Chosen (20 page)

Taylor:

True. C u soon!

I put my phone back in my purse.

“How's Taylor?” Ana asked, playing with a tag on one of the dresses.

“Good,” I said. “Glad school's over. Ready to party tonight.”

“You never said, so I just assumed . . . he's okay about Canterwood, right?” Ana's voice had a concerned tone.

“He's really happy for me,” I said. “He wants to talk tonight so we can figure out how to make things work while I'm away.”

“Don't worry. If any couple can make long distance work, it's you and Taylor,” Ana said.

I realized I'd been very quiet about my nervousness regarding Taylor. Too quiet. I really wanted—no, needed—to voice my fears to my friends.

“I'm scared,” I confessed. “I want us to stay together, but what if he doesn't feel the same way? He's popular—and let's face it, he could date any girl in our grade. Why would he choose to stay with a girl who lives hours away if he could be with any other girl at Yates?”

“He cares about you, Laur. No way he would do that, unless it was what
you
wanted. If it is mutual, then that's different. But if you're up for it? I know
he'll be.” Ana reached over, struggling not to drop one of Brielle's dresses, and touched my hand in a comforting gesture.

I sighed, relieved to have that off my chest. “Thanks, Ana. That really helped. I'm not half as freaked now as I had been.”

We both looked up, in alarm at first, when a squeal came from inside the dressing room.

Ana and I laughed when we realized what was going on.

“I think someone found a dress,” I said, in a singsong voice.

Brielle opened the door and stepped out.

“Oooo!” Ana said.

“Brielle!” I said, standing. “That color is
killer
on you!” Brielle twirled for us. She'd found a lilac bandage dress with spaghetti straps. It was so delicate and soft—very different from the bold colors Bri usually wore.

“You were right about the light purple—I love it,” Brielle said, looking in the three-way mirror. “I think this is the one.”

“That's a record,” Ana said. “I think I have to buy
you
Pinkberry instead.”

Brielle smiled. “Deal. Plus, I already have the perfect earrings at home, so I'm set.”

“You get dressed,” I said. “We'll meet you at the counter.”

Ana got up and started hanging Brielle's other dresses on the discard rack.

Once Brielle was out, she paid for her dress and we all left the store, heading to grab Pinkberry. Brielle called her mom as we walked. It was fun to hear her describe every stitch of her dress to her mother. I thought about it for a minute. Aside from horses, nothing made me happier than fashion. I couldn't wait to look at the extracurriculars in the Canterwood course catalog. We were required to take at least two (not that I'd already memorized the welcome packet front-to-back or anything). It would be beyond hot if they offered a course in fashion or something!

Ana bought Brielle and me each a Pinkberry—Brielle because she'd taken such a short amount of time finding her dress, and me because I'd played a role in Brielle's quick find.
And,
I suspected, because she still felt guilty about the way she and Bri had treated me.

But, sitting outside, I made a decision about my friends.

Brielle and Ana had been, and were still, my besties. Sure, we all fought and made mistakes—huge, hurtful ones, even.

But we were linked together, always had been. We had fun together. We'd laughed and cried together and had
the
best shopping excursions ever.

It was official—the three of us were back. Besties for life.

BY THE TIME I GOT HOME, I WAS BACK IN THE
red zone of stress. I only had an hour and a half to shower and do my hair (blow dry, curl, apply copious amounts of hair spray so as to be able to dance without losing my beachy waves, and finally shine spray), apply makeup, lotion, deodorant, get dressed, and finally, accessorize, slip into my silver flats, and re-gloss.

“Don't freak out,” Becca said when I'd rushed by her room. “I'll help you.”

Becca was going to her class's dance tonight, too, but hers started later than mine.

“Yes, please! And thanks!” I yelled on my way to my room. I hung my dress on my closet door and jumped into the shower.

I sat on my makeup chair, letting my hair air dry a little before blow drying. I pulled it back with a clip so it wouldn't be in the way while I applied makeup.

“How's it going, honey?” Mom asked, stepping into my room.

“I took the fastest shower ever and cut myself shaving in about six places, which are all invisible now, but it was worth it because I think I'm going to be ready on time,” I said. “Oh, and Mom? Thanks for letting me buy that dress today.”

“Of course,” she said, eyeing it. “Wow, it is
gorgeous
. Tonight's a big deal.” Mom added, smiling at me.

