Yes. But I didn’t say that. I just added “immature” to my mental list and said, “Would you mind turning off the light on your way out? I’ve got to get up early in the morning.”
She sighed and left.
So Mom gave me a concerned-parent pep talk as I ate my oatmeal about how she was disappointed in Jane’s choices, but if it hadn’t been Jane, it would have been someone else. Dating had its ups and downs. After all, at this point in my life I wasn’t looking for a future husband. I should be dating for fun, to learn about relationships, to see what kind of qualities I liked in a guy. I would go through many more boyfriends before I found the right one.
Which, I can tell you, is not what you want to say to your daughter when you are trying to cheer her up. I wanted to say, “Really? You mean I get to feel like the bottom of my stomach has been manually ripped out with each relationship I go through? I can hardly wait to get back to the dating market.” But of course I didn’t say that because none of this was my mother’s fault, unless you count the fact that she gave birth to Jane.
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Besides, I’d finished crying about it when I’d finished my last Oreo skyscraper. As Dad would say, I’d taken my losses, now I needed to regroup, rethink, and plan the next offensive. Which in this case involved getting someone even cooler to ask me to prom in order to show Hunter and Jane that I didn’t need or care about them.
I nodded at Mom. “I’m fine. Really.” She reached over and patted my hand. “I know you will be. Just remember, boys come and go. Sisters are forever.”
Jane swept into the room, walking by the kitchen table and scanning the counters. “Has anyone seen my chemistry folder? I left it on the coffee table and now it’s gone.”
I picked up my glass of milk and took a slow sip.
“Nope.”
She hurried out of the room, mumbling.
I ate my oatmeal. Mom watched me in silence. Finally she said, “Maybe after school the two of us can go out and do something. Would you like that?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
Jane came back into the room, this time with her hands on her hips. “My brown shoes are gone too. They were in my closet last night and now they’re not. What happened to them?”
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I took the last bite of my oatmeal and shrugged.
“Don’t know.”
She pulled her gaze from me and turned to Mom. “If I can’t find my brown shoes, I’m going to have to change my entire outfit. They’re the only shoes that match these pants.”
I stood up to take my bowl to the sink. “Don’t be too long. You know how Hunter hates to wait.” Then I left the room.
Okay, so it was slightly evil to hide her stuff, but considering all of the things I could have done, I figured she got off easy.
Chapter 2
For the next week, I ignored Jane and Hunter the best I could and flirted with everyone on my possible-prom-dates-who-are-way-cooler-than-Hunter list.
I
had
thought attention from any of these guys would fill the hole that had been blasted in me when Hunter dumped me, but it only made things worse. One by one, they all asked other people to the dance.
On Saturday morning, Hunter came over to pick up Jane for some sort of date. I wasn’t sure of the details since I wasn’t on speaking terms with either of them anymore. The two of them discussed something in low voices in the living room, darting glances in my direction. I lay on the couch flipping through a magazine and trying to ignore them. This went on for a couple of minutes until finally Jane walked up to me. Hunter reluctantly trailed her. She nudged him and he spoke, “So, um, you know Tristan Hawkins from track?” I did know him, if you counted the three or four times we’d spoken over the last two years as knowing someone. He was the quiet type that just sort of faded into the background most of the time. True, he wasn’t bad looking, in a choir-boy sort of way. He had nice 48/431
features and pretty blue eyes. But he looked more like a freshman than a senior.
He probably would have been completely overlooked in high school if he wasn’t an extremely fast runner. This skill may have been acquired by running away from bullies during junior high. But at any rate, the track coach loved him.
I nodded, pretending it didn’t feel like swallowing splinters to look at Hunter.
“Well, I was talking to him the other day and he mentioned he wasn’t going to prom, but you know, he’d like to. And I told him you weren’t going with anyone—” I propped myself into sitting position. “Wait a minute, are you telling me you’re trying to set me up with Tristan?”
Jane and Hunter exchanged a glance. She said, “Well, you already have a dress and it would be a shame not to wear it.”
I glared at her.
“You’d have a fun time,” she went on. “And he’s smart so he could help you study for your finals.” This was how she was going to make up for stealing my boyfriend? She wanted to set me up with another guy—and not even a guy like Hunter, but a guy like Tristan? I stood up and tossed my magazine on the couch. “I don’t believe the two of you. Now you’re 49/431
throwing boys at me like they’re some sort of consola-tion prize.” I stalked up the stairs to my bedroom, but still heard traces of their conversation behind me.
“I knew she wouldn’t go for it,” Hunter said.
Jane let out a sigh. “She’ll probably go hide some more of my stuff.”
Hunter said, “Well, I guess it’s in Tristan’s hands now.”
Oh, I was so going to avoid Tristan from now on. I mean, the only thing worse than not going to prom was going to prom with the pity date your ex-boyfriend set up for you.
• • •
That afternoon Emily and I drove to a swim party together. Alix Lorie, one of the senior track girls, was having an end-of-the-season party. Her parents had rented out her country club’s pool, so the invitation was for the track team and whatever friends they wanted to bring along. Half the school would be there. As Emily drove I fingered my track bag. It held the new turquoise bikini I’d bought specifically for the party. Since we were twenty-two days away from P-day, I knew this might be one of my last chances to remind the guys on my 50/431
possible-prom-dates list that I existed. And apparently I needed all the help I could get.
The problem was that I’d never worn a bikini before.
My dad doesn’t allow them. He thinks even one-pieces show too much skin and constantly suggests that Jane and I wear wet suits. The bikini had seemed like a good idea when I’d been out trying to shop away my feelings of rejection. Jane may have told me I was too immature for Hunter, but the mirror begged to differ. Now driving to the club, I had second thoughts. Maybe I just wasn’t a bikini type of girl. Besides, Jane might be there with Hunter. What if she told my parents what I’d done?
How upset would my father be?
Emily pulled into the club’s parking lot and I got out of the car. It was too late to turn back. We walked into the women’s dressing room and changed. I took out my contacts so I wouldn’t lose them while I swam and put them with the rest of the things in my track bag. Then I reminded Emily she’d have to point out the cute upper-classmen to me. Without my contacts, I can’t recognize faces more than a couple of feet away.
I hesitated before leaving the dressing room. The smell of chlorine and sunscreen wafted toward me. It was the smell of possibility—both good and bad.
Emily had to take my arm and pull me out. “Come on,” she said. “You’re here to get noticed.” As we walked 51/431
to the pool chairs she gave me a rundown as to who the blurry figures around the pool were, emphasizing the eligible blurs. “James Dashner is by the diving board, Bill Gardner is next to him in the red swim trunks—oh, and Hunter and Jane are directly across the pool. Jane is staring at you and shaking her head.” I lifted my chin and refused to care.