a steam punk ballerina, in a black leather bustier, lace tights, a tutu dyed black like the nasty Swan Lake bird, and Doc Martens boots. Cynthia and her brother had chosen matching tuxedos. They wore top hats, tails, white silk scarves, and white gloves. They’d somehow come up with matching monocles, too. Jenn didn’t know what their get-ups had to do with steam punk, but it didn’t matter when you looked that good, she figured.
As they came in the door where Mrs. Kinsale was waiting with her camera to document the event, Brian greeted Jenn in his typical way. “You were welcome in my bedroom as long as you didn’t mess with the constellations, you know. Did they offend you? Was it me? You know I always just talk and you’ve got to tell me when I say the wrong thing because I don’t know whereas Cynthia is someone who can tell when she’s said the wrong thing so of course I rely on her.”
“It wasn’t you,” Jenn said. “But you know . . . house guests and fish?”
Brian said, “House guests and fish . . . Is this a form of syllogism?”
“They both stink after three days,” Lexie told him.
“But if a person bathes and wears deodorant, there wouldn’t be a stink,” Brian pointed out. “Don’t you wear deodorant?” he asked Jenn. “Antiperspirants have caused concern in some corners, but deodorants don’t—”
“Asperger’s,” Cynthia told him. “Jenn meant that guests shouldn’t hang around too long.”
“But aren’t you two in love? It seems to me that if two people, no matter their sexual inclination, have feelings that—”
“Asperger’s, Aspergers!” Cynthia declared. To Jenn’s surprise, the older girl was blushing.
Mrs. Kinsale was the one to intervene. “Pictures, everyone,” she said and shepherded them into her living room to memorialize the Rainbow Prom with photos before she sent them off into the evening.
Deer Grange was the site of the prom, a smallish building that sat above Lone Lake. It was right off the road with a small parking lot in front, and Jenn saw when they pulled into it that the prom was going to be successful. Not only were there cars parked in virtually every space, but kids were also being dropped off by their parents. Some were in costume, some were in prom clothes, some were just in jeans and T-shirts.
They trooped toward the building. Through the windows Jenn could see the decorations that had been devised. There were steam punk flying machines, steam punk trains, steam punk clocks, and steam punk motorcars. She could hear the music and the voice of the DJ that the Alliance had hired. It was like any other dance that might occur on Whidbey Island. At the same time it was unlike any dance she’d ever seen.
Cynthia said to everyone, “So. It’s happening. You guys ready?” although she looked only at Jenn.
“Born ready,” was Lexie’s reply.
“Dressed and dapper,” was how Brian put it.
Jenn swallowed and wondered what it would mean to walk through that door in Cynthia’s company. She was her date, after all, no matter that they’d come with the others. But she remembered what Mrs. Kinsale had said about taking steps. You didn’t get anywhere if you weren’t willing to move yourself forward in some way.
She held out her hand. Cynthia took it. “Let’s do this,” Jenn said.
• • •
INSIDE, MUCH TO her surprise, the first person Jenn saw was Becca. She wasn’t in costume. She also wasn’t with Derric. She waved hi, though, and Jenn went over to her, saying to Cynthia, “Be right back.”
“OMG,” Becca said as Jenn joined her. “You look amazing. Did Mrs. Kinsale help you make that? How’s it going so far?”
“She’s cool. For an old lady.” Jenn looked around. “So where’s the man?”
“Derric?”
“Uh . . . is there another?”
Becca offered a sad smile. “I think we’re over.”
Jenn lowered her flight goggles, as if for a closer examination of her friend. “No way, Becca. He’s like . . . I mean he’s always been totally into you.”
“He’s not into me anymore, and I don’t blame him,” Becca said. “Anyway,” she added with forced good cheer, “you look terrific. I wanted to see everything. It’s totally great. Where’d you guys get all the stuff for the costume?”
“Becca . . .” Jenn began in a don’t-avoid-me voice.
But Becca shook her head and gave a wave of her hand that said she wouldn’t talk about Derric. Not now. Not here. She said, “I have a date, though. Around here somewhere. Oh yeah. Here he comes.”
Jenn swung around. To her surprise, Squat Cooper was approaching, two cups of punch in his hands. In spite of herself, Jenn grinned when she saw him. What he was wearing made any other reaction impossible. He had on a wet suit, underwater goggles, a snorkel, and hiking boots.
“Holy crap,” she said when he joined them. He handed Becca one of the paper cups and offered the other to Jenn. She took it. “What are you supposed to be? And what the aitch are you doing here anyway?”
“Posters said anyone could come,” Squat told her. “Me and Becca decided we were part of anyone. We didn’t communicate about the costume part though. She’s showing remarkable forbearance in being seen with me.”
“Geez, Squat. Aren’t you hot in that get-up?”
He grinned. Then he leered at her in that old Squat way. “Do you think so? I did. Thanks.”
They laughed together. Becca joined them in the laughter although she looked sad around her eyes. Jenn said, “I already said this to Becca, but I know I got to say it to you, too. I’m sorry, Squat. I’ve been treating you bad.”
He shrugged. “Believe me, that’s nothing new. Anyway, I mouthed off a bunch. I’m sorry, too.”
“Friends, then? Like me and Becca?”
He looked from her to Becca and back again. “Works for me,” he said. And then he added to Becca, “You care if I . . . ?” and nodded at Jenn.
Becca, in that way of hers, seemed to know exactly what he meant. “Go for it,” she said. “I want to look closer at the steam punk train.”
She went off to do so, leaving Squat and Jenn alone. Squat glanced in the direction of the DJ, where Cynthia and Lexie had begun to dance. He said to Jenn, “You want to dance? I mean, I guess I’m the wrong sex, but we could always pretend.”
“Pretend what exactly?” Jenn asked him curiously.
He seemed to think about this before he replied. “Whatever you want,” he said.
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