“That means day, William,” my mom said.
“Carpe night, then!” They dissolved into more laughter.
Fine, I thought, as I started across the patio, to the lobby. So what if I did go back to my room and be non-epic, by Jilly’s definition? It had been a long day and weekend, and I was tired. I had all of senior year and college to throw down, if I so chose, and maybe I would. If I didn’t though, it wasn’t my mom and William’s business by any stretch. And really, I was only what they had made me.
As I thought this, the DJ began another song, slower this time. As some couples began to leave the dance floor and others headed in that direction, I stepped out of the way. On the other side of the crowd, my mom and William were still talking, occasionally breaking into bouts of laughter. Finally a path cleared inside to the ballroom, but instead of taking it, I went down the steps to the dark beach below. Later, I’d think of this as the true, real start of that night, where everything began. Maybe that was why halfway down I kicked off my sandals, stepping into the sand with my feet bare.
CHAPTER
4
“I CAN’T believe you waited until now to buy an outfit for graduation,” Jilly said from outside the dressing room. “You don’t leave anything until the last minute. That’s my thing.”
“True,” I told her, pulling my shirt over my head. “But I’ve been busy. And I told you, I didn’t think I needed something new, anyway. My gown will be over whatever I wear.”
“At the ceremony.” Her voice grew closer, along with her feet, toes dark red, in platform espadrilles, now just under the door. “But what about all the parties afterward?”
There was that word again. I made a face in the mirror, hearing it.
“And don’t think you’re getting out of being social this time,” she said, as if she had actually seen this reaction through the door. “We’re Making Memories, remember?”
Now I groaned aloud, and she laughed. A couple of days earlier, we’d stood in line to pick up our yearbooks during lunch period, one of what felt like endless senior year milestones in the days leading up to graduation. The books themselves were heavy and smelled of leather, with this year’s theme embossed in big yellow letters across the cover: MAKING MEMORIES. It was cheesy and ridiculous, which was why Jilly had claimed it as our summer rallying cry, starting, well, now. No longer was it enough to Do Things and Make Stuff Happen. It all had to be memorable, as well.
It was also imperative, apparently, that I have a new dress for graduation, even though because of work I had more than enough options in my closet. So here I was, at one of Jilly’s favorite boutiques, only hours before the ceremony, with her twin eight-year-old sisters, Kaitlyn and Katherine—collectively known at KitKat—hunched over her phone nearby bickering as they played Igloo Melt.
“It’s my turn,” I heard Kitty say. Although they were identical and often dressed alike by choice, their voices were the dead giveaways. Kitty was loud, boisterous, while Kat often didn’t speak above a whisper unless implored to do so. She must have responded, because Kitty said, “Okay, but then I get an extra-long one. And your bonus cubes.”
“Pipe down, loudmouth, we’re in public,” Jilly told her. There was a clank, and another dress appeared over the top of my dressing room door, this one cobalt blue. I pulled the first she’d picked, a bright pink dress with a short skirt, off the hanger and stepped into it, reaching behind me for the zipper. One glance and I knew it wasn’t me, but still, I opened the door.
“Nope,” she announced from the seat she’d taken on a polka-dotted chaise directly across from the dressing rooms. “Too much. I was going for pert and perky, but it’s more like startling.”
“This from a person who is basically the brightest thing in the room right now.”
She looked down at her yellow romper, which out in the actual sun had almost blinded me. “Yes, but I like color and can therefore pull it off. Try the next one.”
“I like color,” I grumbled. As I turned back to the room, a salesgirl studying a laptop by the register gave me a sympathetic smile.
“My turn!” Kitty bellowed. “Now!”
“Work it out or nobody plays,” Jilly told them in a tired voice, then said to me, “Try the A-line next. That’s the blue one.”
“I know what an A-line is.”
“Do you, though?”
I rolled my eyes at my own reflection, reminded again why I always hated being on this side of the dressing room door. I was used to tagging along shopping with Jilly, who believed strongly in the power of retail therapy. But things always worked better when I was flipping through magazines waiting for her to model the looks. Our friendship worked because we each knew our strengths, and now I felt like we were both miscast.
The blue dress was better color-wise, but it made my boobs seem sort of pointy. This seemed strange to opine aloud, however, so I went back outside without comment.
“Nope. Your boobs look weird.” She squinted at them. “Although it is kind of interesting; torpedo-like. You’d definitely get attention.”
“That’s not the kind of attention I want.” I went back to the dressing room, shedding the dress, then eyed my last selection, a deep plum sheath with a V-neck. “Are you serious with this purple? Really?”
“It’s eggplant, and very much in fashion right now,” she replied. “Put it on.”
I did, glancing at my watch as I pulled my arm through. It was just after three thirty, which meant I didn’t have long to stop by my mom’s office to check in, then get home and change before meeting her and William at school for the ceremony. They were coming straight from a meeting for Bee Little’s wedding, about which everything, it seemed, was happening last minute.