What We Saw(28)

“Walking in those shoes?” I ask, hoping to avoid a return to the subject at hand.

Rachel takes a few halting steps forward. “No. I mean, this whole thing at the party.” She stumbles back toward me and steps out of the shoes. “I don’t know Stacey that well anymore. I only know that when you wear sexy clothes, guys get all turned on, and if you’re drunk and they’re drunk, you have to be really careful.”

“Do you?” Lindsey frowns. “There were plenty of girls wearing sexy clothes and drinking that night.”

Rachel glances at me and I can tell she is thinking the same thing I am: We were both drunk, too. This unspoken thought hangs there between us like the funk wafting up from all of these dead people’s clothes. Is the ghost of somebody’s grandma shocked and appalled that we’re discussing this in public? Part of me is.

“I just don’t believe Dooney and Deacon would have sex with a girl who told them no,” Christy says. “They could be with any girl they want. They’re not that stupid.”

“What if she didn’t tell them no because she couldn’t?” Lindsey asks quietly. “What if she was too drunk to say anything?”

Christy shrugs. “And whose fault is that?”

Lindsey opens her mouth to say something else, but before she can, Connie Bonine rushes up behind her, dragging Ben along by the hand.

“Get a load of this!” she brays.

“Whatcha think?” Ben flashes one side of his suit jacket open. He’s wearing a plaid sports coat in a shade of lime green so shocking I briefly see spots float before my eyes. The satin lapels are enormous. They cover nearly the entire chest of the jacket.

“Oh, hell yes.” Christy whoops and leans in for a high-five. Rachel and Lindsey are both laughing.

I slide one hand up a slick lapel and he pulls me toward him, dipping me between the rounders, then spinning me up and out. “Gonna get our dance on.”

“Thank god you showed up.” Rachel grabs the selections I’ve made and hangs them in the dressing room. She holds open the curtain, and waves me in. “She hasn’t even tried anything on yet.”

I settle on a vintage ivory silk tube. The dress is sleeveless and goes straight to the floor with a high waist and two layers of a sheer organza overlay that flutter slightly when I walk. A band of the same see-through fabric covers each shoulder, then flows down my back in a streamer. I feel like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s—and sort of silly for loving it, but I do. When I come out of the dressing room, Rachel catches her breath and squeals like I’ve tried on my wedding dress. I decide not to tell her about a couple of spots of what may be ancient spaghetti sauce near the hem at the back. I’m guessing Mom can help me scrub those out before the dance.

“You’re a vision.” Connie Bonine’s voice is full of gravel and warmth. “I’m giving all of you half off today. We Buccaneers have to stick together!”

Connie is the benevolent grand marshal of a parade back to the cash register where we all take turns paying. Even with the discount my dress still comes to exactly the thirty dollars I had budgeted to spend. I realize there aren’t any price tags on anything, only colored dots, and wonder if perhaps Connie is making up the prices as she goes along. Common sense tells me sixty seems a little steep for this dress, but she gives Ben his jacket for free.

“And yours is on the house, big man.”

This is Connie Bonine’s grand gesture of the day, greeted with smiles all around, and Ben insisting that he pay. Connie shakes her head and pushes Ben’s wallet hand away. “Gotta take care of my Buccs.”

Ben thanks her and as we leave, she grabs the pliers and cranks the TV back to life. “Don’t you let the news get you down, now,” Connie says. “None of this may even be true.”

Ben shrugs. “Might not matter. Deacon may lose his scholarship anyway.”

“No way!” Will yelps.

“Terrible shame,” says Connie. “Over a dumb rumor. Well, check the source, I always say.” She pats Ben’s arm. “Don’t you worry. Just keep your head down and keep sinking those threes. Gonna need every one of ’em next weekend.”

Ben thanks her, and as we file out the door, she fiddles with the stiff silver antenna coming out of the top of her ancient television. I think about Dad’s camera with the flip-out screen and wonder how long it’ll be before that little device winds up in this lair of forgotten things.

As we climb into Adele’s Explorer, I glance back at the front window of the thrift store. Connie Bonine is staring at the tiny screen, and I can just make out Sloane Keating, serving up the main course.





UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE


HarperCollins Publishers

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sixteen


BEN TAKES THE back entrance into the school parking lot, driving past the football field and pulling around the side of the gym to get as close to our cars as possible while avoiding the three news vans at the main entrance. Tyler’s mom is texting him as we all pile out with our purchases. I have to get him home, but I want a second to myself with Ben. I toss Will the keys. “Start it up,” I say. “I’ll be there in a sec.”