The Way You Make Me Feel(35)

“Just try it on!” She tossed it at me with exasperation.

I took it with a scowl. “Fine.”

I was pulling off my tank when she yelped and spun around. “Clara!”

“What?” I tossed the tank onto the floor and pulled the dress on over my head. “Are you seriously squeamish about seeing me in a bra? Aren’t you a dancer?”

Her back still turned, she answered with her hands on her hips. “Yeah, but I know those girls and we’re in a changing room. Give me a little advance warning, I don’t like to see random people’s body parts all willy-nilly!”

I stuck my arms through the sleeves, my face hidden within the folds of the dress. “I’m not a stranger. Haven’t you ever had girlfriends before?” When I popped my head out, I saw Rose turn around with a strange expression. “What?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I haven’t.”

“Haven’t what?”

“Had girlfriends.” She looked down at her nails, her snobby arched eyebrows at odds with her words.

I let that settle over me, thinking back to the Rose Carver I’d known since middle school. She was always in charge of stuff, in lots of organizations … but had there ever been a best friend or a group that I could actually connect her to?

When I thought about it, when was the last time I’d had a best girlfriend? Veronica Souza in sixth grade. We drifted apart when she went to private school in seventh grade, and soon after I had befriended Patrick and Felix. “I haven’t had a ‘bestie’ in forever, too. Been hanging with my goons for too long,” I said, tugging the skirt of the dress over my thighs.

She nodded. “They were nice.” We both knew they weren’t “nice,” but I let the generic compliment pass. “The thing is, I kind of tell my mom everything. So I’ve never really needed a best friend.”

Again, we both knew that was a weird statement, but I didn’t bat an eyelash. “I can see that.”

“I know you think I’m weird.”

“Well, of course.” I held up my arms, showing her the dress.

“That looks good on you,” she said.

I looked down. The dress actually fit me pretty well and was comfortable despite the tightness. “Yeah, it’s not bad.”

Rose wouldn’t let me get away with trying on just one, though. She even had me match shoes and hair styles to different outfits. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had leaned in so hard-core to girlie stuff like this, and it was fun. I felt a giddiness settle into me and actually found myself saying, “That’s so cute,” about a freaking tube of lip gloss.

Finally, we settled on the perfect dress. It was a loose, short navy blue tank dress made out of comfy jersey material that felt like my favorite old T-shirt. Because the style was meant to show a peep of your bra, Rose made me trade my ratty black one for a bright lacy fuchsia one I had buried deep in my dresser.

I plopped down onto the sofa from the exhaustion of our makeover montage. “I’m starved.”

“Not done yet.”

When I glanced over at Rose, she was holding some kind of kettle-looking thing with a long chord. “What is that?”

“A portable steamer. I’m going to steam your dress.” She hung the dress up on a sturdy curtain rod. I opened my mouth to make fun of the portable steamer but shut it. At some point, the mocking grounds were just too fertile, even for me.

“Should I order a pizza?” I asked while watching her meticulously steam the dress.

She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Oh. Um, is that okay? I wasn’t sure if I was invited to eat here.”

“Huh? Invited? You’re already here.” It hit me then, the depths of Rose’s friendship void. Had she never just hung out, with no plans or schedules? “If you don’t have anywhere to go, that is.”

The steamer sputtered its last bits of steam and Rose shut it off. “No, I mean, I have plans later but not now.”

I was confused by that answer. “So … yes, you want to get pizza?” The discomfort continued to weigh down the room.

“Sure.” Phew. The most awkwardly earned pizza ever.

After I ordered through an app on my phone (“You have a Domino’s app?” she asked. “I’m VIP,” I answered, a fact that drove my dad and his fancy-pizza feels crazy), we sat around my living room, Rose spending most of the time trying to lure Flo over to her. Some progress was being made. Flo was now lying a foot away from Rose, licking her paws.

“When is Hamlet picking you up?” Rose asked as she lay on her belly, her hand reached out toward Flo, holding a small pile of treats. Flo sniffed the air for a second, her eyes focused on Rose, but the magical cat moment left as quickly as it came.

“I forget.”

Rose looked up at me. “What! You don’t remember what time?”

“Yeah, it was evening-ish.”

“Oh my God.” She sat up and pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Check right now what time.”

“It’s fine! It’s only like noon.”

“First, that is alarming because it’s two p.m. Second, what if you’re wrong and he’s picking you up in like thirty minutes?”

The doorbell rang, and I scrambled off the sofa. “Pizza time.”