Hallowed
Page 47
“Doesn’t she look amazing, Mags?” Billy prompts when Mom doesn’t say anything.
“Red’s your color, Clara.”
“Yes,” Mom agrees faintly. “You’re beautiful.”
“Trust me, Tucker’s jaw is going to drop when he sees you,” Billy says, ushering me out of the room so Mom can rest. “He’s going to feel like a millionaire with you on his arm.”
“I’m arm candy, is that what you’re saying?”
“Tonight, yes,” Billy says. “Own it.”
I have to go pick Tucker up, since this year he’s rideless—the old ranch car finally kicked the bucket. Wendy’s riding with us too, since Jason Lovett’s car broke down two days ago, so she agreed to meet him there. Not the most romantic arrangement for any of us, but I’m sure we’ll make it work.
Billy stops me on my way out the door to spritz some amazing, yummy perfume in the air and has me walk through it.
“Home by twelve thirty or I’ll come looking,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s serious.
“Yes, Mom,” I mutter.
She smiles sympathetically. “Have a good time at the dance.” I plan to. Spring is passing too quickly, marching relentlessly toward the cemetery and summer and college and all the other things I don’t want to think about. This night might be the only good time I get for a while. I’m going to live it up.
The dance this year is at the Snow King ski lodge. The prom committee has done up the place like a jungle, fake trees, big fake flowers, even a giant apple tree in the corner with a plastic snake coiled in the branches.
Last year was classier.
But it doesn’t matter. This year, I’m with Tucker. Normally, in his cowboy clothes, his boots and T-shirts and tightish jeans, his flannels and Stetson, he’s unbelievably attractive.
There’s a ruggedness about him that’s crazy sexy. But then there are times like these, when he shaves and puts on a rented tuxedo, wears a tie and everything, combs his hair just so, when he’s like a movie star.
“They’re looking at you,” I whisper as we pass through the lobby, and a group of girls turns around to stare.
“Nah,” he says. “They’re looking at you. That is one amazing dress.” We dance. Tucker’s not a great dancer, but what he lacks in skill he makes up for in jokes.
He has me laughing the entire time. He tries to teach me to two-step at one point, then to western swing. Then a slow song starts and I lay my head on his shoulder and try to savor the moment, like it’s just him and me here, no worries, no work schedules, no impending calamities, no future plans at all.
I feel Christian watching me before I see him. He’s dancing with Ava Peters on the other side of the dance floor. I lift my head and peek over Tucker’s shoulder at him expertly maneuvering Ava through the crowd. Ava laughs up at him, says something coy while looking at him through her false eyelashes.
I press my cheek back into Tucker’s shoulder, close my eyes. But when I open them again I still automatically look for Christian, and when I find him, he looks right at me, meets my gaze and holds it.
Will you dance with me, Clara? he asks. Just one time tonight?
Before I can answer, Tucker pulls away. He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it, thanks me for the dance. I smile at him.
“Let’s get something to drink,” he says. “It’s hot in here.” I let him lead me over to the punch bowl and get me a glass. We stand for a few minutes by the door, the cool air washing over us.
“You having a good time?” he asks.
“Super.” I grin. “But I was wondering, where are your other dates?”
“My other dates?”
“If I remember correctly, last year you brought three different women to prom. Where’s the elusive Miss Allison Lowell?”
“This year I only have eyes for you.”
“Good answer.” I loop my arms around his neck and sneak in a kiss.
“Ah, ah, ah, people,” says Mr. Phibbs, clearing his throat.
Chaperone. I give him my best go-away look.
“Chastity is a virtue,” he quips.
“Yes, sir,” says Tucker with a respectful nod. Mr. Phibbs nods back and moves off to find some other couple’s bliss to break up.
I slip into the bathroom to powder my nose and happen to bump into Kay Patterson. She’s examining herself with approval, reapplying her lipstick. She looks ravishing, wearing a long black mermaid-style dress, sparkling with what I hope are fake jewels.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mom,” she says.
I meet her big brown eyes in the mirror. I don’t think she’s uttered a single word to me since last year, back when she and Christian had just broken up.
“Uh, thanks.”
“My dad died of colon cancer,” she says flatly. “I was three. I don’t remember it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
I can’t think of anything to say, so I start washing my hands at the next sink. She finishes perfecting her already perfect face and returns her lipstick to her bag. But then she stands there staring at me. I brace myself for an insult.
“Most people don’t know. I have a stepdad, and everybody assumes that he’s my father.” I nod, unsure why she’s telling me this, and glance at the door.
“Anyway,” continues Kay, “I want to offer my condolences. Whatever that’s worth.” I murmur thanks again and start waving my hand in front of the paper towel dispenser to get the infrared mechanism to spit out the paper. Nothing happens. Kay hands me a paper towel from a stack on the counter.
“Christian’s worried about you,” she says. “I can tell. He lost his mom when he was young, too. That’s one of the first things that we understood about each other.”
“I know,” I say to Kay smugly. Meaning: he told me too.
She nods. “You should go easy on him. He deserves to be happy.”
“He’s not my boyfr—”
“You’re looking at him,” she says. “You might be all snuggly-wuggly with your boyfriend, but you’re looking at him.”
“I am not.”
She rolls her eyes. After a moment, she says, “He dumped me for you, you know.” I stare at her, a deer caught in the headlights.
Her mouth purses up for a minute like she’s suppressing a smile. “He didn’t say that to me, of course. He gave me a bunch of phony lines about being fair to me and what I needed and acted like he was doing me a favor. Not that I didn’t see it coming. He’d been acting weird for a while. Not himself. And I saw how you looked at him and how he looked at you.”
