Absolutely Truly (32 page)

“Did you make vomit bars, Mom?” Hatcher asked anxiously as we pulled out of the driveway a few minutes later.

She pointed to a plastic container by Dad's feet on the floor of the van. “Right there,” she said. “As requested.”

This time I did giggle. Anybody listening to my family's conversations tonight would definitely think we were nuts.

Vomit bars were what my brothers call Mom's special seven-layer cookies. And it's true, with all the nuts and coconut and other stuff in them, from a distance they do kind of look like somebody barfed. They're our favorite dessert, though. Once, when we were little, our Texas cousins came to visit—all seventeen of them—and Hatcher and Danny were so afraid they wouldn't leave any for us, they decided to try and gross them out. That's when they came up with the name “vomit bars.” It worked, kind of. At least until the older cousins saw us eating them and realized they'd been tricked.

A few minutes later we pulled up in front of Town Hall.

“Here, Truly,” said my mother, passing me the container and giving Hatcher a stern look. “See that these get to the refreshment table safely, okay?”

“Sure, Mom,” I replied, taking it from her.

Hatcher grinned.

“Mind the slush!” Mom called, just as Danny stepped out of the car and directly into a puddle.

“Oh, man!” he groaned, and we all laughed.

My sisters were beyond excited—unlike me, they couldn't wait to show off their dance moves for the crowd, plus they had their own party to look forward to in the Town Hall basement afterward. I'd overheard Mrs. Abramowitz tell my mother that a magician had been hired to entertain them.

My brothers, on the other hand, well, they might not have been dreading the whole thing the way I was, but I knew they'd much rather be at home watching hockey on TV. I was pretty sure Dad felt the same way, but he had his Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy game face on as he escorted us inside.

The hall was jammed. In one corner, a band was tuning up. In another, Annie Freeman's mother was organizing the refreshment table. I delivered the vomit bars, then went to drop my jacket off at the coat check.

People were streaming through the doors, greeting their neighbors and former neighbors and others who were in town for the weekend celebration. Everyone looked happy. Everyone but me, that is.

Time to put your game face on too,
I told myself, and went off to find my friends. I spotted Lucas first, looking painfully clean and neat. His hair was slicked back with gel, and he was wearing a tuxedo. This seemed like overkill, and was probably his mother's doing, since the Cotillion guidelines only said that boys should wear a dark suit. Lucas looked like a licorice stick.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he said back.

“Nice tux.”

He blushed. “My mother bought it for me.”

Ha!
I thought.
I knew it.

Jasmine jumped out from behind a pillar, beaming. “Notice anything different?”

I looked her over. She was wearing a fire-engine-red dress that set off her shiny dark hair. “Your dress is really pretty,” I told her. “I like the sparkles.”

“No, you dork, my braces! I got them off!” She beamed at me again, and I gave her a high five. So did Lucas. “Scooter still has to keep his on for a few more weeks, though.”

That was the best news I'd had all day, and I perked right up.

Cha Cha waved from across the room. “You guys look great!” she called in her deep voice, coming over to join us.

“You too,” I replied, admiring her black velvet strapless mini. “You look at least fifteen.”

A moment later the lights dimmed and the band struck a chord. Cha Cha's mother tugged her husband into the middle of the dance floor.

“Good evening, everyone,” Mr. Abramowitz said into his microphone. His greeting echoed through the crowded room. “And welcome to the one hundredth annual Pumpkin Falls Winter Festival!”

A deafening cheer went up from the crowd.

“As has long been our town's tradition,” he continued, “we ask our young people to help kick things off in style.”

That brought another cheer.

“And so, without further ado, I present to you the Daniel Webster School square dancers!” He motioned to the orchestra, who struck up “Turkey in the Straw” as the younger kids all marched out in pairs for their square dance.

“Oh, how adorable!” squealed Jasmine, pointing to Pippa and Baxter.

The two of them were holding hands, and they both wore grave expressions. Pippa took her responsibility as the opening act for the big dance very seriously, and she and Baxter had been practicing their steps faithfully.

