Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless (15 page)

"These are absolutely gorgeous." Isabella kicks off her own shoes, then slips my black sandals on like they're made of gold. "And they fit me too." Now she's strutting around her oversized bedroom, checking herself out in her full-length mirror and practically drooling over my shoes. "Did you get these online too?"

I simply nod, deciding to just go with fiction. Really, in light of everything else, what's the difference? And fortunately she doesn't question the authenticity of these shoes. After we give each other facials and manicures, we spend even more time primping-and I actually start to feel a bit like a princess. Then Isabella's mom not only helps us with our hair but insists on taking lots of photos as we strike pose after pose in Isabella's bedroom. Isabella accuses her mother of hovering, but I like this attention. I like everything about this night. I'm having so much fun. I almost feel like I'm someone else.

"What are you wearing to keep you warm?" Mrs. Marx asks me.

"Good question." Isabella goes into her oversized walk-in closet, then emerges wearing a furry silver jacket. "Check this out. Mom's letting me use my grandmother's old mink."

"Real mink?" I reach over to touch the incredibly soft fur.

"I had to get it out of cold storage," Mrs. Marx explains. "But I thought, why not? Still, I'm worried about you, Adele." She touches my bare arm. "You'll be freezing out there tonight."

I shrug. "I guess I hadn't even thought of that."

"I have this little black cape," Mrs. Marx says suddenly. "It's an old Ralph Lauren I've had since Isabella was a baby."

"Yes!" Isabella exclaims. "That cape would be perfect."

And just like that, Mrs. Marx exits and within minutes

returns with a lovely black velvet cape lined with luxurious satin.

"this is so nice," I say as she slips it over my shoulders. "Are you sure you don't mind loaning it to me?"

She just laughs. "Absolutely. Really, it's indestructible."

Isabella nods to affirm this. "I've heard that, as a baby, I threw up all over it on our way home from my grandparents' once.

I look nervously down at the cape.

"Don't worry, it's been cleaned since then," Mrs. Marx assures me as she leaves Isabella and me standing in front of the mirror admiring our grown-up-looking selves.

"What about a purse?" I ask Isabella.

Isabella holds up a small beaded evening bag. "Mom loaned this to me, but I don't really want to carry it around. I mean, I'll probably just end up losing it." She frowns. "But I should probably take my phone and lip gloss."

"Do you want me to carry the bag for you?"

She sticks her hand into what appears to be a pocket tucked into the side of her fur coat with a surprised expression. "Hey, this will work." She slips her phone and lip gloss into the pocket and grins. "Perfect."

I check the cape to discover it has no pockets.

"Don't worry," Isabella assures me. "We'll just share the lip gloss, and if we need a phone, which seems unlikely, I've got mine. That way we'll both travel light."

"Cool." I toss my phone back with my other stuff. "My phone's almost dead anyway."

And as if Mrs. Marx hasn't been generous enough already, she's also prepared a bunch of appetizers and things for us downstairs. Then to my surprise, as we're waiting for the guys to arrive, Isabella's dad opens a bottle of real champagne and offers us both a small glass to celebrate our big night. I honestly feel like I'm starring in one of the Princess Diary movies-like this is all a sweet dream. But it's real. And despite my usual undercurrent of uneasiness, I wish this night could just go on and on. I even imagine that it can. Maybe Isabella's parents will decide to adopt me tomorrow morning.

It's around six thirty when Ethan and Jayden arrive, and Isabella's mom poses us by the staircase, taking even more photos. The guys eat some of the appetizers, although no champagne is offered to them. And then it's time to go and pick up the others. As we're walking out to where an elegant white stretch Hummer is parked in the circular driveway, Jayden takes my hand and whispers in my ear, "You look absolutely beautiful tonight, Adele."

I thank him and compliment him on his suit. Then, like a perfect gentleman, he helps me into the limo. I feel so very grown up and unbelievably happy . . . and somewhat unreal. But it's good ... very good. The other guys, Garth and Caleb, are already in the limo, and then we're off to pick up the other girls, who are waiting at Bristol's house only a few blocks away. I've never been to Bristol's before, but I'm not too surprised to see that it's higher up the hill than Isabella's. And it's bigger and fancier too.

As the Hummer pulls into the long driveway, we discuss whether we should all go in, but Ethan checks the time and decides that we should let Caleb and Garth get the other girls so we can get moving and make it to the restaurant to secure our reservation. This is a relief to me since I don't really want to go inside Bristol's house. And although I'm trying to think positively, I really don't look forward to seeing Bristol tonight. I have a feeling that Jayden feels the same as he takes my hand in his and gives it a warm squeeze.

