See You at Harry's(50)

“I’ll be there! Meet me there, OK! I’ll call you!”

But Gray is already hurrying down the driveway.

“You are not going to the dance with that boy,” my dad says. His face is bright red. “You aren’t going. Period.”

“How can you do this to me? It’s not fair!”

“I’m doing it to protect you, Holden. Can’t you see that?”

“Protect me from what? From having fun? Or are we never allowed to do that again?”

“I want you to have fun. With kids your own age.”

I wish my mom were here to help talk some sense into my dad, but Mona took her away for a “girls’ day off,” whatever that means. When they left, my mom actually smiled at us when she said good-bye. And then she gave us each a hug. “You’re getting so big,” she whispered in my ear. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too,” I whispered. And then I almost asked her to stay. Because I realized she wouldn’t see me in my dress. And she should. She’s my mom. But instead, she’s leaving me again. Why does she need a “girls’ day off”? What did she need to meditate for? To escape. From us. From me. Before I could get really upset, though, I realized that she doesn’t even know I’m going to the dance. My dad doesn’t, either. I’m not sure why I didn’t tell them. Maybe because I still might change my mind.

“Dad,” I say. “Gray isn’t a bad person. You don’t need to worry.”

“Stay out of this, Fern. You’re too young to understand. I’m giving you my final word on this, Holden. You are not to go.”

“You can’t stop me, Dad.”

“Oh, no?”

“No.”

They stand facing each other. Holden is a lot shorter than my dad and only about one-third the width.

“How do you think you’re going to get there?” my dad asks, towering over him as if he can just physically block him from leaving the house.

“I’ll take him,” Sara says, stepping into the room.

“With what car?” my dad asks. “Last time I checked, that car was registered in my name.”

“Don’t be insane, Dad. You’re totally overreacting. So Gray’s a little bit older. Or are you really worried because he’s gay?”

“Don’t say that.”

Holden slumps into the big chair, the plastic around his tux crinkles as he lays it across his lap like a blanket. “I knew it.”

“No, you did not! That is not what this is about!”

“What is it, then? You’re seriously concerned about Gray’s age?” Holden asks.

“Seventeen-year-olds like to party! And they like to . . . you know. They have certain expectations. You’re not ready for that.”

Holden stands up again. “God, Dad. Are you kidding? I’m not going to —”

“Just stop! You aren’t going!”

“Fine!” Holden storms upstairs.

“I’m going back to work,” my dad says, leaving me and Sara in the living room. I watch him stomp outside. Instead of getting into the delivery truck, he takes the station wagon — the car that is supposed to bring me, Ran, and Cassie home from the dance.

I collapse on the chair. I’m sure Ran’s parents can bring us home instead, but I’m still upset. It probably never even occurred to my dad that I might be going to the dance, too.

Sara crosses her arms and gets that look she has when she’s cooking up a scheme. From upstairs, there’s a lot of door slamming and loud music.

“It’s not fair,” I say quietly.

“I know.”

We sit there for a while, the bass of Holden’s music pumping through our veins.

“We have to do something,” I say.

Sara’s expression changes into a smile. “Yeah. We totally do. Plus hello? How are you going to get home now?”

“I’m sure Ran’s parents can pick us up. Or maybe I just won’t go. It’s not that important.”

“Yes, it is, Fern. It’s important for both of you.” She thinks for a minute, then smiles. “Feel like playing fairy godmother?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Holden needs us to turn a pumpkin into a coach.” I follow her to the window, and we look out at the driveway at the huge ice-cream truck. “And that’s our pumpkin,” she says, grinning at me.

It feels so good to have her look at me like that. “Seriously?” I ask.

“There’s a spare set of keys on the hook in the kitchen,” she says. We both race to the kitchen just to make sure. She pulls the keys off the hook and shakes them so they make a jingle sound.

“CinderHolden,” I say.

And we both crack up.





AFTER I CALL CASSIE AND RAN to tell them I’ll meet them at the dance, Sara and I go upstairs and pound on Holden’s bedroom door. When he finally turns off the music and swings the door open to say, “What?” we both stop smiling. His face is splotchy from crying.

We’re quiet for a minute. Than Sara clears her throat.

“Cinderella,” she says in a high-pitched fairy-godmother voice. “You shall go to the ball.”