Fancy White Trash (22 page)

I have a moment of panic when we get to Jenna's and I see her outfit, a much shorter and more casual dress. It's black with a narrow white band under her breasts and makes her look model-thin. Her caramel-colored hair hangs to her shoulders, curly and wild, and she's wearing flats. Cody seems to read my mind, because he reaches over and puts a warm hand on my bare shoulder. “Relax, there's room for both of you in a semi-formal dress code.”

We go through the photo shoot with Jenna's mom, who is a shorter, plumper version of her daughter with a wide smile and the smallest digital camera I've ever seen. She poses us in front of the staircase in the entryway. Boughs of greenery wind through the railing. When I accidentally brush up against them, they poke me with their fake, plastic needles. Silk flowers, a bit dusty on the petals, decorate a small table on the side with a plate full of keys.

“Just the girls,” she says, arranging us with sweeps of her hand so that Cody stands to the side and Jenna and I are facing the camera with matching forced smiles.

“Sorry,” she whispers out of the side of her over-glossed lips. “She's not usually like this.”

I shrug one shoulder. “Don't worry about it. My mom cried.”

“How about one with Cody in the middle?” Jenna's mom interrupts our brief moment of bonding. We arrange ourselves to her specifications. “And how about just the happy couple now?”

Jenna fits herself to Cody's side for the last shot, gazing up at him with what can only be called puppy-dog eyes. Cody sends me an SOS look, but this is all his idea, so I let him hang. “Take a few more,” I say to Jenna's mom. “Can you e-mail me copies?”

Cody's teeth grind, but he stays put until Jenna's mom has taken approximately one gazillion pictures and gotten my e-mail address. And then, finally, we're on our way again.

At Brian's house, he meets us out front. His dark hair is gelled into submission.

“For you.” Brian presents me with a small wrist corsage.

“It's beautiful,” I say, admiring the way the tiny lavender orchids go perfectly with my dress.

“Cody told me what you'd be wearing. Orchids mean beauty and refinement.”

I actually blush. Me. Cody laughs and touches a finger to my hot cheek. “Ouch!” he says, shaking it like he's been burned.

Jenna doesn't laugh. Instead, she looks peeved that Cody didn't bring her a corsage. I know he blew his budget on his black-and-white wingtip oxfords. And no dance was worth dipping into the New York Fund.

Brian's dad, who is older than any of our parents and sports a full shock of white hair, takes more pictures. We stand in front of the juniper tree in his front yard. Now that Brian's involved, we have the All of Us Together, the Boys Only, the Girls Only, the Separate Couples, and the Waving Good-Bye, Get Us Out of Here Pose. Just when we thought we could leave, Brian's mom drives up at the last second and we have to go through it all again.

“Thanks!” she says, brushing long strands of hair as dark as Brian's away from her face. “I didn't want to miss such a big night. I'm so glad you've made friends here. And it looks like you've even met someone special.” She looks meaningfully at me, and I immediately see that she's in denial with a capital
D
.

“We're just friends,” I say, about to push hair behind my ear until I hear Shelby's voice in my head saying,
Don't touch it!

“Of course, of course.” She slips her camera into her purse. “I'm glad I got to meet you, that's all I mean. Traffic from Tempe was impossible. I thought I'd miss the whole thing.”

“I would've sent pictures, but I'm glad you made it.” Brian, who is at least a half foot taller than his mom, leans down and kisses her cheek. “Are you going to stick around?”

She laughs. “Would you believe I have to rush back for your brother's game? I promised him I'd be there by halftime. Hope the traffic going the other way is better.” She hops back in her little Honda and drives away without ever saying a word to Brian's dad.

“Interesting,” I mutter to Brian in a low voice.

He flashes me a quick smile and shakes his head. “That story's too long for tonight.”

“Another time?” I ask.

“Let's not borrow trouble,” he says, and offers me his elbow. Since I practiced with Cody, I know just where to put my hand. He leads me to the car, where Cody and Jenna are waiting, and finally, we're off.

