We went, Lindsay, Lauren, Maria, and I, to a mall in Gainesville the next weekend. The charming Miss Renshaw wasn’t exactly at the top of my hangout list, but at the same time, I knew I didn’t have any right to ill will against her. Cas had asked me instead of her, and I had turned him down. Part of me felt justified in doing so, but part of me felt exceedingly guilty, and still another part felt that irrational longing that accompanies any third-degree crush, that chronic “what if?” What if we did go together and this was the one singular night that would suddenly make him realize that he was in love with me, and I threw all that away just because Ezra Lynley asked me first?
But Homecoming dresses, not neurotic inner monologues, were the order of the day, so off we went. We started at your typical department store, at your typical department store sales rack, and after about ten minutes’ looking, entered the dressing rooms with an armful of dresses each.
My first dress was terrible. Lauren picked it out for me, and I would have felt bad telling her I thought it was ugly, so I tried it on anyway. As per any shopping trip, everyone told me it was “totally cute” and made me look “absolutely gorgeous.” All you had to do was string together a couple of nice adjectives and you could use them on any dress, regardless. How the dress actually looked took a backseat to this whole operation.
But Lindsay truly did look “absolutely gorgeous” in every dress she tried on. Downright freaking beautiful, whereas I looked increasingly clownlike.
After a while, we assembled outside Lauren’s dressing room to review the dresses and pick our favorites.
“I like this one,” Maria said, holding up a green taffeta thing. “And Marty looks good in green, too.”
“Yeah, and it’s a lot easier to match than some of these,” Lauren said, waving her arm at a couple of the more brightly colored (read: hideous) dresses.
“Who are you going with, Lindsay?” Maria said, setting the green dress aside.
Lindsay’s face tinged red. “I don’t actually have a date yet.”
This was news to me. After my chat with Cas, I figured he’d beeline it to Lindsay to ask her out on bended knee.
“So ask somebody,” Lauren said. “Why not?”
Lindsay shrugged.
“And you and Ezra are going together, right, Devon?” Maria said.
High school news always travels fast. I wasn’t used to being newsworthy, but I guess securing the hand of the varsity football captain was something to talk about.
“That’s the plan,” I said.
“What do you think of this one?” Lauren held up a sparkly blue minidress. Maria and I praised it accordingly, and Lauren looked expectantly at Lindsay.
But Lindsay was looking at me. I could see her face in the mirror as I held up this awful pink-and-white satin thing I was actually considering buying (it was 45 percent off!). There was something strange about her expression.
Lauren jiggled the hanger. “Lindsay?”
“Huh?”
“What about this one?”
“It’s cute,” Lindsay said, and her face automatically split into a smile, wiping away that odd expression. Whatever it had been, it was gone.
We stayed at the mall for most of the day. I ended up getting that 45 percent off satin creation. Lauren snagged a dress, too, but Lindsay resolved to keep looking, despite trying on any number of things that looked as if they had been made for her. I’m pretty sure if you cut two asymmetrical holes in a trash bag and stuck it on Lindsay, we’d all be wearing trash bags next season.
Our shopping day culminated in a fast-food marathon at the food court. After we partook in some fried food and some idle gossip, Lindsay declared she needed dessert. Lauren and Maria declined, but before I could, Lindsay jumped up and said, “Come with me, Devon! Let’s look at all our options.”
She slipped her arm through mine as we made our way around the fast-food circuit.
It reminded me of a scene from Pride and Prejudice—Elizabeth and Caroline taking a “turn about the room.” Except Lindsay was no Caroline, scheming and conniving. Lindsay was just … Lindsay. A happy little ray of sunshine in a cut-glass bottle.
“So what did you end up thinking of Reeding?” she asked as we passed the Sbarro en route to Dairy Queen.
I had to admit it: “It’s pretty great.”