The Rest of the Story(48)

“That’s harder,” I pointed out. “At least I had her for a little while.”

“Or, easier,” he countered. “You can’t miss what you never had.”

I looked out the window at Mimi’s Toyota, parked where I’d left it, in the perfect center of a space, no cars anywhere nearby. “I guess everyone’s afraid of something.”

“Yeah.” He was quiet for a minute. “With me, it’s clowns.”

“Shut up,” I said, hitting him.

“What? I thought we were having a moment.”

“You,” I said, “are not really afraid of clowns.”

“I am. And before you mock, I’ll remind you that clowns are much more avoidable than driving.”

“Not if you work at the circus.”

“Joke’s on you. That’s my fifth job.”

We looked at each other, slightly breathless. Then, together, we cracked up, the sound amplified by all the metal surfaces around us. I laughed until I cried, harder than I had in years. Or maybe ever. There was something almost primal about it, this moment of near hysteria with a boy I’d just met and yet, again, felt like I knew.

It was hard to stop, taking some deep breaths, not making eye contact with Roo, and throwing away my mostly melted Choco-wich to get calmed down. Even then I was still sputtering a bit. “I should go,” I said finally. “I’m not going to find a dress store within walking distance standing here in the Yum truck.”

“You’re not going to find one, period,” he replied as I turned and started toward the seats up front. “Bly Corners is pretty much the only option.”

I sighed as he reached around me, sliding the door open. Immediately, I felt the heat of the day, bouncing off the asphalt and thick with humidity, smack me in the face. “What’s your real fifth job?”

“What if I said it was driving instructor?”

I just looked at him. “I’d say you were full of crap.”

“And you would be right.” He grinned, shutting the door with a bang. “It’s actually landscaping with my uncle. That said, I would be happy to ride along with you for moral support, if you want. I’m told I have a very calming presence.”

“Just as long as we don’t see any clowns.”

“Well, obviously,” he said. “Then you’re on your own.”

I snorted, then looked over at Mimi’s car again, remembering how happy she’d been waving at me as she left.

“How about this,” I said. “You drive my car. I’ll watch out for people in face paint wearing big shoes and spraying water bottles.”

“How about this,” he countered. “I drive there. You drive back. And we don’t talk about the other thing.”

“Clowns?”

“Watch it,” he warned me. “You want to drive both ways?”

“Nope.” I grabbed the keys, holding them out to him. “Let’s go.”





Twelve


“I love it when boyfriends come to help pick out for formals,” the salesgirl said with a sigh as I turned sideways in front of the mirror, trying to decide if I liked the long black sheath I had on. “It’s the cutest.”

I knew I should tell her that Roo, who was standing nearby examining a leather cuff with a quizzical expression, was not my boyfriend. That he was just being nice—“What’s not to like?” I heard Hannah say, in my head—tagging along, not to mention driving me, at least halfway. But for some reason, I didn’t correct her. He didn’t, either. I couldn’t help but notice.

“What’s your feeling on feathers?” he asked me.

“Opposed,” I replied. “Unless it’s on a bird, in which case, fine. Why?”

“I’m intrigued by these shoes,” he said, gesturing to a pair of green sandals that had, yes, feathers woven into the straps. “Do people really wear stuff like this?”

“Sure!” the salesgirl, a skinny redhead in a too-short minidress, said as she hurried over. “That’s part of our new Femme Tropicale line. It’s all about being uninhibited and wild.”

Roo looked into the mirror he was facing, right at me. “Hear that? Uninhibited and wild.”

“Sounds exactly like Club Prom,” I said. “Grab them before someone else does.”

“What’s your size?” the girl asked me.

“She’s kidding,” Roo told her.

“What?” She looked at me, confused. “You don’t want the shoes?”

“No,” I said, narrowing my eyes at my reflection again. “Or this dress, actually.”

“Good call,” Roo said. “I didn’t want to say anything, but you kind of look like the Grim Reaper.”

“You think I literally look like death, and you weren’t going to mention it?” I said.

“Well,” he replied. “Yeah. I mean, what’s with the cape?”

“It’s not a cape, actually,” the girl told him cheerfully. “It’s a detachable midi top to add flow to the piece.”

I faced the mirror again, and they both looked at me. Roo said, “Looks like a cape.”

I sighed. “This is, like, the millionth dress I’ve tried.”