The Mother-Daughter Book Club

  “No kidding,” says Courtney, fingering the fabric of my sheath. “I’d pay good money for either one.”

  “Really?” I reply.

  “Absolutely. Do you think you could design something for me for junior prom?”

  I look over at my mother. She shrugs, then nods. “Okay, I guess,” she says, but there’s little enthusiasm in her voice. My happiness deflates a little. My mother is still hoping I’ll turn into Super Megan and go to Colonial Academy and MIT and Harvard, but I think she’s beginning to realize it’s a lost cause. At least she’s shut up about that stupid science-and-math camp. Still, I wish she could be proud of me for who I am, instead of worrying about who I’m not.

  “Don’t you girls look glamorous!” Mr. Hawthorne exclaims, snapping a picture.

  “Not yet!” Mrs. Sloane protests. “I haven’t finished everyone’s makeup! I’ve only gotten to Emma so far.”

  “Speaking of my darling daughter, where is she?” asks Mrs. Hawthorne, glancing at her watch. “You girls don’t want to be late.”

  “She’s still getting changed,” I tell her.

  “Makeup?” says Mr. Delaney, rummaging through the box from Jess’s mom with a worried expression. “Don’t you think the natural look is best for girls their age?”

  “Absolutely,” agrees my mother, of course.

  “Oh, a little blush and mascara never hurt anybody,” says Cassidy’s mother, waving their concerns away with a flick of her supermodel hand. A hand whose nails are now sporting a particularly scrumptious shade of red called “Hello, Gorgeous!”

  Mr. Delaney plucks out a small cylinder and his forehead puckers anxiously. “You’re not planning on letting them wear lipstick, though, right?”

  “It’s just gloss, Dad,” says Jess, twirling happily.

  Mrs. Hawthorne watches her. Then she looks over at me and Cassidy. She cocks her head and studies our hems, which are just above our knees. She frowns. “Isn’t this a formal dance?” she asks.

  “No, Phoebe,” says my mother. “Didn’t you get the flyer from school?”

  “If it came, I didn’t notice,” Mrs. Hawthorne says. “I’ve been swamped at work. I’m tussling with Calliope and the library board over moving the teen section out of the children’s room.” She sighs. “Oh, dear, Emma is not going to be happy.”

  The door opens and Emma walks in. She’s wearing a floor-length yellow gown with cap sleeves and a scoop neck with embroidery around it. I recognize it instantly. Nicole Patterson wore it last summer when she was a bridesmaid in her cousin’s wedding. Emma stares at Cassidy and Jess and me, stricken.

  “My dress is all wrong!” she wails. “Mom, you said this was a formal!”

  A guilty look creeps across Mrs. Hawthorne’s face. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I guess I was mistaken. But you look beautiful—honest! Doesn’t she, girls?”

  We cluster around to reassure her.

  “You look fine,” Cassidy tells her. “Who cares, anyway?”

  “I care!” wails Emma again. “I’m not going!”

  “Don’t be silly,” says Mrs. Hawthorne. “You’re not going to let a little thing like this stop you.”

  “It’s not a little thing!” cries Emma. “It’s a big thing! It’s my first middle school dance, and I wanted everything to be perfect! And instead I’m stuck wearing one of Nicole Patterson’s hand-me-downs again and it’s all wrong and I’m going to be the laughingstock of the whole school!” She bursts into tears. “I hate being poor!”

  “Give it to me,” I tell her.

  “What?”

  I hold out my hand. “Your dress. Give it to me.”

  “Why?” she sniffles.

  “I’ll fix it for you, nitwit. But I need you to take it off.”

  Emma’s nose is running and so is her mascara. She looks like a raccoon. “Really?” she hiccups. “Do you think you can?”

  I nod.

  “We don’t have much time,” warns Mrs. Sloane.

  Emma ducks into the pantry and shrugs off the dress. I leave her standing there in her slip and race upstairs to the makeshift sewing room. Emma is the same height as me. I still have the measurements for my dress pinned to the bulletin board, and I check them carefully and measure even more carefully, then I take the scissors and trim off the bottom half of the dress. I only hope this works—if it doesn’t, Mrs. Hawthorne will kill me. Not to mention Emma.