Of course, both Bristol and Lily look gorgeous. Lily's dress is creamy white satin, trimmed with rhinestones. But, oddly enough, Bristol has on a little black dress that's not much different than mine. I'm not sure whether to be dismayed or flattered because I know Bristol heard me describing my dress during art, so it can't be a coincidence. And considering how Isabella wanted our dresses to be complementary to each other, I'm curious as to her reaction but am relieved she's not mentioning it. So I will try to ignore this little irritation too. At least I'm the girl with Jayden!

Our group makes pleasant small talk as we are transported in style across town. And I'm not sure if it's my imagination or not, but Bristol seems unusually quiet and cool. However, once we're at the restaurant waiting to be seated, it's as if she's become the life of the party. She is pleasant and cheerful to everyone. Even me. And as we're led to our table, she insists we sit in boy-girl order, and naturally, she manages to snag the seat next to Jayden. Still, I don't care. I know that Jayden has no interest in her.

Dinner goes relatively smoothly, but for some reason I feel like my guard is up with Bristol. I'm not even sure why since she's actually being exceptionally nice. Maybe it's because she's being so nice, so sweet and complimentary to everyone ... especially Jayden. Or maybe I'm just paranoid.

"So, who do you think will win homecoming queen this year?" Lily says as a decadent chocolate dessert is being served. Now, we're all well aware that Isabella's name is on the ballot. But Isabella didn't campaign and she played the whole thing down, so much so that I nearly forgot. No one even expects her to win.

"I think Emily Hershey has this one in the bag," Isabella proclaims. "I even voted for her myself."

"You mean you didn't vote for yourself?" Ethan says.

She just laughs. "Of course not, silly. I don't want to be queen.

"Well, I think you have a serious chance," Bristol tells her. "I voted for you."

Now everyone else at the table admits they voted for Isabella as well. I say the same thing, although it's another lie. The truth is, I was so distracted with my life that I forgot to vote. And my guess is that Emily Hershey will probably win. I even stopped by one of her campaign tables for a free chocolate bar last week. But to be fair I was hungry that day. Even so, I act like Isabella has a chance.

Bristol holds up her water glass like she's about to make a toast. "Here's to Bella-no matter what the outcome is tonight, she's still our queen."

Everyone follows suit, saying, "Here's to Queen Isabella!"

Isabella is beaming. "Well, even if I don't win, and I don't expect to, you guys are all very sweet."

Bristol is earning a lot of brownie points tonight. And not just with Isabella either. It's like everyone at the table, even Jayden, is warming up to her. And for some reason this is making me very uncomfortable. Maybe I'm imagining things, but something about this does not feel right.

hen we're back in the Hummer on our way to the hotel where the dance is being held, Bristol turns her attention to me. "Well, Adele, it looks like we could pass for sisters tonight," she says in a voice that, to my ears, sounds coated with saccharine.

"You two do look a bit alike," Lily agrees. "Same hair color. And your dresses are really similar and-"

"Mine's just a Valentino," Bristol says. "Tonight was such short notice that my mom actually borrowed it from a friend of hers, then had some quick alterations done so it would fit me."

I nod. "It's very pretty."

"What's your dress?" Bristol asks. "Let me guess . . ." She frowns slightly as she looks at it. "Hmm ... I'm not sure."

"Chanel?" ventures Lily with what almost seems like a wicked glimmer in her eye, like she knows it's nothing special.

"No . . ." I glance out the window where the blur of car lights zips past us in the opposite direction. "I'm not really sure who made it."

"You didn't even look at the label?" Bristol looks stunned.

"What is it with some girls and designers?" Jayden wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Who cares whose name is on a label anyway? What's the big deal? I think Adele looks like a million bucks."

I smile at him. "Thanks."

"Oh, it's not that big of a deal," Bristol says quickly. "It's just that some people pretend to be wearing designers ... you know, putting on pretenses and acting like they're something they're not.

"Wannabes and posers," Lily says in a superior way. "I can't stand them."

Bristol nods. "I personally find it irritating when people attempt to pass themselves off like that. I can't stand phonies." She's staring directly at me now. "How about you, Adele? Do you like phonies?"

I swallow hard and try to think of a response.

"Well, her dress might not be a designer," Isabella says, "but did you see her shoes?"

Bristol just shrugs.

Isabella points to my feet. "Check them out. Christian Louboutin. I told Adele to watch out because I might resort to some shoe-snatching before the night is over."

"They're not real Christian Louboutin." The way Bristol says this is confusing. I'm not sure if she's making a statement or asking a question. All I know is this is not good.