Cameras flashed and proud parents beamed from the sidelines as Mr. Abramowitz began to call the dance: “The lady goes right, the gent goes left, circle left so lightly . . .”

Pippa and Baxter didn't miss a beat.

“They are so cute together!” whispered Cha Cha.

“I know, right?” I whispered back.

Annie Freeman twirled past, her multiple braids bouncing almost as quickly as her feet. She was busy talking, of course—probably spelling out the moves to her partner. My sister Lauren was right behind her with Amy Nguyen's younger brother. She shot me a look as she danced by, one that clearly said,
I'm so over this dumb kid stuff and ready to tackle ballroom
. Lauren still had stars in her eyes about Cotillion.

They finished a few minutes later amid thunderous applause. And then it was our turn.

“Places, everyone!” whispered Ms. Ivey, frantically trying to line us all up. The sixth, seventh, and eighth graders had all been practicing separately during gym class at school, and this was the first time we'd all be together. I waved to Hatcher, who was standing with his partner on the other side of the dance floor. He smiled his sunflower smile at me. Nothing rattled Hatcher.

When we were all in place, Ms. Ivey gave Mr. Abramowitz a thumbs-up. She looked really pretty tonight in her long white satin sheath and red heels. It occurred to me that I didn't know if there was a Mr. Ivey. If not, maybe Cupid would visit Pumpkin Falls and find her one.

“I still think this is stupid,” said Scooter as he took my hand, placing his other on my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Totally lame.”

“And now, folks, it's time for this evening's Cotillion ballroom showcase!” announced Mr. Abramowitz.

I could feel Scooter's palms sweating right through his cotton gloves. He was as nervous as I was. This was not a good sign.

My parents both waved, and I saw something glint at the end of my father's sleeve—apparently he'd decided to go with Captain Hook tonight. And then the music started and Scooter and I were off and running. Dancing, rather.
Slow, slow, quick, quick.
I concentrated hard on making my feet go where they were supposed to, and Scooter must have too, because somehow we made it through the fox-trot without a misstep.

As the music segued into the waltz—
one, two, three, one, two, three
—I relaxed a little. Mr. Abramowitz had really helped me with this one during our practice sessions. I hummed along to the music and looked over Scooter's shoulder at my classmates.

Cha Cha and Lucas were zipping around the dance floor like old pros. Franklin Freeman was a little robotic, but he and Amy Nguyen were managing to keep the beat too.

The real surprise was Jasmine and Calhoun. Cha Cha had definitely put some polish on him during their secret practice sessions, because not only was Calhoun totally moving in time to the music, he actually looked like he was enjoying himself. He caught me watching him and smiled.

“Oops,” I whispered to Scooter as I stumbled. “Sorry.”

“Totally my fault,” Scooter whispered back. And then he smiled too.

I almost lost my balance again. Smiles from both Scooter and Calhoun? What was going on?

“Very nicely done!” said Mr. Abramowitz as we all twirled to a finish. “Splendid job!”

The band gave a flourish as Mrs. Abramowitz stepped forward. She and Cha Cha's father conferred briefly, then she passed her husband some envelopes. He jotted down something on each of them.

“This year also marks the beginning of a new Pumpkin Falls tradition, one we hope will last for the next hundred years,” Mr. Abramowitz told the crowd. “Prizes for our young dancers, who have worked so hard this winter!” A patter of polite applause rippled through the hall.

“The square dancers each received a ribbon and a gift certificate to Lovejoy's Books”—that had been Aunt True's idea—“but for the members of our Cotillion, we have cash prizes. The first category is best dressed.”

This ignited a buzz in the room, and even though fashion isn't my thing, my heart beat a little faster too. I couldn't help it; I'm a Lovejoy and I'm competitive. Plus, this was by far the nicest dress I'd ever owned. Was it nice enough for a prize?

“This was a tough one, folks,” said Cha Cha's mother, “but the prize goes to—Lucas Winthrop!”

Lucas turned as red as Jasmine's dress. Mrs. Winthrop leaped to her feet and started filming as he scuttled out to claim his prize.

“Oh, man,” muttered Scooter. “That's totally unfair! His mother bought that tux for him.”

