Will Work for Prom Dress (16 page)

“C’mon. One night a week? A guy like that is probably out every night until the wee hours.”

“He is.” Zander put the car in park and kissed my hand. He turned to me and leaned back against the driver’s-side window. “Working. He pulls the night shift, nine to
three a.m., seven nights a week down at the Body Shop.”

“The tattoo and piercing place? Must be like a total party in there.”

“Maybe. Does that make it any less admirable? I know he loves his work. He designs original body art, like when people come in and describe what they want without a picture. He creates the piece for the actual tattoo artists to use.”

“Explains his image.”

“Maybe that’s just Lance. But even so, the guy underneath is about as good as it gets as far as I’m concerned. He does it all for his son.”

Seven days a week was pretty intense. “Yeah, Anne said he had a kid when he was super young.”

“I just think it’s amazing he gets by on five hours of sleep while chasing after a four-year-old all day. He never says it, but I think some part of him has to be stoked that kindergarten’s coming up next year. I think that’s why he made the push to finish his degree this semester. He’ll be able to take a job with more regular hours, maybe even move out of his folks’ basement.”

“He is hardly the type I’d expect to still be living with his parents.” I cringed at my tone. I didn’t know much about Zander’s living situation.

“What can you do? Your high school sweetheart takes off and leaves you with a newborn, you have to make a few adjustments to the ol’ life plan. What a transition, though. I don’t know how he did it and kept such a good attitude. He had his own place, but moved back home so his parents could help watch the baby after they got home from work and he could make some cash knowing the baby was safe.”

“My God, he has sole custody?” I gave myself a little mental kick for every ungenerous thought or comment I’d made in The Spikester’s direction.

“Yep. She relinquished her parental rights and left town straight from the hospital and never looked back. Wanted no part of that life. Most guys would have dumped the kid on their parents and kept up the partying life. He doesn’t even use day care.”

“I cannot imagine taking on that kind of responsibility—dealing with your whole life imploding when you’re that young!”

“Well, sometimes you expect Lemon Yellow and life gives you Burnt Sienna. You still have to make the best picture you can with what you’ve got,” said Zander.

We sat in silence and watched the neighbor’s streetlamp flicker. I hoped the sudden sadness in Zander’s eyes would
fade away, and he’d kiss me again. Then I could ask him about the dance. I looked up at the darkened windows of my house and felt a twinge of guilt, knowing my parents thought I was safely tucked in bed at Anne’s.

“Or maybe just let your four-year-old eat the offending ‘crayon of life’?”

He snorted and shook off whatever dark thoughts had floated into his head. Without thinking I leaned in for a peck of my own, earning a full return of his smile.

“So, look. If Anne is all stuck on spray-paint-toting Tank Top, maybe she can let Lance down easy? Or better yet, reconsider what a great guy she’ll be missing out on over some juvenile delinquent with a taste for tagging.”

“Oh, he’s not into graffiti. They just go on collecting expeditions.”

He leaned toward me and tugged on one lock of hair with a smile. His breath was warm in my ear.

“Mmm. Even better—stealing from unlocked cars in parking lots? What a winner.” The sarcasm shone through his whisper.

His lips grazing my neck made it difficult to speak. This was pretty new territory for me. Maybe I shouldn’t be trying.

“No, nothing like that. They just swipe street signs.”

The almost-kisses suddenly stopped.

“What?”

Not sure how to fix the broken mood, I tried to stay light. “Not a big deal, just a few street signs. Anne’s got one up in her bedroom.” Zander pulled back. I got a sudden chill from more than the absence of his lips on my skin.

Zander slid back upright, facing the wheel. It’s tough to gauge someone’s expression from his profile in the dark.

“How did you know about her sign?” His words came slowly.

“I saw it a few weeks ago.” I reached out and squeezed his hand. He didn’t pull away, but it stayed limply balanced on the gear shift. “What’s wrong?”

“What, like ‘Main Street,’ ‘Anne Street,’ something like that?”

“Umm, not really that kind. This one said,
DANGEROUS CURVES.
”

I flinched at his sharp intake of breath.

“What did Ms. Parisi say about the sign?”

“Well, nothing. I don’t think Anne lets her mom into her room.”

“And you didn’t tell her?” Zander’s voice trembled.

“No,” I stammered. “She’s my friend. You don’t go tattling on your friends to their parents.”

His head dropped forward until his brow rested on the steering wheel, hands white-knuckled on either side. I had a flashback of our trip to the make-out spot when he turned from that same position to smile at me. He turned now, but he wasn’t smiling.

“You stupid, stupid kids.” He spoke in a whisper. The second stupid was painfully drawn out.

“Zander!” I gasped.

“I need you to get out of my car now, Quigley.” He said my name like he didn’t know me.

“Zander?” Tears started. I didn’t even know what I’d done.

“Get out, Quigley.”

“But—”

“And don’t bother telling Anne anything about Lance. He dodged a bullet. She’s not good enough for him.”

I opened the door slowly. Zander glared straight ahead.

“Please, Zander. Can we just—”

My words were cut off as the ignition sprang to life. My feet felt wobbly as I stepped onto my lawn.

“Zander?” I swiped at my running nose and swallowed a sob. “What about us?”

“I’m sorry, Quigley.” He turned and gazed at me through his own wet eyes and slowly shook his head. “You’re not good enough for me, either.”

I stood watching his taillights disappear down my road. I waited long after he made the turn, sure he’d be back apologizing and begging to talk things through, shocked he’d left me standing in the street without even knowing if I even made it in safe. But he didn’t turn around, and he didn’t come back.

