Julio had brought Amy a hideous pin-on number, with one giant, vaguely wilted rose surrounded by a nest of sparkly teal ribbon. Claire noticed Amy's disappointment as soon as Julio had opened the box. But now she and Matthew were joking about it—at least, Claire hoped they were. That's the only reason that Claire could think of that his eyes would keep coming back to the bustline of Amy's dress. Or, rather, it was the only reason she wanted to think he would keep looking there. She shifted for Lisbeth, smiled, held up her wrist, all the while acutely aware that she and Matthew were no longer on the same sure footing they had been a few months ago.
After Lisbeth had gotten all the photos she wanted and shoved forty dollars "for emergencies" into Claire's hand, the six of them finally made it out of the house. Claire had borrowed a thin, lacy silver wrap from her mother's closet, but it did pretty much nothing to protect her from the biting wind. Matthew grabbed her duffel bag, slid an arm around her, and hustled her out to his car.
The six of them piled into the cars and headed for Salvatore's, a little Italian restaurant with lots of candles, crisp tablecloths, and overpriced pasta. They walked in the door, and the smell of simmering tomato sauce tickled Claire's nostrils. She glanced around the room. She knew Salvatore's was a pretty common pre-dance place to eat, but everywhere she looked, Claire saw someone she knew.
As the hostess led them to their table—two down from Yolanda and her date—Matthew looked over at Claire.
"You okay?" he asked.
"It's just so . . ." she trailed off.
"So popular? So crowded? So much like the cafeteria at noon?" Matthew offered. Claire laughed nervously. "Something like that," she said.
The two of them slid into their seats at a long table—Amy, Emily, and their dates on one side, and Doug Kingman, KateMarie Brown, and assorted other soccer-players-plus-dates on the other. KateMarie was already throwing evil looks at Emily's dress while she smoothed her own silver gown. Emily lifted her chin and stared right back at KateMarie. Claire sighed, her head beginning to ache. If things kept going this way, she wouldn't have to fake being sick at the end of the night.
She reached for one of the oversize menus that the hostess had slapped down in front of them and buried her head in it.
"Wow, Emily, I like your shoes. They really bring out the tacky in your dress." KateMarie's voice was singsongy and dangerous at the same time. Hypnotic. Like a cobra weaving before it strikes.
A red-hot flush swept across Emily's cheeks, and she opened her mouth, but before she could respond, KateMarie leaned in. "Oh, don't blush," she whispered. "It absolutely ruins your color scheme."
Horrified, Claire turned to stare at KateMarie. Her silver dress dipped too low at the neckline, and she was absolutely dripping in jewelry.
"Well, you look absolutely perfect," Emily shot back. "The silver really sets off your bitchiness."
From the way KateMarie was holding her fork, Claire was pretty sure she was ready to skewer Emily.
Emily stood and flounced down to the far end of the table, dragging Randy behind her. He was staring at Emily like she was the lottery and he'd just won.
"You'd think they'd be grateful that I invited them along to dinner in the first place," KateMarie grumbled to Doug.
Without even looking up from the menu, Matthew said, "Oh, come on. Without Amy, there wouldn't even be a dance to go to tonight." There was a warmth in his voice that made Claire want to grind her teeth.
KateMarie stopped, leaning toward Amy like she was some kind of blond life preserver. "That's right. You were on the decorating committee, weren't you?"
Amy nodded, smiling. "Wait until you see it. We spent all morning putting it together, and the ballroom looks amazing! Claire and Emily helped make the leaves and stuff too."
Emily looked defiantly at KateMarie, but Claire just sank down into her seat, staring too intently at the description of the rigatoni Bolognese.
"Are you okay?" Matthew whispered.
"I think so," Claire said, trying to look worried. "I have a weird headache. I'm probably just hungry and excited." She did feel weird. The spat between Emily and KateMarie had made her ridiculously tense. She might as well use it to her advantage. Start sowing the seeds of the I'm-getting-sick plant early.
Matthew's lips pressed together, like he was steeling him self against the lie. "Well, let's get some food in you and see if that helps," he said, his voice a fraction too loud.
The hovering waiter perked up, slouching over to their table like an innocent man going to his execution.
"Are you ready to order?" he asked.
As everyone put in their requests, Claire managed to pull herself together. She talked to Doug, who made her laugh, and Randy, who turned out to be surprisingly nice and easy to talk to. In fact, when Claire looked at Emily, she realized that Emily looked pleased and maybe even a little bit giddy. Huh. How about that.
Feeling more excited for Emily than she wanted to let on, Claire took a bite of the pasta that had been put in front of her. She tried to remember not to look so healthy that she couldn't seem sick later.
When everyone had eaten and the bill had been sorted out, the couples trailed out of the restaurant. Matthew and Claire walked out behind one of the other soccer players and his date.
Claire grabbed Matthew's hand and squeezed.