Sometimes, I’m really good at ignoring the things I don’t want to think about, so I kept pushing all the bad stuff out of my mind and focused on what could have happened at Enzo’s and what could still happen there in the future.
And I thought about the homecoming dance, which was only one night away. I thought about that a lot.
Chapter 25
Homecoming Dance
I possibly spent more time getting ready for the dance than I’d spent getting ready for anything else, ever. That was probably still less time than Lizzie spent on her appearance every single day in high school.
I painted my nails, and while I was doing it, I thought about what a waste of time it was. Enzo wouldn’t even notice something like that, and I didn’t care to be with a guy who noticed that sort of stuff. And anyway, as far as Enzo was concerned, it wasn’t a date. Going to the dance with me was more like a favor. So the sparkly silver nail polish didn’t matter. The whole thing was actually super dumb. But I painted my nails anyway.
I had similar thoughts while I was using the exfoliating body scrub that promised silky, super-touchable skin. Wasn’t it sort of presumptuous of me, thinking that my skin was going to be touched?
I curled my hair and had my mom help me pull some of it back off my face. When it was done, I felt like I was wearing a crown of bobby pins and hairspray, but it looked nice; it looked like the hair of a girl who was about to go to a dance. And I wondered if Enzo would notice how much effort I put into my appearance, how much I wanted to be a different girl, one like Lizzie had been in high school, just for one night.
After securing the final bobby pin in my hair, my mom started getting sentimental. She said she’d be right back, and I was so caught up in my own thoughts, it didn’t even occur to me that she was getting the camera, which was exactly what I didn’t want her to do.
The next thing I knew, my mom was in my bedroom doorway, snapping pictures of me in front of the mirror. My hair looked ready for the dance, but that was it. I was wearing boxers and one of Rush’s old jerseys, and I hadn’t even begun the monumental task of putting on makeup.
“Mom! What are you doing?”
“This is a big moment, Hawthorn. You’ll want to remember it.”
She kept snapping photos, and the rest of my family heard the commotion and decided to see what it was all about, which is how my dad and Rush ended up in my doorway too. They all gushed about my hair and acted happy that I was participating in a school activity of my own free will, and I acted put out and embarrassed and tried to block myself from the camera, but the truth was that I was enjoying the whole thing.
I waited for Rush to make a comment about Enzo, about how he was a loser and didn’t deserve to take me to homecoming, but he kept his mouth shut, which I thought was really cool of him. I looked for signs of disapproval on my dad’s face, because I hadn’t forgotten his conversation with my mom that I’d overheard. But if he was unhappy, he hid it really well.
I swiped blush on my cheeks and applied mascara to my eyelashes and put on a peachy pink shade of lipstick. Yes, I was carefully putting on lipstick and blotting it, like a girl who went to dances on a regular basis. I was a girl who had exfoliated and plucked and perfumed and all the other things you were supposed to do before a date. I was a girl who was going to a dance, a girl who had a loving family that hovered, offering encouragement and good-natured teasing.
That wasn’t the girl I normally was. I liked it. I felt as if I’d slipped into someone else’s skin, and I wasn’t ready to go back to being me.
But I made my family leave the room while I changed into my dress because, you know, there’s such thing as being too close.
I put on my crazy eighties dress. Then came the shoes, silver heels that added at least three inches to my height and made my ability to walk questionable. Then I went to the full-length mirror, braced myself, and looked.
I was actually pleasantly surprised. The poofy dress was absurd. It fit me just right though, and that made it look less strange than it actually was. I didn’t look like Lizzie—I wasn’t golden and blond and curvy—but there are a bunch of girls at my school who are pretty even though they don’t have those qualities. Maybe I could be one of them or enough of one of them to get Enzo to notice me, like he had for that half second in his room while his hand was on my knee.
That’s when the enormity of the situation hit me. I sat down heavily on my desk chair. I’d just spent half the day getting ready to go to a high school dance, which was weird and unfamiliar in itself. And I was going to that dance with the boyfriend of a girl who was missing, probably a werewolf but possibly killed by said boyfriend. And the girl in question was none other than the cheerleader dream queen who I’d spent years resenting.
It was all bizarre and crazy, and I felt lost. What was I doing? What did I want?