Bright Before Sunrise(37)

“Then why is he taking you to this party?”

“It isn’t a date.” I want her to shut up, to stop asking questions that make me say these things out loud. “She’ll be there. Quit trying to create a scandal where there isn’t one.”

“There’s always a scandal if you know where to look.” She pauses by my closet door and fingers the black dress hanging on the back. “Is this what you’re wearing tomorrow?” Her face has softened, teasing dropping to tenderness.

Tomorrow. I forgot. How could I forget? I sink onto my bed, sitting on my hands so I won’t make fists. “I should cancel. I shouldn’t go out tonight.”

Evy sits next to me. “Yes, you should.”

“But what if Mom needs me?”

“She’s fine. She called while you were out—she and Aunt Joan are at some wine bar in East Lake.”

“But—”

Evy reaches over and takes one of my hands, smoothing out the fingers. “That’s the ring Dad gave you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it.”

“I don’t usually. It just seemed right today.” I slip it off and put it in my jewelry box. “I’m staying home.”

“No.” Evy yanks on my sweatshirt zipper. “Go. Have fun. And pick out something else for tomorrow. This is a memorial, not a funeral. It’s a celebration of Dad’s life. He’d want you in rainbow colors.”

She grabs my black dress and pauses before leaving: “You’re going to this party—so get dressed.”

I scowl at the back of my bedroom door—and then at my closet. Push hangers around and reject all my clothing. Figuring out what to wear to the memorial will have to wait for the morning. I can’t think about Dad right now.

I need to keep moving or I won’t be able to move at all. That paralyzing grief is right there, lurking in the corner, waiting for me to stand still long enough for it to pounce. But if Mom and Evy are still pulled together, then I can be fine too.

I have to make it through tonight before I can worry about tomorrow. Through this party. I don’t understand the rules of Jonah’s game or his expectations. Does he really want me to get to know him better? If I annoy him as much as it seems, then inviting me to the party makes no sense. If Evy’s right …

He said I was boring—like vanilla ice cream. I glance at the white eyelet top under my hand and shove it aside. I’ve got short things, sparkly things, but I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. Effort that appears effortless is always twice as much work.

I tug a hand-me-down navy blue polo dress from a hanger. Amelia’s mom accidentally put it in the dryer and it’s too short and tight for her Kardashian curves. When Amelia made me try it on, she clapped and said, “You actually look more Victoria’s Secret Angel and less feathers-and-halo angel.” It walks the line between too-sexy-for-school and oh-I-just-threw-this-on. Perfect.

Jonah’s comment about Evy’s curves echoes loud enough for me to put on a better bra—but I refuse to reach for anything push-up or padded.

I limp down the hallway. Now that I have time to examine it, the bathroom is chaos. Evy has piled bags and bottles all over the counter. My brush is buried beneath a shower caddy and a tube of toothpaste. I wipe off a smear of something sticky and smooth my hair out of its ponytail.

My makeup case is not in its regular spot: the left side of the second drawer. I check the third drawer. Check the cabinet.

“Brighton!” Evy calls up the stairs.

“Two minutes,” I call back.

Since I can’t locate my makeup, I rummage through hers. Rejecting hot pink, then glitter gold, I settle on plain gray eyeliner. It has a wide, smudgy tip that leaves my eyes thickly outlined. Attempting to rub it off results in further smudging. I resign myself to looking raccoon-like and impatiently swipe on mascara—again, too heavy and gloppy for my taste. Her shadows, blushes, and glosses are all too bright for my I’m-not-trying look, so I guess I’m finished. I fix a stray speck of mascara and frown. I shouldn’t care this much. It’s just a party, not prom, not anything that matters. And I look fine.

Except the two people standing downstairs are waiting to judge me. No matter what I wear, all they’ll see is how desperately I want their approval.





21

Jonah

10:10 P.M.


CAN I GO BACK IN TIME & TELL MYSELF THIS IS A BAD IDEA?


“Is this okay?”

I don’t answer. She knows she looks good. The dress probably costs more than I made in a month when Carly and I worked at Dairy Queen. And the girl all but treats the stairs as a runway, pausing at the top so we can admire her. I keep expecting someone to cue the soundtrack of one of Carly’s cheesy romantic comedies—except that would make me the date waiting in awestruck wonder, and I’m not impressed. If this were really a teen movie, it’d be Carly floating down the steps. She’d be wearing something a lot sexier.

Bright looks up at me from the bottom step and her dark brown hair slides back from her face. I suck in a breath—she wasn’t lying; there is some resemblance between her and Evy. I didn’t see it earlier when she’d looked about eight with the headband or when she had her hair in a ponytail, but now, with it hanging down around her face, there’s something older and arresting about her.