I frowned. When Gracie was my age, she’d been allowed to stay out until eleven—sometimes twelve—on the weekends.
“Can I use your phone?” Bo asked. “I gotta call my cousin and make sure he’s still driving us.”
“Oh. Sure. It’s in the kitchen.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Bo stood up and headed through the door.
After a second, Mama asked in a quiet voice, “Will Christy be at this party?”
“Um, I doubt it,” I said. “She was out sick today. Strep throat.”
“That’s too bad,” Mama said. “I was just … Bo knows you can’t see real well when it’s dark, right? Will she be able to help you get around? She knows not to just walk away or—”
“She knows,” I said quickly.
“All right. Well, if something happens, you call me, okay? I’ll be right there.”
I nodded. “Okay, Mama.”
I sure didn’t remember Gracie getting this many questions before she went to parties.
A second later, Bo came back. “He’s gonna pick us up here at seven,” Bo said. “If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Atwood?”
“I suppose that’ll be all right,” Mama said.
It wasn’t even five o’clock yet, which meant we had two hours to hang out and get ready.
Well, I got ready. Bo said she was just gonna wear the shorts and tank top she’d had on at school that day. But me, I had to try on about six different outfits. I sure wasn’t going to my first party in beat-up jeans and one of Mama’s hand-me-down shirts. Maybe it was silly, since I’d just seen all these people at school, but I wanted to look nicer. Prettier.
Maybe … sexier?
I shook that thought away. It didn’t matter what I wore. I was still the slightly too tall, slightly too chubby girl with the white cane. No one was gonna think I was sexy. And, even if they did, I wasn’t sure there was anybody in Mursey I wanted to find me sexy.
After a lot of going back and forth, I decided to embrace the last breath of summer and picked out a yellow sundress Mama had bought me last year. It fell just above my knees and had halter straps that tied behind my neck. I loved the way it hugged my curves, and even though Gracie used to tell me I was too pale to pull off yellow, it was my favorite color.
I pulled my hair into a long ponytail and put on my nicest black sandals. Then I turned to face Bo, who’d been sitting on my bed, flipping through my braille books and asking me questions about them for the past two hours.
“What do you think?” I asked.
Bo hesitated. “Well … It’s nice. But you look like you’re going to homecoming, not a party in someone’s backyard.”
I groaned. “I’ll change.”
“No, no,” Bo said, hopping to her feet. “You look real nice. You should wear what you want. Besides, I think my cousin’s downstairs. I see his truck through your window.”
I grabbed my cane and followed her downstairs. Daddy was home now, sitting in the recliner, watching TV. “Hey, honey,” he said. “I hear y’all are going to a party. Sounds fun.”
“Yep.” I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you tonight, Daddy.”
Bo and I were almost out the door when I heard Mama’s voice from the kitchen.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she hollered before coming into the living room. “Just a second, girls. Bo, you said your cousin is gonna be driving?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And I can trust him to be safe, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And he’ll have Agnes home by ten thirty.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe I should come out there—meet him myself. Let me get my shoes.”
“Oh, let them go, Maryann,” Daddy said. “I’m sure Bo’s cousin will get them there fine. If you want Agnes home by ten thirty, she’d better get going.”
I’d never felt so grateful to Daddy in my life. But then he said: “The Hickmans don’t live far from here. If we get worried, we can just drive over there and check on her.”
He laughed.
I didn’t.
“Okay,” Mama said, clearly resigned. “Just be careful. No drinking, no drugs—”
“I know,” I said. “Bye, y’all.”
“Good-bye, Mr. and Mrs. Atwood,” Bo said as we headed out the front door and onto the porch.
It was already too dark for me to see much. The crickets and a few cicadas, still clinging to the dying summer, were singing their night songs. Two headlights shined from the driveway, giving me just enough light to follow Bo, who led me to the passenger’s side of a tall pickup truck.
She opened the door and climbed in. I folded up my cane and hoisted myself in beside her, trying to keep my skirt down. The truck was tight quarters, but Bo was tiny enough to fit between me and the driver.
“Agnes, this is my cousin,” Bo said, “Colt Dickinson. He just graduated in May.”