I laughed. “No. We don’t need to go pick up a lifeguard hottie. Although, I appreciate your willingness to help me out on that one.”
“It’s the thought that counts.”
I remembered those words coming from someone else. Caspian had said them to me once. I glanced away, out the window. A pickup truck passed us on the right, with two guys in the front seat. They were keeping pace with us, and Beth noticed.
“That driver is kind of cute,” she said. Leaning over, she smiled flirtatiously at them. The driver honked his horn, and his passenger did some sort of hand motion that either meant Call me or Give me more. I couldn’t tell which.
“Keep us on the road, Beth,” I said with a grin when she kept looking at them.
“You never know. Those could be our Hollow Ball dates.”
The truck edged forward, the driver holding up a sheet of paper next to his window with a phone number scribbled on it. Hey, hotie, textt me, it said.
I burst out laughing as Beth made a face. “At least we know they can spell,” I said to her. She stepped on the gas, blowing past them with a smile, and her laughter filled the car.
“Oh, well. Guess neither one of them was Prince Charming after all.”
We came to a ramp and slowed down, pulling off at exit twenty-four. The road went through a little town with a speed limit of thirty-five, which Beth had a hard time staying at, and we bumped along the way. The town was one giant pothole.
“We’re looking for Denim Street,” Beth said, keeping an eye on street signs. “How fitting.”
It came up on our left, and she made the turn. A bright orange cement building with a pink and green striped awning sat surrounded by vacant storefronts. The parking lot was filled to capacity. “Guess the secret’s out,” I mused. “Looks like everyone else knows about this place too.”
“Great,” Beth said. “I hope there’s still some good stuff left.”
We parked two blocks away and walked down to the store. Two girls were struggling with a giant puffy garment bag that was snagged on the exit door, with another girl pushing behind them, trying to make her way out.
“I hope we don’t get trampled or anything,” I whispered as we ducked under the garment bag and slipped in.
“Stampede!” Beth said, mimicking a cowboy.
We walked into the main showroom, and immediately I saw why it was so busy. Rack upon rack filled the massive place, all sorted by designer, color, or occasion. It was a free-for-all. Girls everywhere were pulling out handfuls of dresses at a time.
“How are we supposed to find what we want?” I asked, taking it all in.
“Start at one end and pull what you want. Pull what you’re unsure of too, in case I want it, and I’ll do the same. But be careful. I heard about this brawl that started over in the Betsey Johnson section, and it took the cops to pull everyone apart. Assault and battery charges were filed.”
“Jeez, Beth.” I looked at her. “What did you bring us into?”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Just stick with me. All my years of running track will come in handy when I book it from one end of the room to the other to beat out the girl who is grabbing the perfect gown.”
“Oh, I’m definitely sticking with you. No doubt about it.”
We headed into the fray, and divvied up sections. I found myself on one end of a metal rack, thumbing through dresses and shouting back to her when I found something.
“There’s a pink dress with one shoulder strap and some sequins on the hem here,” I called out. “You want it?”
“Light pink or hot pink?” she asked.
“Hot pink.”
“If it’s in my size, pull it.”
I yanked the dress off the hanger and draped it over my shoulder, then continued flipping through the plastic dress coverings. I wasn’t sure what I wanted yet. Purple? Blue? Or maybe something pink? To match Beth.
A little voice in the back of my head started whispering, What color would Caspian like? Something green to match his eyes? Or black? To match the stripe in his hair?
I tried to push those thoughts away. I tried not to think about the pang that hurt my heart.
“Yo, Abbey!” Beth suddenly called. “What about this?”
She held up a deep red sleeveless satin dress that looked like something a flamenco dancer would wear to do the tango in. It had a plunging neckline, a thigh-high slit, and black roses embroidered along the bottom.
I walked over and gave her the pink dress. Then I took the red one. It was daring. Something I’d never pictured myself wearing, but it fit Ben’s crazy personality to a T. “I kind of like it,” I said. “I’m gonna try it on.”
Draping it over my arm, I went to go find a fitting room. There was a line a mile long, but eventually a room opened up, and I went in. I had to wiggle my way into the dress, and it fit me like a glove. I stood back and took in my reflection.
The slit was high, the top low, but it looked damn good. I piled my hair on top of my head and held it up with one hand. A few wispy curls straggled down around my ears, and I turned to check out the back. It was a sexy dress, and for a moment I wondered if it was too sexy to wear for a friend date with Ben. But the longer I looked at it, the more I had to have it.
It was perfect.
A knock came on the door, and I opened it a crack, sticking my head out to see who it was. Beth stood there, shifting a huge pile of dresses from one arm to the other. “I thought I saw you grab this dressing room,” she said. “Can I come in? This line is atrocious.”
“Yeah, sure. But I’m going to go with this dress, so I’m done.”
She nudged the door open wider, and her eyes grew large. “Yup. That’s the one. Ben is totally going to want to do you.”
I could feel my face get warm. “That’s not the look I’m going for. Maybe I should get a different-”
“If you don’t get this one, Browning, I will kill you. Slowly.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” She shuffled into the small space, and piled the heap of dresses onto the changing bench nearby. “That’s the one. Get it.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll get it.”
Beth turned away and bent over to pick out a dress. Loosening the plastic, she pulled one out and hung it up on the hook by the mirror. As I changed back into my regular clothes, all I could hear was the whooshing of voluminous fabric as she struggled to find the arm and neck holes.
“Do you need help?” I asked.
“Nope.” Her head popped through. “I got it.” She glanced at herself in the mirror and made a face. The bottom of the white dress she was trying on stood out from her body in a huge ball of bunched-up fabric.
“It’s … poofy,” I said.
“‘Poofy’ isn’t quite the word I’d use. More like ‘fugly.’ Next.”
She bumped into me as she pulled her arms free, and I tried to move out of her way, but there wasn’t enough room. We did a little dance back and forth, but I was trapped up against the wall. “I think I’m going to just leave,” I said. “That okay with you?”
“Yeah.”
I cracked the door again, and then stood waiting outside. “Are you having any luck?” I called after a while.
There was a muffled curse, and then she said, “Nope. Just tried on the third one. I have about twelve more to go.”
Twelve? Good Lord. “Since you still have so many, do you mind if I go take a walk? I’m bored out of my skull.”
“Go ahead.”
I started to walk away, then came back. “Oh, hey. I left my dress in there. Do you want me to get it?”