Taylah wagged a finger at her. “Salad until after the formal,” she said.
“You’re right,” Molly groaned. “Is coffee allowed?”
“Skim milk, no sugar.”
By the time I got home my despondency was hard to disguise. The shopping expedition had failed to deliver, and I didn’t know where I was going to find a dress. I’d scoured the shops in Venus Cove weeks ago and all that remained were a couple of thrift stores.
“No luck?” Ivy didn’t sound surprised. “Did you have fun at least?”
“Not really. It was a waste of time. There are only so many dresses you can try on before they all start to look the same.”
“Don’t worry — you’ll find something. There’s still plenty of time.”
“It won’t make any difference; what I want just isn’t out there. I shouldn’t even bother going.”
“Come on now,” said Ivy. “You can’t do that to Xavier. I have an idea. Why don’t you tell me the kind of dress you’ve got in mind and I can make it for you.”
“I can’t ask you to do that! You have more important things to think about.”
“I’d like to do this for you,” said Ivy. “Besides, it won’t take me long, and you know I can make exactly what you want.”
I knew she was right. Ivy could become a skilled seamstress in a matter of hours. There was nothing she and Gabriel couldn’t do if they had a mind to.
“Why don’t we spend some time this afternoon going through magazines and see if there’s anything you like?” Ivy asked.
“I don’t need a magazine. I can picture it in my head.”
My sister smiled. “Okay, then close your eyes and send it to me.”
I shut my eyes and imagined the night of the prom. I saw Xavier and me standing arm in arm under a canopy of fairy lights. He was wearing a tux and smelled fresh and sharp. A shock of hair fell across his eyes. I stood beside him, and in my mind’s eye I saw the dress of my dreams. It was a shimmering ivory gown with an undergarment of soft cream silk and an overlay of antique lace. The bodice was studded with pearls and a row of satin buttons lined the fitted sleeves. It had a scalloped neckline with an intricate gold trim of tiny rosebuds. The material seemed to be woven with little fragments of light and emitted a faint pearly glow. On my feet I wore the daintiest, beaded satin slippers.
I looked at Ivy sheepishly. It wasn’t exactly the simplest of requests.
“Piece of cake,” said my sister. “I can whip that up in no time.”
At lunchtime on Monday I sat alone in the cafeteria. Xavier was at water-polo practice, and Molly and the girls were on the prom committee and had a meeting of their own to discuss the final decorations and seating arrangements. As I sat and picked at my wilted lettuce, people looked at me curiously, probably surprised to see me unaccompanied, but I hardly noticed them. As usual, Xavier occupied my thoughts, even more so when we were physically separated. When I found myself calculating how many more minutes needed to pass before I could see him again, I decided I should be making better use of my time and headed for the library. The senior library was the one space where solitary activity was considered acceptable. I planned to use the rest of the lunch break looking up the causes of the French Revolution.
I had just grabbed my books from my locker and was taking the short cut across a narrow walkway when a voice called out from behind me.
“Hello there.”
I turned to see Jake Thorn leaning against a brick wall, his arms folded across his chest. His dark hair framed his pallid face, and his lips were curled in a sardonic smile. He now wore the Bryce Hamilton uniform but with a distinctive style of his own: He was tieless and the collar of his shirt was turned up. Instead of a blazer he wore a hooded gray windbreaker. His trousers hung loosely from narrow hips and he was wearing white oxfords instead of the regulation school shoes. I noticed for the first time that he wore a diamond stud in his left ear as well as the mysterious pendant around his neck. He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew a ring of smoke into the air.
“You shouldn’t smoke here,” I cautioned, wondering how anyone could so openly flout the school rules. “You’ll get into trouble.”
“Will I?” Jake feigned concern. “This happens to be known as smokers’ corner.”
“There are still teachers on duty.”
“I’ve noticed they never come this far — they sort of hover near the staff-room steps counting the minutes until they can get back to their coffee and crosswords.”
“I think you’d better put that out before someone notices,” I said.
“If you say so,” Jake replied.
He crushed the butt under the heel of his shoe then kicked it into a garden bed just as Miss Kratz, the ancient and crabby librarian, scuttled past, eyeing us both suspiciously.
“Thank you, Beth,” he said when she was out of earshot. “I think you just saved my skin.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, flushing at his dramatic expression of gratitude. “It’s hard when you don’t know the ropes. You must have had a lot of freedom at your old school.”
“Let’s just say I took some risks. Some didn’t pay off — hence my exile here. You know, the ancient Romans preferred death to exile. At least mine isn’t permanent.”
“How long are you staying?”
“As long as it takes for my character to be reformed.”
I laughed. “Is there much chance of that?”
“I’d say there was every chance given the right influence,” said Jake meaningfully. He narrowed his eyes suddenly as though something had just occurred to him. “I don’t often see you alone. Where’s that smothering Prince Charming of yours? Not sick, I hope.”
“Xavier is at practice,” I said quickly.
“Ah, sports — the invention of pedagogues in an attempt to keep raging hormones in check.”
“Sorry?”
“Never mind.” Jake rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Tell me, I know your boyfriend is an athlete, but is he any good at poetry?”
“Xavier’s good at most things,” I boasted.
“Really? How lucky for you,” Jake said, arching an eyebrow.
His behavior was confusing me, but I certainly wasn’t going to make him aware of that. I decided the safest thing to do was change the subject. “So where are you staying?” I asked. “Close to school?”
“At the moment I’m living in the rooms above the tattoo parlor,” said Jake. “Until more permanent accommodation can be organized.”
“I thought you’d be with a host family,” I said in surprise.
“Well, that would be like staying with boring relatives, wouldn’t it? I prefer my own company.”
“And your parents are okay with that?” I was uncomfortable with the idea of him living on his own. Even though he sounded mature and worldly, he was still a teenager.
“I’ll tell you all about my parents if you tell me about yours.” His dark eyes burned into mine like lasers. “I suspect we have a lot more in common than we realize. By the way, what are you doing Sunday morning? I thought we might work on our masterpiece.”
“I have church on Sunday.”
“Of course you do.”
“You’re welcome to come along.”
“Thanks, but I’m allergic to incense.”
“That’s a shame.”
“It’s the bane of my existence.”
“Well, I have to go and study,” I said, moving past him, aware of the minutes slipping by.
He stepped casually in front of me. “Before you go, I have the opening line of our poem.”
He dug a crumpled ball of paper from his pocket and tossed it lightly to me. “Don’t be too hard on me — it’s only a beginning. We can take it anywhere you like from here.”
He flashed me a smile and sauntered away. I moved over to the closest bench and smoothed out the paper. Jake’s handwriting was elegant and narrow, the letters elongated; nothing like Xavier’s boyish print. Xavier hated cursive; it took too long and looked too fancy. Jake’s writing was like calligraphy, the letters swirled across the page as though they were dancing. But it was the seven words he had written that sent my mind into a spin: