Rolling Dice (27 page)

The day passes pretty quickly, actually. And it’s great because not even Physics class can dampen my day—Dr. Anderson is out sick, so class is canceled, meaning that I don’t have to face Dwight. I’m on a high all day long.

“Someone’s happy,” Summer notes with a laugh as we pile into Tiffany’s car.

“What was up with you yesterday?” Melissa asks.

I shrug. “Hormones, I guess. I don’t even know. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, silly!” she laughs. “We were just worried, that’s all.”

I smile and Melissa grins back at me.

“We have to be back here by five-thirty,” Tiffany says. “That gives us three hours of shopping. And we’re mostly just scouting today. Shoes and accessories can wait too. I was
working on our plan of attack in Spanish class, earlier. I figure if we start with the little boutique stores at the back, on the top floor …”

I tune her out and look through the window. I almost forgot about the game tonight, what with everyone concentrating on the dance, and what with the whole Dwight thing yesterday—

No, no, no! Stop thinking about that!
I push that out of my mind before my thoughts can wander back to yesterday morning.

“I can’t believe you guys are all ditching me for the game tonight,” I say, giving them a fake, exaggerated glare.

Summer sighs and says, “Well, that’s what you get for not joining the cheerleading squad, Madison …” But then she laughs and says, “You have Ricky, though—he won’t be playing. And a bunch of the others will be around too. You’ll be fine.”

“Oh, and don’t forget, there’s the after-party at Liam Kennedy’s house.” Liam is on the soccer team, and I haven’t given it much thought—other than to pick my outfit, which is merely a plain knee-length white skirt and a red tank top with a couple of frills. The colors of Midsommer High, of the Hounds. I thought I’d do my part.

It doesn’t take long to get to the mall. We drop by Subway and grab a quick sandwich before following Tiffany’s carefully constructed plan of action to look for dresses.

The first store we go to is one I’ve never heard of before; it’s a pretty big place, though, and I know as soon as we hit the wall of air-conditioning that we’re going to be here for a while.

The girls scatter immediately, exclaiming at the various dresses that catch their eye, even more bubbly and animated than usual—and that’s saying something.

However, I hesitate in the doorway. Swiveling my head slowly from side to side, I assess the situation: purple dresses; flowery dresses; elaborate sparkly, frilly dresses; pink dresses; short dresses; long dresses—all of them in some sort of order, but at first glance just mish-mashed together … It’s a labyrinth, and I’m not sure where to begin.

I draw in a long breath to steel myself and pick a random rack to go look at.

“Oh my God, this is gorgeous …”

“Melissa, look at this one! It would be so great on you!”

“Oh, gosh, this one feels amazing, it’s so silky!”

“Hey, Madison, seen anything yet?”

My head jerks up to look at Melissa, who’s grinning at me and waiting for an answer. I can only imagine how much I look like a deer trapped in the headlights.

“Uh … nope, don’t think so.” Then I laugh and say, “We’ve just set foot in the store—jeez, give me a sec!”

I trail my fingers over the smooth and silky fabrics, and I feel myself beginning to slip into a state of wonderment. I’ve never been interested by clothes, but surrounded by all of these beautiful prom dresses … it’s easy to see how people can get so caught up in it all …

My hands stop on a black dress a few racks away from where I started. I push the others away from it, the hangers scraping noisily against the metal rail. It’s a floor-length dress, sleeveless, with a V-neck. The material, which catches the light and gives the dress a soft shine, is gathered at the shoulders and wraps around the bodice before falling gracefully into the skirt.

It’s a very simple dress. Elegantly simple. I think that’s why I like it so much—there’s no fuss, no ruffles or sashes or anything, and yet it’s still a fantastic dress. I grab the hanger before I even think about it.

“Ooh, Madison’s found something!” I hear Summer trill across the store, and I find she’s not far away. “Let’s see?”

Walking out from behind the rack, I hold the dress up in front of me, suddenly precarious, nervous, feeling as though I need their approval on this.

“Black?”
Summer and I glance over at Tiffany, who’s scrunching her nose up at it. “Isn’t that a bit … a bit …”

“Boring?” I offer up, smiling wryly. “Depressing?”

