IF I COULD PICK EVERYTHING I wanted in a bedroom, it might look something like Aisha’s. It sprawls over the front half of the Wallaces’ attic with wood floors and dark green walls and an actual turret with a window seat. Bookshelves line the walls like ladders to someplace magical. There are plenty more traditional bedrooms downstairs, but I can see why she chose this one. Her closet, however, is about the size of the one I have at home—a relic from another era. While Gretchen had a spare room converted to a closet, Aisha compensates by treating the rest of her space like an extension for her wardrobe. There are hoodies draped over bedposts, jeans piled over the big comfy chair, and dresses hanging from a floor lamp. This inventory does not include the random mix of socks, T-shirts, and underwear strewn over the floor. Gretchen could never stand sleeping over at Aisha’s. She always said she preferred her own bed since it was only thirty feet away, but I think she was convinced Aisha’s room would give her hives or something. Every time we came over here, I’d notice her sorting colors or compulsively pairing socks.
It turns out I’m not the only one Aisha asked for prom dress advice. When I show up, Haley is already lounging on the bed. Ten minutes later there are footsteps on the stairs and Kirsten peeks her head into the room like she thinks she’s intruding.
“Sorry I’m a little late.”
“No, I’m glad you came!” Aisha sets aside a pile of empty hangers. “I don’t even know how I got on the prom court ballot. I figure if I take three opinions and average them, I won’t make a total fool of myself. Plus I think Derek will lose his mind if I ask him to look at one more dress.”
“Yeah, mathematics won’t save you.” Haley scoots over and pats a spot next to her on the bed. “Kirsten, I hope you don’t have any other plans this afternoon.”
Aisha tosses a shoe across the room, missing Haley’s head by a few inches. Kirsten looks uncomfortable until Haley laughs and throws it back.
My throat tightens. If Kirsten were Gretchen, it would almost be like old times. All of us together as a group again—me, curled on the chair watching Aisha and Haley at each other’s throats, Gretchen on the bed staring at her phone, telling them they’re both morons. But it’s not Gretchen on the bed. It’s Kirsten. And this isn’t anything like it used to be.
I spent all morning rehearsing what to say to the Penn dean on Monday, but suddenly I’m not sure I can give useful feedback on a prom dress. My thoughts are thick and blunted, my heart too heavy to care. I sit up, trying to think of an excuse to go home, but then Aisha laughs at something Haley says and it brings me back into the moment. I bite back a sting of tears. I need to be able to do this, for myself as much as for my friends.
I pull my hair into a braid while I get my breathing under control. Kirsten gives me a tentative smile and I manage to smile back.
“What are you wearing, Haley?” Aisha calls out, her head halfway buried in the closet.
“A few weeks ago I was all set to show up in a black unitard or something. Go totally anti-prom. But since Yuji asked me, I’m kind of rethinking it.”
Aisha resurfaces with a long yellow gown in a plastic garment bag. “This should fit you. My mom picked it out. It’s pretty, but I can’t do strapless bras.”
Haley hesitates. I shift in the chair. Her family lives a block and a half south of the diner. It’s a normal enough neighborhood and a normal enough house, not a rent-free apartment above a relative’s business, but I know for a fact she’s going to state school this fall on a well-earned soccer scholarship. The dress is beautiful. I don’t even have to see it out of the plastic or read the label to know that. She’ll look stunning in it. But I want to tell her to turn it down, that it might look nice on, but it will never feel earned.
She takes the dress.
I exhale. “That color will look great on you.”
“Okay, I’m going to the stairs to change because I love you all, but not that much.” Aisha drapes three or four gowns over her arm and points next to the bed. “There are sodas in the mini-fridge, make yourselves comfy.”
Kirsten hops off the bed once she’s gone and wanders over to the dresser. She lifts up her blond hair, twisting it into a couple different updos in the mirror, then lets it fall loose around her shoulders.
“I guess I have a whole year to figure out what to wear to my prom.”
“You should come this year, with us,” Haley says.
Kirsten shakes her head. “Thanks, that’s really nice. But I’ll probably enjoy it more next year.”
I nod, maybe a little too quickly, but I can’t help feeling relieved. If anything seems less appropriate than going to prom, it would be going with Kirsten in Gretchen’s place.
“Kirsten.” Haley clears her throat. “How are you doing after Alex Burke’s arrest? I mean . . . sorry, do you mind if I ask?”
“No, of course not, it’s actually kind of a relief. My mom’s been so weird about it.” She leans back against the dresser and looks at me. “It was a shock. None of us had ever heard of the guy before.”
“That’s what freaks me out!” Haley says. “Marcus still seems . . . I don’t know, so much more obvious.”
Kirsten nods, her gaze far away. “I know. But my dad identified this Alex Burke guy as the one who snuck into her room, and he admitted it.”
I sit forward. “Seriously? He said he did it?”
If he’d been looking for something, say the SD card, in her room, maybe he would go to the trouble to track me down and threaten me.
She frowns. “Well, at first he said he just came to pick up her car, as like a favor. I guess she’d dinged up the fender and wanted to hide it from our dad. He claimed she left him a set of keys on her desk, and that’s all he took. But then he changed his story. Now he’s saying Gretchen was supposed to meet him—at least, that’s the last I heard from the sheriff.”