Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless (14 page)

"Oh my! That sounds very classic and elegant." She tells me about the "little black dress" she wore when her husband took her to New York for their fifteenth anniversary. "And Carl gave me a real string of pearls that year. It looked so lovely with the black dress. He actually took a photograph of me standing in front of Tiffany's." She chuckles. "As if I resembled Audrey Hepburn."

"I'll bet you did, too."

She frowns slightly. "I wonder where that photograph is ..."

Then, to continue my distraction efforts, I ramble on a bit more about how my accessories won't be pearls but fake diamonds, and finally seeing that she's getting sleepy, I tell her good night and move on to help another resident. It's weird how much I can relate to old Mrs. Ashburn. It's like we've both been forced from our homes.

But at least she has a warm bed to sleep in.

n Friday morning I feel strangely energized. Like maybe I can pull this off for a while longer after all. Knowing I have a night off from work- not to mention going to the dance and everything else-well, I almost feel like I'm on top again. Like I might be able to survive my life.

Bristol seems oddly quiet in art. Lindsey and I make small talk, and I'm a bit surprised to hear that Lindsey is going to the dance too. For some reason, I assumed this librarian's helper had little or no life.

"Byron's just a friend of mine from youth group," Lindsey admits to me. "But I think it'll be fun just the same." Then she tells me about her dress. Something she and her mom found at a vintage shop, and it actually sounds very cool. I try not to feel envious to hear of a mom who's involved with her daughter like that.

"My dress is kind of vintage too," I say to Lindsey as I smooth the tip of my charcoal stick into a point.

"How so?" Bristol asks.

I'm surprised she's even been listening to us, but even more caught off guard by the frosty tone of her voice. As a result, I'm sharply reminded that I'm going to the very dance Bristol has been left out of ... with the very guy she wishes she was going with. For me to talk about it like this, right in front of her, especially considering how exceptionally kind she's been to me lately, well, it's not very thoughtful on my part. I wish I could retract my entire conversation with Lindsey. What was I thinking?

"It's just a plain black dress," I say quickly, shrugging like Genevieve's favorite dress is simply an old rag. "Pretty basic, really." Then to change the subject, I ask Bristol about her drawing, lavishing what I hope sounds like sincere praise upon her.

But despite my efforts, she seems cool and distant now. I'm certain I must've offended her. I so wish I hadn't said anything about the dance. She's obviously jealous. Finally the bell rings, and since I've already packed up my things, I take off without even saying good-bye. I cannot get out of the art room soon enough.

"Hey, what's the big hurry?" Jayden jogs to catch up with me on my way to the cafeteria.

"Oh, sorry." I slow down for him. "I guess I'm just used to rushing around these days. It's like I'm on fast-speed or something."

"So ... how's your mom doing now?"

"She's better. Fortunately, she's well enough to get moved to the nursing home now." As twisted as it sounds, I actually imagine a pale sick image of my mom resting in one of the beds at River Woods Care Center. It's like the lies are affecting my brain.

He smiles. "Good to hear."

"Yeah, it is. I mean, she's still really weak and her lungs are damaged, but she should recover . . . in time." I glance away from him, hating myself for this false world I've created. But really, what can I do?

"I feel so bad when I remember that night at your house." He pauses to open the door to the cafeteria. "You really seemed upset. And you had every reason to be, but I just didn't get how serious it was."

I nod, shoving the guilt down deeper inside of me, putting a lid on top. "Yeah, I think the whole thing took me by surprise too.

We get in line and are soon getting our food, which I still do not take for granted. In fact, I decide to splurge on the chef's salad today since my payday's not far off. Then we join the others at our table. Not surprisingly, everyone there seems to be talking about tonight's dance.

"Where's Bristol?" Lily asks.

Everyone glances around, but no one seems to know or care.

"I need to talk to her." Lily has her phone in hand now. "Garth Martin's my lab partner, and he just told me that Katie Lowell is really sick and now he's dateless for homecoming."

"So?" Isabella gives Lily a blank look.

"So ... it's not like Garth and Katie are serious or anything; they were just going to the dance for fun. But Garth's already got his suit and everything, and he still wants to go. So I mentioned that Bristol is dateless too. And he asked me to ask her if she's interested in going."

"She won't be," Isabella tells Lily. "I know for a fact there's only one guy she would go to the dance with." Isabella tosses me a look that's partly sympathetic and partly smug. "But we know thats not going to happen." She smiles.

"Hey, Bristol," Lily says into her phone and steps away from the table so we don't catch the rest of her conversation.