Although most of our school dances are held on campus, for this occasion, the student council rented space at the American Legion Hall. Cody drops us off in front, then circles around to park. We enter the building with Brian playing the role of a ladies' man, one girl on each arm.

“Hi, Abby! Got your tickets handy?” Becca, decked out in all the Hollywood glamour Cody chose for her, holds out one perfectly pink-manicured hand. A gold bracelet with tiny charms tinkles. Cody will definitely have something to say about that. I distinctly remember him telling her to keep it simple.

Brian hands over our tickets, all four, and explains that Cody's on his way in. Ever-present Kent tucks the tickets in a metal box. Kent's tie matches Becca's fingernail polish. Cody will have something to say about that, too. Kent smiles and says, “Have fun!”

“Decorating was such a challenge,” Becca explains when we don't move along fast enough. “You wouldn't believe the restrictions. No tape, nothing can hang from the walls. It was a nightmare!”

“Honey, it turned out great.” Kent lays a soothing hand on her back. “You were brilliant.”

She dimples up and he leans in for a slow kiss. With tongue. We make our escape.

The main decorations are balloons. There must be a million of them, in every color. Each table has a balloon center-piece and confetti scattered over it. I'll give Becca “colorful,” but “brilliant”? No way. We settle at a table close to the dance floor and put down our stuff. Most of the tables are empty, but a few have been staked out by early birds like us. No one is dancing to the nineties grunge rock the DJ's playing. Understandably.

Cody was right about the dress code. I see two girls in jeans over by the buffet table, and behind them, three girls in what could easily be wedding gowns if they were white. They survey the food on the table and amble away without getting a plate. Must be the usual dance fare—stale sugar cookies and room-temperature cheese with unsalted crackers. Yum. Lucas Fielding, who's hanging out with a couple of guys I don't know, sees me from across the room and waves. I nod in his direction and lean back in the folding chair.

“Drinks?” Brian asks, and Jenna and I both say yes.

After he leaves, Jenna and I watch each other. The DJ has the music cranked so it's hard to hear her when she asks, “How long have you known Cody?”

“Forever,” I shout back over the thrumming bass of house music. “You?”

“We met the first day of school.” I think she blushes, but it's hard to tell in the dim lighting. It makes me mad, what Cody's doing to her. He knows he's not ever going to kiss her again, and here she is blushing over him. I never thought Cody would be one of
those
guys.

Brian comes back with three tiny plastic cups filled with something red. It looks like it has lethal staining potential, so I pass. Brian bobs his head to the music. Jenna keeps checking the door for Cody. It is taking him a long time, considering how few people are in the hall. Maybe he's not good at parking yet and drove out to the edge of the lot so he'd be less likely to hit someone's car. That seems right.

Jenna's face lights up. I turn my head and see Cody come in the door. He has a tightly leashed quality—like something's about to blow and only the strength of his will is keeping it in— that lets me know whatever the problem was, it wasn't parking.

“Cody!” Jenna meets him halfway and hangs on to his arm. “Wanna dance?”

Cody shakes his head no, causing a few bangs to fall loose from the tight hold of his hair products. His eyes bore into mine. He jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom.

“Excuse us,” I say, taking him away from Jenna and apologizing to Brian with a look. “We'll be back in a sec.”

Jenna pouts but brightens up when Brian rises from his chair and asks her to dance. The DJ has thankfully moved into this century and is playing some classic Beyoncé. Jenna bounces out to the dance floor, Brian a few steps behind.

We pass a few groups of people dancing and hurry past the photographer with his cheesy balloon arch. It looks like most of the people here are in the photographer's line.

“What is it?” I ask when we are finally in the hallway with the bathrooms. The music is still loud, but at least now we don't have to shout. “What happened?”

He pulls something out of his pocket and shoves it at me. It looks like a plug of some kind, only too skinny to be useful on any drain I've ever seen.

His face flames. “I can't believe this.”

I turn the plug over. It's cool and smooth in my hand. “What is it?”