  I turn on the sewing machine and sew up the hem, add a ruffle of lace around the bottom, then race back downstairs. “Try this,” I say, thrusting the finished product into the pantry. “But you’re going to have to ditch the slip.”

  Emma emerges a moment later. “How do I look?” she asks.

  “Perfect,” says Mrs. Sloane, beaming. “Absolutely perfect.”

  “Problem solved,” I say smugly.

  “Megan, you’re a wonder,” says Mrs. Hawthorne in admiration. She sees my mother frowning at Emma’s remodeled dress. “Lily, did you know that when Louisa May Alcott was twelve, she started her own business?”

  “Really?” says my mother.

  Mrs. Hawthorne nods. “Yup. She set up shop as a doll’s dressmaker. Hung a sign out, put little mannequins in the window and everything. The other children in her neighborhood paid her to sew clothes for their dolls.”

  “You’re making this up!”

  “I am not.”

  My mother looks at Jess’s dress. Then she looks at mine. Really looks at them this time. “They are quite pretty,” she admits cautiously.

  I throw my arms around her. She looks surprised, but she hugs me back.

  “See?” says Mrs. Sloane. “Fashion isn’t so bad after all. It makes lots of people happy.”

  “It’s time to go,” says Mrs. Hawthorne, pointing to the clock.

  We all kiss our dads good-bye—all of us except Cassidy, that is, who kisses Courtney instead—and pile into the Sloanes’ van with our mothers.

  “Have fun!” says Mrs. Sloane, letting us off at the gymnasium door.

  “Call us on Megan’s cell phone when you’re ready to be picked up!” adds Mrs. Hawthorne.

  “You all look wonderful!” says my mother, and blows me a kiss.

  Feeling self-conscious in our finery and high heels, we teeter into the gym. All except Cassidy, who switched into sneakers in the car when her mother wasn’t looking. She’s as giddy as the rest of us, though. Even Jess, who wasn’t so sure she wanted to go, is all wound up. Our first dance! Almost everyone we know will be here. Unfortunately, that includes Becca and Ashley and Jen. Things have been really uncomfortable since our Patriot’s Day showdown. Becca has been busy saying all sorts of mean things about me behind my back, of course. I cringe now when I remember how I used to do that too. Cassidy says Becca is a moron and anybody with half a brain knows that so who cares what she says? She’s got a point.

  Inside the gym, the music is blasting. There’s a DJ on the stage, and one of those shiny ball things hanging from the ceiling. I spot Zach across the room with Ethan and Third. The boys see us, too, but make no move to come over and ask us to dance.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Mother-Daughter Book Club.” We all turn around. It’s Becca Chadwick, of course. She’s wearing a Kissin’ Kate design. I saw it last time I was at the mall. She eyes my dress. “Didn’t I see that in the window at Miranda’s Garden?” she asks me with a superior smile. Miranda’s Garden is the thrift store where Emma and her mother get most of their clothes.

  Becca’s trying to insult me, as usual. Or as Emma would say, the queen bee is using her stinger.

  “It’s couture,” says Cassidy, putting her hand on her hip and striking a pose worthy of a supermodel’s daughter. “Exclusive label and one-of-a-kind. Very expensive. My mom knows the designer.”

  That shuts Becca up. Ashley and Jen look at me, impressed. “Wow, Megan,” says Ashley. “That’s awesome!”

  “Big deal,” mumbles Becca.

  Cassidy points to Jess. “The same designer made Jess’
s dress too.”

  Becca looks Jess up and down. “Goat Girl in a dress, imagine that,” she says. She leans in and sniffs loudly. “Can’t get away from the barnyard, though, can you?”

  I watch Jess’s face fall. The happiness that had radiated from her at the Sloanes’ drains away, and a hot bubble of indignation wells up inside of me and bursts. “If there’s anyone who stinks around here, it’s you, Becca,” I snap.

  She waves her hand at me dismissively. “Whatever,” she says. “Come on, girls.” As she turns to walk away, Ashley and Jen hesitate. They look at me, confused. Then they shrug and drift off after Becca. I watch them go, wondering how on earth I ever thought they were my friends.

  “Buzz, buzz, buzz!” says Cassidy. “I hope they sting each other to death.”