"She won't go," Isabella says with confidence.

But when Lily returns to our table, she's wearing a catty smile. "Guess what?"

"Bristol is going with Garth?" I venture.

Lily nods victoriously, then sits back down.

"No way!" Isabella hits the table with her hand.

"Way! Although Bristol said we have to let Garth and her join our group or she won't go."

"No problem. We can fit four couples in the stretch Hummer," Ethan says.

"The more the merrier," Isabella says lightly, but I can tell by the glint in her eyes that she's curious. For that matter, so am 1. Why would Bristol suddenly agree to go to the dance with Garth Martin? Not that Garth is a loser. He's actually quite nice. But it just doesn't add up.

"Where is Bristol anyway?" I ask Lily. "I mean, I just saw her in art last period, so I know she's in school."

"I'm not sure," Lily confesses. "She was acting kind of mysterious on the phone."

"Maybe she's off getting her dress," Caleb says.

Isabella laughs. "Yeah, right. She was off getting a dress even before she knew she had a date to the dance."

The conversation returns to tonight's plans and festivities, and Bristol and her mysterious absence are temporarily forgotten. Still, I feel uneasy knowing she'll be going with the rest of us to the dance. I actually looked forward to her absence. And Isabella's right. No matter who Bristol goes to the dance with, she'll probably still have her eye on Jayden. And despite how nice she's been lately-well, up until art class today-I still don't totally trust that girl.

Before lunch ends, I take Isabella aside. I've been slightly obsessing over how I can possibly get prepared for my big night inside my messy van. I've been haunted by images of me crawling out of Darth Vader with a piece of dirty laundry hanging from the back of my dress, my hair stringy, my makeup resembling something from a bad Halloween movie. Not only that, but to be picked up in the limo means I'll need to park the van at the condo and then what? Hang out in the bushes until my ride arrives? And what if the manager notices me there and gets suspicious?

"I want to put my hair in an up-do tonight." I carefully lay the foundation of my plan to Isabella. "But I'm not good with hair so I'm not really sure how to do it. If my mom wasn't sick, I'd ask her to help-"

"I know!" Isabella declares. "You bring your dress and everything to my house, and we'll both get ready there. My mom's great with hair. We'll get her to help you."

I hug her. "Thank you!"

"This is going to be the best night!" She pulls out her phone and immediately calls her mom, leaving a message and informing her of our plan. "It's all set."

I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out how to get myself to Isabella's house after school-without parking Darth Vader there. No way do I want Isabella or her parents to see that horrible van sitting in front of their beautiful home. Finally, I decide my only option is to zip out to the van, gather up my dress and everything, and be all ready to catch a ride with Isabella right after school. And maybe, if I'm lucky, she'll ask me to spend the night at her house too. That would be heavenly!

"What's all that?" Isabella asks me when I meet up with her after school.

"My stuff for the dance," I explain slightly breathlessly. "I thought I was going to your house with you."

"Oh yeah." She nods eagerly. "So, you want to ride with me?"

"If you don't mind."

"Not at all." She glances around. "I still haven't seen Bristol this afternoon." She waves over to Lily. "Is Bristol around? Is she catching a ride home with you?"

"No." Lily closes her phone as she comes over to join us. "But that was her. She cut her last class and had her mom come get her so they could go dress shopping. Then she asked me to meet her at her house afterward, and we'll get ready there."

"Nothing like last minute." Isabella chuckles. "Hope the poor girl can find something decent to wear."

"Knowing Bristol, she will," Lily says with confidence.

Then we say good-bye and that we'll see them later and part ways. To my relief, Isabella is so consumed with her plans for giving us both facials with a new kit she recently got that she doesn't question why I wanted to ride home with her like this. And as soon as we're in her house, which looks even bigger and fancier than the last time I saw it-maybe because my house got so much smaller since then-she insists on seeing my dress and shoes. To my dismay, she doesn't seem quite as impressed with the dress as I had hoped.

"It's a nice dress," she says after examining it. "But when you said vintage, I assumed it was a designer, like Chanel or Gucci."

"Oh . . ." I sigh as I slip the plastic back over it.

Now she spies the red-soled shoes in my bag, letting out a small shriek of delight. "You got Christian Louboutin shoes!"

Fortunately I left the shoebox in the van, so it's not too obvious these are knockoffs. Still, I'm not sure whether I want to continue with this part of the charade or not. It's not like Isabella doesn't have a few imitations herself. And my life is so phony already, it would feel good to be honest about something. I seriously wonder if I'll ever know when or where to draw the line between fact and fiction again.