“Get a load of this!” she brays.
“Whatcha think?” Ben flashes one side of his suit jacket open. He’s wearing a plaid sports coat in a shade of lime green so shocking I briefly see spots float before my eyes. The satin lapels are enormous. They cover nearly the entire chest of the jacket.
“Oh, hell yes.” Christy whoops and leans in for a high-five. Rachel and Lindsey are both laughing.
I slide one hand up a slick lapel and he pulls me toward him, dipping me between the rounders, then spinning me up and out. “Gonna get our dance on.”
“Thank god you showed up.” Rachel grabs the selections I’ve made and hangs them in the dressing room. She holds open the curtain, and waves me in. “She hasn’t even tried anything on yet.”
I settle on a vintage ivory silk tube. The dress is sleeveless and goes straight to the floor with a high waist and two layers of a sheer organza overlay that flutter slightly when I walk. A band of the same see-through fabric covers each shoulder, then flows down my back in a streamer. I feel like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s—and sort of silly for loving it, but I do. When I come out of the dressing room, Rachel catches her breath and squeals like I’ve tried on my wedding dress. I decide not to tell her about a couple of spots of what may be ancient spaghetti sauce near the hem at the back. I’m guessing Mom can help me scrub those out before the dance.
“You’re a vision.” Connie Bonine’s voice is full of gravel and warmth. “I’m giving all of you half off today. We Buccaneers have to stick together!”
Connie is the benevolent grand marshal of a parade back to the cash register where we all take turns paying. Even with the discount my dress still comes to exactly the thirty dollars I had budgeted to spend. I realize there aren’t any price tags on anything, only colored dots, and wonder if perhaps Connie is making up the prices as she goes along. Common sense tells me sixty seems a little steep for this dress, but she gives Ben his jacket for free.
“And yours is on the house, big man.”
This is Connie Bonine’s grand gesture of the day, greeted with smiles all around, and Ben insisting that he pay. Connie shakes her head and pushes Ben’s wallet hand away. “Gotta take care of my Buccs.”
Ben thanks her and as we leave, she grabs the pliers and cranks the TV back to life. “Don’t you let the news get you down, now,” Connie says. “None of this may even be true.”
Ben shrugs. “Might not matter. Deacon may lose his scholarship anyway.”
“No way!” Will yelps.
“Terrible shame,” says Connie. “Over a dumb rumor. Well, check the source, I always say.” She pats Ben’s arm. “Don’t you worry. Just keep your head down and keep sinking those threes. Gonna need every one of ’em next weekend.”
Ben thanks her, and as we file out the door, she fiddles with the stiff silver antenna coming out of the top of her ancient television. I think about Dad’s camera with the flip-out screen and wonder how long it’ll be before that little device winds up in this lair of forgotten things.
As we climb into Adele’s Explorer, I glance back at the front window of the thrift store. Connie Bonine is staring at the tiny screen, and I can just make out Sloane Keating, serving up the main course.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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sixteen
BEN TAKES THE back entrance into the school parking lot, driving past the football field and pulling around the side of the gym to get as close to our cars as possible while avoiding the three news vans at the main entrance. Tyler’s mom is texting him as we all pile out with our purchases. I have to get him home, but I want a second to myself with Ben. I toss Will the keys. “Start it up,” I say. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
Lindsey pecks me on the cheek. “We’re gonna have so much fun this weekend. Your dress is gorg.”
Christy holds up a fist for me to bump, then she and Lindsey head for their cars. Rachel hangs back, staring at the satellite trucks. The bright lights are switched off now, downtime until the six o’clock report. A couple of guys from different crews lean against the grill of the Channel Thirteen van, smoking. Their laughter floats over our heads into the trees, and I remember Stacey’s hawk. I look up, but we’re too close to the edge of the lot, and I can’t see the nest from this angle.
“How long do you think they’ll hang out here?” Rachel asks.
Ben follows her gaze. “At least until this blows over.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
Both of them turn to look at me. I realize I let these words slip out instead of just thinking them.