“Red’s your color, Clara.”
“Yes,” Mom agrees faintly. “You’re beautiful.”
“Trust me, Tucker’s jaw is going to drop when he sees you,” Billy says, ushering me out of the room so Mom can rest. “He’s going to feel like a millionaire with you on his arm.”
“I’m arm candy, is that what you’re saying?”
“Tonight, yes,” Billy says. “Own it.”
I have to go pick Tucker up, since this year he’s rideless—the old ranch car finally kicked the bucket. Wendy’s riding with us too, since Jason Lovett’s car broke down two days ago, so she agreed to meet him there. Not the most romantic arrangement for any of us, but I’m sure we’ll make it work.
Billy stops me on my way out the door to spritz some amazing, yummy perfume in the air and has me walk through it.
“Home by twelve thirty or I’ll come looking,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s serious.
“Yes, Mom,” I mutter.
She smiles sympathetically. “Have a good time at the dance.” I plan to. Spring is passing too quickly, marching relentlessly toward the cemetery and summer and college and all the other things I don’t want to think about. This night might be the only good time I get for a while. I’m going to live it up.
The dance this year is at the Snow King ski lodge. The prom committee has done up the place like a jungle, fake trees, big fake flowers, even a giant apple tree in the corner with a plastic snake coiled in the branches.
Last year was classier.
But it doesn’t matter. This year, I’m with Tucker. Normally, in his cowboy clothes, his boots and T-shirts and tightish jeans, his flannels and Stetson, he’s unbelievably attractive.
There’s a ruggedness about him that’s crazy sexy. But then there are times like these, when he shaves and puts on a rented tuxedo, wears a tie and everything, combs his hair just so, when he’s like a movie star.
“They’re looking at you,” I whisper as we pass through the lobby, and a group of girls turns around to stare.
“Nah,” he says. “They’re looking at you. That is one amazing dress.” We dance. Tucker’s not a great dancer, but what he lacks in skill he makes up for in jokes.
He has me laughing the entire time. He tries to teach me to two-step at one point, then to western swing. Then a slow song starts and I lay my head on his shoulder and try to savor the moment, like it’s just him and me here, no worries, no work schedules, no impending calamities, no future plans at all.
I feel Christian watching me before I see him. He’s dancing with Ava Peters on the other side of the dance floor. I lift my head and peek over Tucker’s shoulder at him expertly maneuvering Ava through the crowd. Ava laughs up at him, says something coy while looking at him through her false eyelashes.
I press my cheek back into Tucker’s shoulder, close my eyes. But when I open them again I still automatically look for Christian, and when I find him, he looks right at me, meets my gaze and holds it.
Will you dance with me, Clara? he asks. Just one time tonight?
Before I can answer, Tucker pulls away. He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it, thanks me for the dance. I smile at him.
“Let’s get something to drink,” he says. “It’s hot in here.” I let him lead me over to the punch bowl and get me a glass. We stand for a few minutes by the door, the cool air washing over us.
“You having a good time?” he asks.
“Super.” I grin. “But I was wondering, where are your other dates?”
“My other dates?”
“If I remember correctly, last year you brought three different women to prom. Where’s the elusive Miss Allison Lowell?”
“This year I only have eyes for you.”
“Good answer.” I loop my arms around his neck and sneak in a kiss.
“Ah, ah, ah, people,” says Mr. Phibbs, clearing his throat.
Chaperone. I give him my best go-away look.
“Chastity is a virtue,” he quips.
“Yes, sir,” says Tucker with a respectful nod. Mr. Phibbs nods back and moves off to find some other couple’s bliss to break up.
I slip into the bathroom to powder my nose and happen to bump into Kay Patterson. She’s examining herself with approval, reapplying her lipstick. She looks ravishing, wearing a long black mermaid-style dress, sparkling with what I hope are fake jewels.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mom,” she says.
I meet her big brown eyes in the mirror. I don’t think she’s uttered a single word to me since last year, back when she and Christian had just broken up.
“Uh, thanks.”
“My dad died of colon cancer,” she says flatly. “I was three. I don’t remember it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
I can’t think of anything to say, so I start washing my hands at the next sink. She finishes perfecting her already perfect face and returns her lipstick to her bag. But then she stands there staring at me. I brace myself for an insult.
“Most people don’t know. I have a stepdad, and everybody assumes that he’s my father.” I nod, unsure why she’s telling me this, and glance at the door.
“Anyway,” continues Kay, “I want to offer my condolences. Whatever that’s worth.” I murmur thanks again and start waving my hand in front of the paper towel dispenser to get the infrared mechanism to spit out the paper. Nothing happens. Kay hands me a paper towel from a stack on the counter.
“Christian’s worried about you,” she says. “I can tell. He lost his mom when he was young, too. That’s one of the first things that we understood about each other.”
“I know,” I say to Kay smugly. Meaning: he told me too.
She nods. “You should go easy on him. He deserves to be happy.”
“He’s not my boyfr—”
“You’re looking at him,” she says. “You might be all snuggly-wuggly with your boyfriend, but you’re looking at him.”
“I am not.”
She rolls her eyes. After a moment, she says, “He dumped me for you, you know.” I stare at her, a deer caught in the headlights.
Her mouth purses up for a minute like she’s suppressing a smile. “He didn’t say that to me, of course. He gave me a bunch of phony lines about being fair to me and what I needed and acted like he was doing me a favor. Not that I didn’t see it coming. He’d been acting weird for a while. Not himself. And I saw how you looked at him and how he looked at you.”
