“I’m sorry.”
“Screw him. He works at the Gap. We were supposed to go out tonight, and now he says he has to work till ten, then wants to hang out with his bros after. I’ve had it, so I dumped him.”
Elizabeth started to point out that he shouldn’t be penalized for honoring his obligations, but Julie kept talking—and it occurred to Elizabeth that the other girl hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to her since they’d known each other.
“So I’m going over to Tiffany’s, see if she wants to hang, because now I’ve got no boyfriend for the summer. It sucks. I guess you hang out with college guys.” Julie gave her a considering look. “Go to frat parties, keggers, all that.”
“I … There are a lot of men at Harvard.”
“Harvard.” Julie rolled her eyes. “Any of them in Chicago for the summer?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“A college guy, that’s what I need. Who wants some loser who works at the mall? I need somebody who knows how to have fun, who can take me places, buy alcohol. Good luck with that, unless you can get into the clubs. That’s where they hang out. Just need to score some fake ID.”
“I can do that.” The instant the words were out, Elizabeth wondered where they’d come from. But Julie gripped her arm, smiled at her as if they were friends.
“No bull?”
“No. That is, it’s not very difficult to create false identification with the right tools. A template, photo, laminate, a computer with Photoshop.”
“Brain trust. What’ll it take for you to make me a driver’s license that’ll get me into a club?”
“As I said, a template—”
“No, Jesus. What do you want for it?”
“I …” Bargaining, Elizabeth realized. A barter. “I need to buy some clothes, but I don’t know what I should buy. I need someone to help me.”
“A shopping buddy?”
“Yes. Someone who knows. You know.”
Eyes no longer sulky, voice no longer bored, Julie simply beamed. “That’s my brain trust. And if I help you pick out some outfits, you’ll make me up the ID?”
“Yes. And I’d also want to go with you to the club. So I’d need the right clothes for that, too.”
“You? Clubbing? More than your hair’s changed, Liz.”
Liz. She was Liz. “I’d need a photo, and it will take a little while to construct the IDs. I could have them done tomorrow. What club would we go to?”
“Might as well go for the hottest club in town. Warehouse 12. Brad Pitt went there when he was in town.”
“Do you know him?”
“I wish. Okay, let’s go shopping.”
It made her dizzy, not just the way Julie piloted her into a store, snatched up clothes with only the most cursory study. But the idea of it all. A shopping buddy. Not someone who preselected what was deemed appropriate and expected her to assent. Someone who grabbed at random and talked about looking hot, or cool, even sexy.
No one had ever suggested to Elizabeth that she might look sexy.
She closed herself in the dressing room with the forest of color, the sparkle of spangles, the glint of metallic, and had to put her head between her knees.
It was all happening so fast. It was like being caught in a tsunami. The surge just swept her away.
Her fingers trembled as she undressed, as she carefully folded her clothes, then stared at all the pieces hanging in the tiny room.
What did she put on? What went with what? How did she know?
“I found the most awesome dress!” Without even a knock, Julie barged right in. Instinctively, Elizabeth crossed an arm over her breasts.
“Haven’t you tried anything on yet?”
“I wasn’t sure where to start.”
“Start with awesome.” Julie shoved the dress at her.
But really, at its length it was more of a tunic, Elizabeth thought, and in a screaming red, ruched along the sides. Its razor-thin straps sparkling with silver.
“What do you wear with it?”
“Killer shoes. No, lose the bra first. You can’t wear a bra with that dress. You’ve got a really good body,” Julie observed.
“I’m genetically predisposed, and maintain fitness and health through regular daily exercise.”
“Get you.”
And the naked—or nearly—human body was natural, Elizabeth reminded herself. Just skin, muscle, bone, nerve.
She laid her bra on her folded clothes, then shimmied into the dress.
“It’s very short,” she began.
“You’re going to want to ditch those Mom panties and buy a thong. That is definitely club-worthy.”
Elizabeth took a breath, turned to the triple mirror. “Oh.”
Who was that? Who was that girl in the short red dress?
“I look …”
“Awesome,” Julie declared, and Elizabeth watched a smile bloom on her own face.
“Awesome.”
She bought the dress, and two others. And skirts. She bought tops that rode above her waist, pants that rode below it. She bought thongs. And she rode that tsunami to shoes with silver heels she’d have to practice walking in.
And she laughed, like any ordinary girl shopping with a friend at the mall.
She bought a digital camera, then watched Julie make up her face in the bathroom. She took Julie’s picture, and several backups against the pale gray of the stall door.
“That’s going to work?”
“Yes, I can make it work. How old should you be? I think it’s best if we stay as close as possible to the legal age. I can use everything from your valid driver’s license and just change the year.”
“Have you done this before?”
“I’ve experimented. I’ve read and studied identity fraud, cyber crimes. It’s interesting. I’d like to …”
“Like to what?”
“I’d like to study computer crimes and prevention, investigation, more seriously. I’d like to join the FBI.”
“No bull? Like Dana Scully.”
“I don’t know her.”
“X-Files, Liz. Don’t you watch TV?”
“My viewing of popular and commercial television is limited to an hour a week.”
Julie rolled her big, chocolate eyes. “What are you, six? Jesus Christ.”
“My mother has very definite opinions.”
“You’re in college, for God’s sake. Watch what you want. Anyway, I’ll come to your place tomorrow night. Say nine? We’ll take a cab from there. But I want you to call me when you finish the ID, okay?”
“Yes.”
“I tell you what, breaking up with Darryl was the best thing I ever did. Otherwise, I’d’ve missed all this. We’re going to party, Liz.” Laughing, Julie did a quick, hip-swiveling dance right there in the ladies’ room. “Big time. I’ve gotta go. Nine o’clock. Don’t let me down.”
“No. I won’t.”
Flushed from the day, Elizabeth hauled all the bags to her car. She knew what girls in the mall talked about now.
Boys. Doing it. Julie and Darryl had done it. Clothes. Music. She had a mental list of artists she needed to research. Television and movie actors. Other girls. What other girls wore. Who other girls had done it with. And back to boys.
She understood the discussions and topics were a societal and generational trope. But it was one she’d been shut out of until today.
And she thought Julie liked her, at least a little. Maybe they’d start to hang out. Maybe she’d hang out with Julie’s friend Tiffany, too—who’d done it with Mike Dauber when he’d come home on spring break.
She knew Mike Dauber, or she’d had a class with him. And he’d passed her a note once. Or he’d passed her a note to pass to someone else, but that was something. It was contact.
At home, she laid all the bags on her bed.
She’d put everything away in plain sight this time. And she’d remove everything she didn’t like—which was nearly all she owned—and box it up for charity. And she’d watch The X-Files if she wanted to, and listen to Christina Aguilera and ’N Sync and Destiny’s Child.