“It's for”—he waves a hand behind him—“like if you're clubbing and you plan to . . . hook up . . . this is to get”—he waves behind him again—“you ready.”

“Huh?”

Cody is the worst person to have on your team for anything like Pictionary or Charades. He does the same useless gesture again and says, “You know, you put it in . . . ”

I really thought after years of watching my sisters screw up their lives, I couldn't be shocked. But I am. Because what he's telling me is that it's some kind of butt plug.
Butt plug
. I drop the thing on the floor and back away from it. God, I hope it was new.

“How do
you
know about these things?” It's not like Cottonwood has so many happenin' clubs, or any for that matter, that this kind of stuff would be common knowledge.

Cody looks at the floor. “I, y'know, read stuff.”

“Read stuff?” I can't take my eye off the
plug
. Try to picture Cody using it and can't.

He kicks the plug aside with the side of his shoe. “Web sites, chats—y'know, the usual.”

I had no idea the usual could be so unusual. I mostly surf the Net for soap-opera gossip in Computers whenever Mr. Edwards isn't hovering over our spreadsheet assignments.

“Where'd you get these”—I can't say the words
butt plug
aloud—“things?” I ask. He may have read about them, but he wouldn't bring them to homecoming. If they were his, he wouldn't be upset.

Cody's shoulders shake, but it's not fear this time. I think he might actually be mad. “When I walked in, someone pelted me with a handful of these things.” He pulls another one out of his pocket.

“Who?”

“I don't know. I grabbed a few and came to get you. Abby, what should I do?”

Now I see that he is scared, too. Mad and scared and trembling like it's twenty below in here. A guy in a light-gray shirt brushes by us in the hallway, still zipping up his pants. Why do guys leave the bathroom before they're completely done? I mean, really, no one wants to think about what else you forgot to do while you were in there. The deep bass of the music rumbles the floor beneath our feet.

“We're telling the chaperones,” I say. “That's what they're here for, right?”

“No, I mean what do I
do
?”

“We have to tell someone. This has to stop.”

“Abby.” He falls back against the wall, making room for two girls with matching clutch bags to get by. “I was really looking forward to tonight. Jenna's a nice person. Why doesn't it matter that I came with her? I mean, I could see before, when I never dated, that people could think I'm gay. But I'm here with a
girl.
How can they do this when I'm here with a
girl
?”

“I'm a girl,” I say. “If being seen with a girl was all it took, you wouldn't need Jenna.”

He waves his hand in a hopeless gesture. “But everyone knows you and I never . . . I mean, Jenna's like a real girl. Not a friend girl.”

“Oh, Cody.” I wrap my arms around him. He is too upset for me to get upset about not being a “real girl.” I don't worry about my makeup as I smash my face against his coat. “I'm so sorry.”

“What do I
do
?” he repeats into my hair. “I don't know what to do.”

I, too, am at a loss. I don't know what to tell him. I don't know what to say. But it occurs to me that there is someone here who might. I detach myself from Cody and go get Brian.

Chapter
21

“What's going on? ” Jenna asks . Cody and Brian have now been gone for almost an hour. She's had five glasses of the red punch, and it's stained her lips a berry color. She nibbles on her second stale sugar cookie.

“Guy stuff,” I tell her, giving her the same answer every time she asks. Which is, like, every five minutes.

Finally, the guys emerge from the dark hallway and join us at the table.

“You okay?” I ask Cody, even though the music is so loud I'm not sure he can hear me across the table. But he nods, eyes red and chin set in stubborn mode. Whatever Brian said moved him from sad to mad. Cody watches the dancers, not so many that the floor is crowded, as they jump up and down to some hip-hop song I've never heard before. All of the guys have lost their jackets, if they even started out with one, and there's a pile of heels in front of the DJ.

Without a word to anyone, Cody stands and makes his way through the dancers to the DJ. He yells something, and the DJ leans closer. They shout back and forth, then Cody returns. When he sits, he pulls his chair closer to Brian and whispers something in his ear.