“Shut up and clap, Scooter,” I told him.

“Next we have best dance partners,” Mr. Abramowitz continued. “There's a prize for each grade level.”

I didn't know the sixth-grade winners, but they sure looked happy when they got their envelopes. Then it was time for the seventh grade. No way did Scooter and I even stand a chance for this one.

“Another tough category,” said Cha Cha's father, “and in all fairness, Mrs. Abramowitz and I decided we would eliminate our daughter and her partner, because, as most of you know, our wonderful Charlotte, better known as Cha Cha, practically grew up in a dance studio.”

The onlookers laughed.

“And so the prize goes to Jasmine Sanchez and Romeo Calhoun!”

Calhoun looked like he couldn't decide how to react—mortified that his real name had been so publicly revealed, or happy that his hard work had paid off.

“Romeo?” said Scooter in disbelief. “
Romeo?
Are you kidding me? That's what the
R
in ‘R. J.' stands for?”

“Yup,” I replied, then shouted “Way to go, Calhoun!”

Calhoun glanced over at me and smiled again.

After giving out the eighth grade prize—someone from Hatcher's wrestling team and his partner—it was time for the final category: most improved.

“This was also a tough decision,” said Mr. Abramowitz.
“Knowing where these students started six weeks ago, and how far they've come, we feel they each deserve recognition. So how about another round of applause for all of this year's Cotillion members?” The crowd responded with enthusiasm, and then Cha Cha's father continued, “That being said, we would like to recognize one set of dance partners who got off to a
truly
rocky start”—my heart did a hopeful little skip at this—“but who have come through with flying colors: Truly Lovejoy and Scooter Sanchez.”

Hatcher pulled his white gloves off and stuck his forefingers in his mouth, whistling shrilly. Scooter grabbed my hand and towed me across the dance floor. Mr. Abramowitz passed us each an envelope and shook our hands. Mrs. Abramowitz gave me a hug. “Well done, Truly,” she whispered.

Dazed, I followed Scooter back to where my friends were waiting. How was this possible? Dancing was at the top of the list of things I wasn't good at.

“Hey, you know, about ‘Truly Gigantic' and all,” Scooter said uneasily.

That snapped me out of my daze. “Don't start,” I warned him.

He shook his head. “No, I'm not—I mean, well, I'm sorry.”

I stared at him. Two apologies in one evening
?
What on earth had gotten into Scooter?

“Truce?” he said.

“Uh, okay, I guess,” I replied.

The music started up again, and the audience crowded onto the dance floor. My parents were among them, my father gamely resting Captain Hook on top of my mother's shoulder. My father said something and my mother threw back her head and laughed, the light glinting in her strawberry-blond curls. She looked really pretty tonight.

I saw Aunt True dancing with Mr. Henry, and Danny with Calhoun's older sister, Juliet. Meanwhile, the boys from my class made a beeline for the refreshment table, leaving us girls standing by the wall.

“Figures,” said Cha Cha.

“Cowards,” added Jasmine in disgust.

We watched the dancers, and a few minutes later Hatcher wandered over to join us.

“So, does that make up for yesterday?” he asked me, pointing to the envelope in my hand.

I considered his question. Cotillion was hardly a 100 Individual Medley. “Maybe a little,” I admitted.

He smiled at me, then turned to Cha Cha. “May I have this dance?”

My mouth dropped open. My brother wanted to dance with the girl he called “the kazoo”?

“Sure,” said Cha Cha, and he led her onto the dance floor.

Franklin reappeared, cramming the rest of a vomit bar into his mouth. Mumbling something, he held his hand out to Jasmine. She smiled a braces-free smile at him, and they
joined my brother and Cha Cha. One by one my classmates were whisked away until I was left standing there all by myself.

I reminded myself that I didn't like to dance. That I wasn't any good at it. Okay, maybe not as bad as I used to be—I was holding a prize for most improved, after all—but still.

That didn't make me feel any better.

It wasn't so much that I
wanted
to dance, it was just that
not
dancing was worse. Way worse. Not dancing meant I was a wallflower. Not dancing meant I'd probably end up an old cat lady, like Belinda Winchester.