She shrugs, not denying it. “Well, maybe you could just look around a bit more? A bit of color never hurt anyone. How about blue? Powder blue would look great on you.”

“I saw a baby-blue dress over that way,” Melissa says.

I see Tiffany open her mouth to retort, but she decides against it and twists her mouth into a hard line instead. She turns back to pull out another silver-white dress to add to her collection.

I walk back around my rail to put my dress back, and Summer wanders over to the other side, looking at a bright purple dress.

When she speaks to me, her voice is hushed and gentle. She says, “I liked the black one too. Don’t put it back.”

I blink at her, and she smiles.

I don’t put the black dress back.

When we all decide to go try on our dresses in the large dressing rooms, I have the lightest load. I have maybe half a dozen dresses, while the others each have at least a dozen.

There are fairly large cubicles with curtains drawn across them, all arranged in a semicircle around a wall of mirrors and tiny pedestals, which I assume are used for tailoring. There are a few cushioned seats too.

In my cubicle, I hang my dresses around me. Three light blue ones, the black one, a peppermint-green one, and a deep burgundy one. None of them are particularly fancy; they’re all quite simple. The burgundy one is probably my favorite: it’s strapless, with a lacy bodice, and the skirt has these cool golden threads woven into it. I still have a soft spot for the black one, though, even though I can’t explain it.

I try on the green one first, but it looks hideous on me. It gives me curves in all the wrong places, and makes me look washed out. I don’t even bother showing the girls that one.

Two of the three blue ones get their approval, but I’m hugely disappointed to discover that the burgundy one doesn’t look quite as good on me as it did on the hanger. I try the two blue ones on again, since the others are still working through their piles; but neither of them call out to me, particularly. I decide I’ll look somewhere else rather than getting one of these, and poke my head out of my cubicle’s curtain to tell the girls so.

“But that periwinkle one looked so perfect on you!” Tiffany pouts.

I nod my head at her. “Not as perfect as that one looks on you, though,” I tell her. The shimmery silver dress she’s wearing has sleeves to her elbows and a flaring skirt. I say that mostly to distract her, but it really
does
look amazing on her, with her dark skin and hair and big brown eyes. She flashes a grin at me and twirls, so that the skirt swings out around her, and I disappear back into my cubicle.

I hear Summer announce that the spaghetti-strap one with the sequins makes her look frumpy, but I’m studying the black dress. I’ve hung the others, my rejects, on the other side, so this one hangs alone.

I decide to try it on. I haven’t got anything to lose by just trying the thing on, have I?

The material slips over my skin, smooth as water, and I contort my arms around myself with the intention of doing up the zipper before I remember there isn’t one. I didn’t notice at first, but this dress is entirely backless, save for the two straps that crossed over my spine and join the dress at the waist.

I run my hands over it. During this whole shopping trip I’ve felt a bit like a kid playing dress-up, but this one feels different. I just really, really, inexplicably like this dress. A heck of a lot.

This is the dress
, I think, smiling at my reflection. I know I’ve only tried on about five, and we still have a bunch more shops left to look in, but this is the dress. This is the one I want to wear to the Winter Dance.

I especially like the way the gathered material around the bodice makes me look like I have more curves than I really do.

Even though I’m sure this is the one, I don’t need to get the dress just yet. I saw a sign at the front of the store saying they can keep items on hold for up to ten days, so I’ll do that.

Then I change back into my regular clothes and go sit out on one of the cushiony seats to nod and mm-hmm and tell the others how good they look in their dresses until it’s time to leave, and I ask the guy on the counter at the front to keep the black dress on hold for me.

After that’s done, Tiffany says to me with a reassuring smile, “I’m sure we’ll find something brighter for you, Madison, don’t worry.”

And I reply, “I’m not.”

The roar of the crowds and the added noise of the school’s marching band are deafening, and the atmosphere is so charged it seems almost tangible. With my small bucket of popcorn, I make my way up the stairs of the bleachers. I left Ricky and the other guys somewhere around here, I’m sure of it … Maybe we were a couple rows higher up?

I’ve never gone to a football or soccer game before; now, I see what all the excitement is about.

“Hey, Madison!” a voice calls, and whipping my head around, I spot Andy on my left, near the end of a row with a few empty seats beside him.