Sleeping in should feel more luxurious. Somehow, waking
up to the harsh reality that the guy you thought might be your first real boyfriend hated you and your best friend’s life tanked overnight took the pleasure out of waking sans alarm. Having claimed a stomach bug to explain my tearful return home in the middle of the night, I inadvertently excused my way right out of being able to hang with Anne and her mom after school.

I could handle one night home, but with so many questions about where I’d gone wrong with Zander swirling through my aching brain, a full day
and
night home alone felt claustrophobic. Way too much time to obsess about “what if”s.

I threw my books into my bag a little rougher than necessary. Whoever thought that school would turn out to be somewhere I’d escape to? It wasn’t until I opened the door to
the art room, late pass in hand, that I remembered that even here I had my share of problems.

Ten sets of eyes focused on me. I sighed in relief that David’s weren’t among them … until I heard the
click
. And another. I turned to the front of the class where David sat on my stool, smiling smugly at me and shifting his weight to make the uneven legs click. No one else was smiling.

I checked my watch, confused. Did I miss the class? This looked like everybody from Photography 101.

“Nice of you to join us, Quigley,” Mrs. Albertt said.

“I have a pass,” I said uneasily, and shifted my books into my other arm.

“That’s fine. Go ahead and find a seat.”

“But David’s on my stool.” I sounded like a whining kid.

“It seems we need to do a bit of shifting of responsibilities. I was just explaining to the class that due to your little mishap in the lab, they’d need to go out and reshoot their assignment.”

Well, that explained the death glares. Sort of.

“I don’t get it. Why? I thought they came out pretty well.”

Mrs. Albertt raised one eyebrow. “Well, perhaps they might have before the damage. The destruction of everyone’s work
due to such carelessness is bad enough. I won’t even go into the recklessness of smoking in a closed room full of chemicals. You’re lucky all that happened was melted negatives and a few smoke- and water-damaged prints. Had you set off the main sprinkler system, you’d have destroyed the entire storeroom full of student work and be looking at far more serious consequences.

“It was a mistake on my part to have trusted an unsupervised student in the lab. You’ve had a long history of hard work in my classes, so I’ve decided not to bring this matter to higher authorities so close to graduation. However, you’ve proven that you’re not responsible enough to be trusted with the position of teacher’s assistant. I believe you owe your classmates an apology.”

“What? I don’t
smoke
! Cigarettes are nasty. Ask anybody—I’ve never smoked!”

Click. Click. Click
. David sat in front, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Ask David! He was here with me. There was no fire, no cigarettes.”

“That’s true, Mrs. Albertt. When I left, everything was just fine. Quigley had made some mistake with the developing and had to redo the prints. I had to get home to watch
my sister, so I couldn’t stay and help her fix it. But everything was fine … when I left.”

So this is what it felt like under a bus. I realized too late I’d been outplayed in the game of revenge. Anne had warned me David cared about his image to a freakish degree, but I’d let the handful of nice moments we’d had hanging out alone lull me into thinking he could be a bigger person and accept my change of heart … and prom dates.

Mrs. Albertt nodded approvingly at her star witness. “And the lab was shut nice and tight and all locked up when I came in the morning—keys in your cubby, Quigley. Obviously something happened. I am glad you weren’t hurt, although I wished you’d have admitted this right away. You’ve put us all in a tight spot. Those negatives were meant to be used for the class’s submission in the citywide show. Now the class will have to make arrangements to reshoot the project before the due date.”

The groans around me held a thinly veiled undertone of hostility. Not good. “I truly don’t know what happened, Mrs. Albertt, but I’m happy to help out as much as possible to make sure everybody gets their entry completed.”

Mrs. Albertt smiled tightly. “I’m afraid I don’t have the luxury of taking any chances, Quigley. David has offered to
take over the teacher’s assistant position for the rest of the semester. You can take a seat and complete the course as a student. Let’s consider this matter closed and move on, shall we?”

I willed myself not to breathe until I could hide behind my textbook, out of David’s sight. Tears would only add to my humiliation.

The sea of happy cafeteria munchers did little to improve my mood. I snagged a tray and defiantly asked the attendant for extra cheese sauce on my broccoli. Betterment Plan. Snort. That wasn’t me—that was all Anne. I’d spent seventeen years perfectly content being me, making my own choices, making decisions based on my priorities—not anyone else’s—and for what? To get pulled this way and that by everyone who flitted into my life, and blow it all when it really mattered?

This was the real deal—game time, baby. I smacked a fork next to the teetering plate of cheesy vegetables. It was like Ms. Parisi had said at the last design class—measure twice, cut once. The choices I had to make about the future would change the rest of my life. And here I was spending all my energy cleaning up after my best friend’s craziness,
getting so sucked in to one guy I couldn’t see straight, and trying to save the feelings of another guy who, after a single unasked-for kiss, I’d blindly forgotten had only ever treated me like trash.

Anne would be off enjoying her Sex Week at some Ivy League school; Zander’s heartless dismissal had ended any chance we had of something lasting; and Art Institute–declining David had basically accused me of trying to burn down the school. So after all I’d done, I’d be left here alone, begging for my job at the pizza factory back, hoping to make minimum wage. I swiped the last Diet Coke off the shelf next to the register, twisted the top off, and glugged. Yep. I had some measuring to do. And heck if there wouldn’t be some people getting cut out of my life.