  Zach sneaks up behind her and clamps his hands over her eyes.

  “Knock it off, Norton,” she says, slapping his hands away.

  He laughs. “Never thought I’d see you in a dress.”

  She glowers at him, and at Ethan and Third, who are hovering a few feet away looking uncomfortable in their slacks and polo shirts. “Take a picture, why don’t you!” she says. “It’ll last longer!”

  The boys laugh, and she picks up the hem of her dress and chases Ethan and Third off toward the refreshment table. The rest of us stand there awkwardly for a moment. Then Zach turns to Jess.

  “Would you care to dance, m’lady?” he asks, using the same formal bow he did when he was Beast in the play last winter.

  In reply, Jess curtsies. As Zach leads her out onto the dance floor, she casts a troubled glance over his shoulder at Emma. Cassidy returns just in time to see Emma run out of the gym.

  “What’s wrong with her?” she mumbles, her mouth full of cake.

  “I guess we’d better find out.”

  We snake our way through the knots of dancers and emerge in the middle school’s main hallway.

  “There she goes!” says Cassidy, pointing to a flash of yellow dissappearing into the girls’ room.

  We hurry after her. Inside, there’s no sign of Emma, but one of the stall doors is closed. Cassidy knocks on it. “Em, are you in there?”

  “Go away,” says Emma.

  “C’mon, Emma, what’s the matter?” I ask her, even though I think I already know the answer.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” she says.

  “Try me.”

  The door opens and a raccoon eye peers out. Emma’s tears have smudged her mascara again. “How could she?” she whispers. “She knows I like him!”

  So do I, I want to say, but don’t. This is not the time for true confessions.

  Cassidy reaches in and hauls Emma out of the stall. She marches her over to the sink, wets some paper towels, and pats her face with them. “This is stupid,” she tells Emma. “It’s just Zach you’re talking about, not some movie star. So what if he’s dancing with Jess?”

  This makes Emma wail harder. “I hate her! I don’t ever want to see her again as long as I live!”

  Cassidy turns to me. “You try.”

  “Emma,” I begin, then stop. What can I tell her? I know exactly how she feels about Zach because I feel the same way. I sigh. “Emma, you’re just being silly and you know it. Jess has been your best friend since kindergarten. She’s not trying to steal Zach away from you.”

  Cassidy nods. “That’s right. Zach feels comfortable around Jess, that’s all. Because they were in the play together. You wouldn’t feel this way if he danced with me, would you?”

  Emma shakes her head, sniffling. “I guess not.”

  “That’s right. Because you know we’re just friends—teammates. Can’t you think of Jess and Zach as teammates?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  The door opens and Jess comes flying through it. “What’s wrong? Where did you guys all go? Is Emma okay?”

  Without thinking I blurt out, “She’s having a Zach attack.”

  This shocks Emma so much she stops crying. She stares at me, horrified. So do Cassidy and Jess. There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, and then Emma lets out a little giggle. “I am, aren’t I?” she says.

  I nod. “Big-time.”

  A great big belly laugh busts out of Cassidy, and that sets us all off. In the midst of the hilarity, the bathroom door swings open and the Fab Three come in.

  “What’s so funny?” Becca demands.

  “You are,” I reply loftily, and we flounce out.

  Back in the gym, the four of us huddle together at the edge of the dance floor. Jess looks over at Emma.

  “Emma, please understand,” she says. “What was I supposed to say when he asked me to dance? I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I know how you feel about Zach, and you’ve got to believe me that I would never, ever—” She pauses, searching for words. “Look, I’ve never told you this because it’s kind of embarrassing, but I don’t even like Zach! Not the way you do. I mean, he’s my friend and everything, but I like Darcy!”

  Emma gapes at her. “My brother?”

  Jess nods. “I thought for sure you knew. He’s so nice all the time, not just to me, but to everybody. And what he did that night at the play for Sundance, well …” She lets the sentence trail off.

  “Maybe we should just have fun, and not worry about boys right now,” says Cassidy.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I agree.

  The music starts up again and Zach drifts over, along with Ethan and Third.

  “Wanna dance, Sloane?” Zach asks.

  Cassidy winks at Emma. “Sure, why not?”

  Ethan asks Jess, leaving Third alone with Emma and me. He looks from one of us to the other in growing panic.

