THE CHILL THAT had been in the air turned into a true, aching cold over the next two weeks. The day before the dance, a bank of heavy, iron-gray clouds rolled in, and the weathermen excitedly predicted a few inches of snow by the weekend.
After school that Friday, Claire headed outside into the swirl of huge, feathery flakes. She bent her head against the falling snow. She stomped through the inch or so that was already on the ground, hurrying toward the parking lot and Emily's car. This weekend was going to be the most human, the most normal, that she'd had in ages, and she was going to enjoy every second of it. She and Emily were getting pre-ball pedicures, just the two of them.
The windows of Emily's car had been cleared off, and she could see Emily inside, her head bent over her phone as she texted furiously. Claire opened the back door and threw her book bag in.
"What's up?" she asked.
"Kate-Marie Brown is what," Emily griped. "She's ridiculous."
"Well, we agree on that." Claire shut the back door and opened the front, crawling into the passenger seat. No matter how long she dated Matthew or how many of the same parties they went to, Kate-Marie Brown and her inner circle of haute couture handmaidens still looked at Claire like she was as disposable as a paper cup.
"What'd she do now?" Claire asked.
"Okay, you know how I ended up getting that really fab black and silver dress?"
"Of course. It's amazing."
"Right. Well, somehow it came up in trig, and Kate-Marie freaked. I mean fuh-reaked. I guess she's wearing black jewelry and a silver dress, and she is not amused that I'm—and I quote—'jacking her color scheme.' How can anyone call dibs on a color? And why does she care, anyway? It's not like we're going to be posing for yearbook photos together."
"It's Kate-Marie," Claire said. "She thinks she can have whatever she wants. Do you want to go find a different dress, or do you want to suffer her wrath?"
Emily raised an eyebrow. "Are you joking? Kate-Marie might run some sort of high school empire in her head, but I don't give a crap what she thinks. And I hope you don't, either."
Claire shook her head. "Nope."
"Good. Then, let's go back to my house and do the manipedi thing."
Claire leaned back in her seat, feeling better about things with Emily than she had in ages. "Well, your house it is, then," she said happily.
By the time Claire got home, it was well after dark, and even the tips of the browning grass had disappeared under the snow. Emily had invited her to stay the night, but Claire hadn't wanted to push her luck quite that far.
She climbed the stairs and glanced down the hall at her mother's room. The door was shut, and Claire could hear her mother talking on the phone, though she couldn't make out what was being said. She turned and headed for her room. She wanted to try on her dress one more time, take a ridiculously long shower, and watch the Late Show in bed.
Her dress hung in the front of her closet, and just seeing the garment bag made Claire want to twirl around the room. She pulled it out, breathing in the crisp smell of silk and organza.
She yanked off the jeans and sweater she'd worn to school and slipped the dress over her head, shivering as the fabric slithered over her skin. The dress came to the floor, covering all but the tips of her shoes. She turned in the mirror, admiring the way the silk peeked through the overlay in the back. It was so girly.
With a sigh, she wriggled out of the dress and hung it back in its protective bag. She kicked her dirty clothes toward the laundry basket, wandered into her bathroom, and turned on the shower. Tomorrow night was going to be fabulous, and as far as she was concerned, it couldn't come fast enough.
When she got out of the shower, Claire heard her mother pacing the hall outside her room. She opened the door and stuck her head out.
"Mom? What's going on?"
Marie looked at her, and the expression on her mother's face startled Claire. Marie looked almost ecstatic. The dark circles under her eyes had faded, and there was a soft flush of pink in her normally bone-pale cheeks.
"Victoria has just had her baby," Marie announced. The excitement was coming off her in waves. "They are both fine, and Beatrice is as happy as I've ever heard her." She smiled broadly.
"That's great," Claire said, still mystified by the sudden change in her mother.
"I knew you'd want to know right away, since we'll be gathering tomorrow night for the naming. I assume you're ready to light the fire?"
Claire froze. Tomorrow night. Oh, crap. No. This is not happening.
Her fingertips tingled unpleasantly as she tried to wrap her head around this sudden change in plans. She couldn't skip the ball to go to a gathering—it would look too suspicious. Not to mention how badly she'd be disappointing Matthew. The dance—the normal, human dance—was pretty much the only thing left holding them together. They'd both been looking forward to the ball for weeks. She wouldn't take that away from him. She couldn't.