Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(64)

Mom fills Wells in on prom gossip the whole way to Target. She remembers every detail I’ve ever mentioned. “Okay, Abby dumped Nick, so that’s the main thing, but there’s also Morgan creating issues,” Mom explains. “And Garrett has a crush on Leah.”

I lean forward. “That’s hearsay.”

“But,” Mom plows on, twisting around to smile at me. “I think Leah likes someone else.”

“Mom.”

Holy shit. Like, she better not be implying what I think she’s implying.

“I’m just saying.” She grins. “It’s going to be an interesting night.”

As soon as we pull into the parking lot, Mom’s phone rings.

“Oh, crap. I need to get that.” She answers it, scrunching her face at me apologetically, and mouthing, work.

Awesome fucking timing.

For a minute, Wells and I just sit there, while Mom nods and says, “Uh-huh. Okay. Right. Uh-huh.” She gropes in her purse for a pen and scribbles a few things down on the back of a receipt. “Well, I really—oh. Oh. Okay. No, no.” She shoots me a look that’s half guilty, half frantic. “Mmhmm,” she murmurs. Then she unbuckles her seat belt and twists back to meet my eyes.

I look back at her and raise my eyebrows.

“Yes. Okay. Absolutely,” she says into the phone. But she nods her head pointedly at me. Then she passes me her credit card.

“I’m supposed to do this myself?” I ask quietly.

She shrugs, gestures at her phone, and then points at the clock on the car’s dashboard. Which has been broken for years, but I get what she’s saying. Garrett will be at our house in two hours, and I’m wearing jeans and not a trace of makeup.

“I’ll go with you,” says Wells.

“Um. That’s not necessary.”

“It’s actually perfect. I need to pick up a birthday card anyway.”

I shoot Mom a look that says are you fucking kidding me. She shrugs and tips her hands up, eyes twinkling.

So isn’t this magical. I’m bra shopping with Wells.

He shoves his hands in his pockets as we walk through the parking lot. “So, what is it that you need?”

“An item of clothing.”

“An item of clothing?” He shoots me a confused smile. “Am I supposed to guess?”

“No,” I say quickly. Fuck my life. “Just. It’s a bra.” For my boobs, Wells.

“Ah.”

Now I can’t even think straight. Maybe my brain is boiling. Maybe that’s a thing that happens when you achieve peak mortification.

We step through the automatic doors, and the first thing I see is a bag display: giant canvas zipper totes and faux-leather purses and, already, a summery display of woven beach bags.

“Oh no.” I smack my forehead.

“Everything okay?” Wells asks.

“I don’t have a purse.”

I mean, technically, I do. But the only purse I own is a ratty canvas thing I bought three years ago from Old Navy. I can’t bring that piece of shit to prom.

“Okay. We’ve got this.” He nods eagerly. “Would any of these purses work?”

“And shoes. I don’t have shoes.”

Okay, I’m honestly starting to freak out, because this really feels like a sign now. No bra, no shoes, no purse, car battery dead, Mom occupied. Universe, I hear you loud and clear. I shouldn’t have even considered going to prom. I should go back home and watch HGTV, and return the dress as soon as the mall opens tomorrow.

I just wish. I don’t know. I wish I were the kind of girl who remembered things like bras and shoes and purses. It’s like there’s a prom gene, and I’m missing it. And I guess it makes sense. I can barely be trusted to dress myself, normally. No surprise I’m a hot mess and a half when it comes to this crap.

“This is cool,” Wells says, holding up a little clutch. It’s made of gold fake leather, and it’s shaped like a cat’s face, and even I have to admit it’s adorable.

I bite my lip. “How much is it?”

He checks the tag. “Oh, it’s just twenty dollars.”

“Welp. Never mind.”

“Leah, I can cover that.”

I laugh. “Yeah, no.”

“I mean it. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

God, I really hate this. Literally, the last person I want buying me shit is Wells. He’s not my stepdad. He’s definitely not my dad. And it’s just weird and uncomfortable, and I feel like a sellout.

But. I don’t know. I also don’t want to carry a canvas bag to prom.

“I’m going to go find a bra,” I say quickly, eyes starting to prickle. This is all so ridiculous. And honestly, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to do this without Mom. I don’t know anything about strapless bras. I don’t know how they’re supposed to fit. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to try them on. I end up circling the racks in the lingerie area, probably looking like a little lost turtle. Finally, I grab the cheapest one in my size, but even the cheapest one is almost twenty-five dollars. For a bra I’m probably going to wear one time. And if I’m paying twenty-five dollars for a bra, there’s no way I can buy shoes. I’ll have to wear my sneakers. Just some giant ugly-ass sneakers. Now I’ll really have a prom aesthetic.