“Hi!” I call back, smiling. I’d wave, but I don’t have any free hands right now. Instead, I edge like a crab into the bleachers beside him. Carter’s on his other side, and he leans forward to greet me too, a big smile on his face.

“I didn’t know you guys were into soccer,” I say, not in a judgmental way—just curiously.

“I’m not,” Carter says. “They dragged me here.”

“They?” Suddenly my blood seems to be running colder in my veins.

“Andy and Dwight,” he clarifies, giving me an odd look, furrowing his one and a half eyebrows.

“Soccer and football matches are an integral part of high school life,” Andy informs me, distracting me. “You can’t miss them. Besides,” he adds in a conspiratorial whisper, “some of those cheerleaders are hot—can’t deny it.”

I laugh, as do the two of them.

Then I hear an “Oh,” from behind me, and I freeze.

“There you are!” Andy exclaims. “I’ve been dying of thirst here!” He reaches past me, and in my peripheral vision I see a hand passing a plastic cup over.

“Long line,” Dwight replies simply. He doesn’t sound like his normal self. He sounds as tense as I feel.

The notion that he told them about the kiss briefly crosses my mind; but from the looks of things—like how they seem to be baffled by the edginess between the two of us—they have no idea whatsoever.

“I should get going,” I mumble, ducking my head. I shoot a fleeting smile to Carter and Andy. “See you guys.”

“What’s the rush?” Carter asks, and that’s when I know for certain that they don’t know anything about the kiss, which is a relief, although I don’t feel much better for it.

“I just—I shouldn’t …”

“Madison has more important things to do than talk to people like us,” Dwight says, and unless I’m mistaken, there’s a patronizing note in his voice that makes my blood boil. “Like file her nails.”

I bite my tongue—literally. I close my eyes briefly. I want to whirl around and snap at him; tell him he has no right to say anything like that; tell him to shut the heck up. But I can’t. I won’t. This is one of those occasions when I’ll be better off trying to be invisible.

“Wouldn’t want your boyfriend to get jealous now, would we?” The disdain drips from his voice.

“Dwight—come on, dude,” Andy says quietly, looking at me. There must be something in my expression that shows he’s upsetting me, even though I’m fighting desperately to keep my head down and look impassive. It used to be so easy. I guess it’s harder to look like you don’t care when you really
do
care.

“I was going anyway,” I mumble. I raise the hand holding my purse to Carter and Andy, attempting to give them a smile. “Enjoy the game, guys.”

I keep my head down when I walk past Dwight, but it’s difficult not to catch the look on his face—I can’t help myself—and the second our eyes lock, the scornful mask he wears gives way to a flash of hurt, an apologetic, sorrowful sort of look—and then the mask is on again, and my eyes are back on the floor. It’s an image that will haunt me, I know.

The thunderous voice from the speakers around the field announces:
“It’s only fifteen minutes till the match begins, folks, so take your seats! Oh, and the home school’s cheerleading team will be coming out in just ten minutes!”

I shuffle up a couple of rows until I hear someone yell my name and, grateful, I make my way along and take my seat next to Ricky.

“Everything okay?” he asks, taking a few pieces of my popcorn. “You look a little … I don’t know. Weird.” Then he makes a face. “Ew, salted. Why didn’t you get butter?”

I force a laugh and say, “I didn’t know I was buying the popcorn for you, sorry. You should’ve specified.”

He sighs, but his smile is good-natured. “Well, remember for next time, okay?”

“Okay,” I laugh; this time it isn’t so forced, but my heart’s still not entirely in it.

We win the soccer match 3–1. Bryce scored two of those three goals, and one was with just two minutes left to go. Even for me—and I’m not all that interested in soccer—it was a pretty exciting match. And the excitement doesn’t die down after the match, since everyone will be heading to Liam Kennedy’s house.

All the cheerleaders and soccer players have gone to the locker rooms to shower and change, so there’s no point in going to congratulate Bryce now; I’ll wait until the party.

Ricky is giving me and a couple of other guys a ride to Liam’s, choosing to be the designated driver this time. We make our way out through the swarms of people—parents and teachers and students alike—to the parking lot. And I can’t stop myself from looking around for Dwight.