The Best Laid Plans(82)
TWENTY-NINE
IT TURNS OUT the only thing worse than getting ready for prom is getting ready for prom alone. Hannah and I were supposed to get dressed together, but she ignored me earlier when I texted to go over details, so I guess we’re not talking.
I’m standing in front of the mirror with an eyelash curler, staring at it like it’s a weapon of torture. The events from last night keep flashing through my head like some twisted movie reel of my greatest mistakes—playing spin the bottle, taking a bath with Andrew, fighting with Hannah. I know I said some messed-up things to her about Charlie, but I can’t remember them. I can only remember the way the color drained from her face, the sick feeling in my stomach when she told me I was delusional. When she told me I was in love with Andrew.
I push everything from my mind and try my luck with the eyelash curler. I know I should have texted Danielle or Ava—someone would have taken me under her wing for today, but Hannah is probably with them. Besides, I can’t handle watching Danielle get ready, listening to her excited chatter about her stupid night with Andrew. But as I wrangle with the eyelash curler and all the rest of it, I wish more than ever I had Hannah here to fairy-godmother me; that I hadn’t pushed her away.
My mom swoops in to save me. I never realized she actually knew how to do any of this because she’s always so dressed down and mellow. But maybe part of being a woman is learning how to put on this armor. She paints my lips a dark red, sweeps my hair to one side, soft waves down my back. Hannah made me buy the green dress from the mall, and I guess it doesn’t look as ridiculous as I thought. When I check the mirror, I don’t even recognize myself. For the first time, I think I understand what Dean sees in me.
“You look beautiful,” my mom says when she’s all done. And I smile, because I actually agree.
Dean said he would meet me at the lake, so my parents drive me there for pictures. I ask them to stay in the car, but I know they won’t. This is probably even more meaningful to them than it is to me. My mom needs these pictures for when I’m in California.
When we get there, everyone is standing around in little groups, giddy with excitement and nerves. I scan the parking lot for Dean, but I don’t see him, and I’m struck by the horrible thought that maybe he won’t show up. I can feel all of my earlier confidence fading away as I look around, searching for somebody to stand with so I’m not the girl all alone with her parents. I wish for the millionth time that I hadn’t pushed Hannah away last night because more than anything I want her here with me. I want to tell her I’m sorry, to ask her about Charlie and make sure she’s okay.
“Oh, there’s Diane and Robert,” my mom says, pointing toward where Andrew’s parents are standing. “Let’s go say hi.”
I try to dig my heels into the ground to keep her from dragging me over there, because the thought of seeing Andrew after last night is excruciating. When I do see him, standing with his parents, my breath catches. He’s in a navy blue suit, his hair combed flat to his head. I miss the way it usually flops down into his eyes. He spins around and puts a leg up on the fence post for a silly picture and I hear his mom’s voice as we approach.
“Can’t we at least get one serious picture?”
“Mom,” he says. “Just wait until Danielle gets here.” At the mention of her name, I feel something sharp in my chest.
“I just want one nice picture of my son in a suit,” she says. He shakes his head, laughing as she snaps furiously with the camera. And then he turns and looks right at me and I stop walking, like I’ve run into an invisible brick wall. The smile is frozen on his face, his eyes are dancing, and they’re so green, and I can’t help but think back to last night when there were drops of water in his eyelashes like morning dew on grass. My parents keep walking, meeting up with his, greeting each other with hugs and handshakes, but I’m barely registering it because I can’t move, can’t stop looking at him, can’t breathe. All I can think about, looking into his eyes, is how badly I want to kiss him. I want to be right back in that bathtub, his skin slick against mine, his hands threading through my hair, pulling me tight against him, so tight that it’s like we’re made out of the same particles.
And I realize Hannah is right. Hannah is so, so right, has always been right. I’m in love with him.
But I don’t want to be just like Cecilia, just like so many other girls who fell for him the same way and were tossed aside. I don’t want to just be the girl he made out with in a bathtub at a party after too many margaritas, the girl who fell for his stupid lines even though she knew better. Because I’m not in love with Party Andrew. I’m just in love with Andrew. My best friend.
But that doesn’t make it any easier.
He must realize I’m having trouble moving, because he walks toward me, closing the distance between us.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” I say, suddenly shy.
“You look . . .” he says, but then doesn’t finish the sentence. I want him to say that I’m beautiful, but I know if he does it’ll just be another line.
“Thanks,” I say instead, like he already has.
“We need a picture of you two for the fridge!” My mom waves her camera. “Get together.” Our parents surge forward and push us into each other, smoothing down the waves in my hair, picking imaginary lint off his suit jacket so that we look perfect.