  Then Darcy Hawthorne appears. “Mom told me what you did for Emma,” he says to me. “Fixing her dress, I mean. That was really nice of you. Would you like to dance?”

  I feel very shy all of a sudden. “You don’t have to dance with me because of that,” I tell him.

  He grins. “I’m not,” he says. “That outfit of yours is too pretty for you to stand over here by the wall all night. Besides, I’m trying to keep away from Becca Chadwick.”

  As we move out onto the dance floor, I see Third say something to Emma. She smiles in relief and the two of them head for the refreshment table.

  Nobody quite got what they wanted, I think, as I look around at all my friends. But the end result’s not bad Not bad at all.

  Jess

  “There doesn’t seem to be anything to hold on to when Mother’s gone; so I’m all at sea.”

  The afternoon starts off like it always does.

  I get off the bus, wave to Emma, and pat Sugar, who is, as always, ecstatic to see me. She races me to the house, barking happily and running in excited circles after her tail. The two of us go inside. I grab an apple, then head to my room, where I flip on the TV.

  “Hi, Mom!” I say to the screen. Sugar hops up onto the bed beside me and cocks her head as we both examine my mother’s outfit. Today she’s wearing a red satin dress with sequins, and her dark hair is twisted up into a fancy braid. Soap operas are big on fancy hairdos and sequins. I wonder if my mother likes stuff like that. Most of the time around the farm she just wore her hair tucked up under a baseball cap, and I don’t ever remember her wearing sequins.

  I take a bite of my apple. “School was fine, Mom, thanks for asking,” I say to the screen. Sugar wags her tail. “What? The science test? I aced it.”

  I take another bite of apple and glance out my bedroom window. I can see the blue glow of the TV screen in my dad’s workroom in the barn. He’s watching the show too.

  Dad doesn’t know that I know he watches HeartBeats. A few months ago I noticed that he wasn’t coming in from the barn to greet me the way he used to when I got home from school. I went out to see what he was doing, and at first I got all excited because I heard mom’s voice and I thought she’d finally come home. But when I opened the door to his workroom, it was only the TV.

  Dad didn??
?t see me that day, and I’ve never said a word to him about it. I guess watching the show is just his way of spending a little time with her, same as me. I miss her. A lot. Dylan and Ryan and I went to New York and spent spring break with her, and it was fun and everything—we got to see the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building and the Rockettes and all that New York City stuff—but it’s just not the same as having her here every day. I don’t want to be just a tourist in her new life. I still keep hoping she’ll come home.

  I turn the volume up a little to hear her voice again, and Mom and Sugar keep me company while I whip through my algebra homework, draw a map of Cortés’s voyages for social studies, and read ahead in science to see what we’ll be doing next week (oh, boy, frog dissections!). A puff of breeze blows in my window and tickles the back of my neck. I close my science book and look at Sugar. “It’s way too nice to be stuck inside, isn’t it, girl?”

  Sugar’s ears prick up. She’s hoping I’ll take her for a walk or play catch with her in the back yard, but I have something else in mind. I glance over at the TV screen. HeartBeats is almost over.

  “Bye, Mom!” I say to her. “See you tomorrow.” I blow her a kiss and turn off the TV, not bothering to wait for the credits this time. Then I grab Sugar and a quilt and climb out my window onto the back porch roof. This is my secret hiding place. My little brothers haven’t discovered it yet, thank goodness. If I lie really still when they’re running around the yard, they can’t see me, because the roof is nearly flat and they’re so short.

  I spread the quilt out and Sugar and I lie down on it. It’s not summer-warm yet, just spring-warm, but the black shingles on the roof underneath us have been absorbing heat from the sun all afternoon and the quilt quickly grows toasty. I lie back and close my eyes and take a deep breath. Spring is my favorite time of year, and May is my favorite month. Dad’s been plowing the fields with Led and Zep, and the smell of the freshly-turned earth is sweeter to me than any flower. I can hear the horses nickering to each other in the paddock. They’re huge, but gentle as lambs. Especially Zep. His stall is my other favorite hiding place. This reminds me that I need to muck out both stalls today, plus the goats will need milking soon. I have a lot more chores around here with Mom gone.