Invaded (Alienated, #2)(79)
“E can’t make it,” Tori said over the hum of the engine. “But he says hi and he hopes you change your mind about living among the L’osers.”
Cara ignored the argument bait, relieved that Eric couldn’t join them. She didn’t harbor any residual feelings for her ex, but it was still awkward seeing him with her best friend. “Tell him I said hey.”
“Tell him yourself tonight at Jared Lee’s kegger.”
Cara slid her best friend a skeptical look.
“Come on,” Tori pressed. “We’ll say you’re staying with me, and we’ll crash in Jared’s basement. That way nobody has to drive.”
In other words, they could get wasted. The prospect of chugging warm, watered-down beer to the point of sloppy-drunken oblivion had never appealed to Cara. What was the point? To feel buzzed for a few hours until the hangover set in? “I’ll pass. It would be a security nightmare, anyway.”
“Talk to me.” Tori delivered a light nudge. “You sounded like death when you called, and now you’re saying no to a party. What’s wrong?”
Cara blew out a breath and hoped she could hold the tears inside. She didn’t even know if Tori would understand.
“It’s the A-licker, right?” Tori pointed at Cara’s sweatpants and ratty garden clogs. “This has ‘broken heart’ written all over it.”
“We had a fight.”
“Everyone fights. It’s a good thing. It means you’ve got fire.”
Cara shook her head. “Not that kind of fight. I don’t think we can come back from this. It’s too—” Her throat swelled with grief until it choked her next words. All she could manage was a whisper. “It’s over.”
She expected Tori to say “good riddance” in her own colorful way, but that’s not what happened. Instead, Tori took one hand off the wheel to clasp Cara’s palm. She gave it a tight squeeze and promised, “You’ll feel better after a new pair of jeans and a triple fudge meltdown. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll watch Magic Mike.”
Cara laughed as tears welled in her eyes. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“How about some trashy gossip?” Tori said. “You’ll feel like a million bucks compared to the train wrecks at Midtown High.”
As they made their way onto the interstate, Tori filled in Cara on what she’d missed since last winter: Brandi Greene got caught drinking Boone’s Farm at a school dance and was thus banned from prom. Murphy Finn was banging four freshmen, but none of the girls knew about one another because they attended different schools. Principal Ferguson busted the band teacher smoking weed in the back of a school bus. The stories kept coming, but Cara didn’t feel like five bucks, let alone a million. If anything, the gossip added to the heaviness inside her, though she couldn’t figure out why.
They pulled into the mall parking lot, and Troy explained how the security detail would operate. He’d stay by Cara’s side at all times, except in the dressing rooms, and the plain-clothes soldiers would scout each store before she was allowed to enter. If anyone recognized her, the group would have to leave right away because the unit wasn’t large enough to handle a mob. Fortunately, Cara had kept her arrival date vague, so nobody knew she was here.
“Let’s start at Neiman’s,” Tori said, her high heels clicking against the asphalt. “So you can help me pick a prom dress.”
Cara pressed a hand to her heart. “I forgot all about prom.” The image of frilly dresses brought a smile to her lips. Maybe she’d try one on, just for fun. An eager bounce lightened her steps as she tugged open the door to her old stomping grounds, but the vibrating wall of noise that greeted her on the other side had her twitching to run back to the car.
Holy sensation overload.
An indistinct pop tune blared through the ceiling speakers, competing with the throbbing bass of club music that wafted from the entrance to Hot Topic. With spring break in full swing, every teen in the county was here, each one laughing and shouting over the din while their fingers flew across their cell phone screens. The cloying scent of perfume leaked from the doors of Hollister in clouds so thick it forced Cara to cover her nose, and when she breathed through her mouth, the residue seeped inside to coat her tongue. How could anyone stand to go in there? Or any other store, for that matter? The shops were teeming with people rudely nudging one another aside as if their lives depended on scoring this season’s trendiest belt.
The scene inside Neiman Marcus was marginally calmer, but Cara had to keep reminding herself to unclench her jaw. So much for a leisurely day of shopping. Leaning toward her brother, she said, “Can you have someone bring me a bunch of jeans while Tori’s trying on prom dresses? We’ll finish quicker if we multitask.”
Troy didn’t need further convincing. “What size?”
“Somewhere between a four and a six, I guess.”
He used his phone to tap a text message. “I told him to grab a few shirts, too.”
“Good thinking.”
She scurried to keep pace with Tori, whose mahogany eyes locked on to the formal wear department with the single-minded determination of a girl with a raging case of Prom Fever.
“Puta madre,” Tori breathed, gravitating as if entranced toward a backless ivory gown with a side slit cut clear to the hip. With its satiny fabric and barely there straps, it looked more like lingerie than a dress. Tori reached out with reverent fingers and held the gown in front of her. “What do you think?”