For once, she didn't seem halfway out the door. She acted like she really wanted to stay around and talk. “I'm really excited for you, Lauren. I know you're going to have fun with your friends. You worked hard this year, and I'm happy to see you get to have a fun night out with Taylor, Brielle, and Ana.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I tried not to let her see that I was nervous. And a little sad. And a little confused.

“Sweetie, you're probably feeling a lot of emotions right now,” Mom said.

I should have known that Mom-radar would trump my pathetic acting skills.

“I guess I am,” I said, focusing all my attention on the reflection in the mirror to apply concealer to a few red spots. “I mean, it's the last . . .” I couldn't finish.

Mom shook her head. “It may be the last Yates dance, but it's
not
the last time you're going to see your friends, Lauren. You've got amazing friends and a great boyfriend who all care about you deeply. Don't beat yourself up for wondering if you made the right decision about Canterwood.”

I looked away from the mirror, meeting Mom's eyes with mine. I nodded.

“Just think about how you feel when you fall asleep at night,” she added. “That's when you'll know—in your gut—if you're doing the right thing.”

With one last my-daughter-is-growing-up-too-fast smile, she left me to finish my makeup.

I applied a hint of shimmery, rosy blush to my cheeks and applied a coat of clear, shiny lip gloss. Mom was right—tonight was about having fun and celebrating the end of sixth grade. Taylor and I were going to be fine. The last thing I wanted was to be sad at my final Yates dance.

I swiped brown-black mascara on my top eyelashes and smiled at myself, satisfied with my makeup. I let my hair out of the clip. It fell around my shoulders
in clouds of dark, damp waves. I turned my hot pink Conair hair dryer on high and blasted my very long, thick (read: impossible) hair until it was dry. Next, I divided my hair into sections, each section clipped together with a mini claw.

I rolled each section around my curling iron, spritzing each with a few pumps of Bumble and bumble hairspray. When every section had been curled and my hair looked sufficiently like Shirley Temple (the curls would fall within minutes, turning to pretty, beachy waves) I applied a thin mist of Bumble and bumble shine spray as the final touch. I got up, flicked off the bathroom light, pulled on my dress, and ran my fingers through my long tresses.

“Whoa,” Becca said, stepping into my room. “Nice dress. And good job on the makeup.”

“Thanks.” I smiled at my sister. “Shoes, earrings, and a clutch that'll match and I'm ready.”

“Don't forget this,” Becca said. She held out the Burberry perfume that she
never
let me wear.

“Really?” I asked.

“Just don't use too much,” she said, winking.

I sprayed a little on my wrists. I loved the scent—it was feminine and musky without being too heavy or
flowery. Becca sat on my bed, watching as I put in my new earrings and slipped my feet into my silver Marc Jacobs ballet flats.

“What purse goes with this dress?” I asked Becca.

“Already ahead of you,” Becca said. She went into my closet and came out with a long, slender silver clutch.

“Perfect,” I said. “Thanks!”

I reapplied my gloss and slipped that, my money, student ID, and cell inside the shimmery purse. I'd finished just in time—Taylor would be here any minute.

“Have fun,” Becca said, heading for my door. “My turn to get ready.”

“Thanks for helping me.” I smiled. “See you later tonight.”

I smoothed my dress over my hips and walked down the stairs where Mom and Dad were waiting.

“Oh, sweetie,” said Dad, practically teary. “You look so grown-up and pretty.”

“Daaad.” I shook my head, but hugged him, careful not to wrinkle my dress.

“Your dad's right,” Mom said. “You look gorgeous, Lauren.”

A knock on the front door made me jump a little. I hoped Taylor thought I looked pretty, too.

I walked to the door, smiling at his figure through the frosted glass.

“Hi,” I said.

“Wow,” he said, literally stepping back a tiny bit. “You look . . . beautiful isn't even good enough.”

“Thank you.” I couldn't stop the blush from spreading across my cheeks. “You look great, too.”

Taylor had paired a black, long-sleeved button-down shirt with black-and-white pinstripe pants. He wore shiny black dress shoes, which I couldn't wait to see more of on the dance floor.

“Come in for a quick picture,” Dad said.

I looked back. He was already holding up his camera. “
Super
quick,” I said. “Or we'll be way later than fashionably late—which is
too
late.”

I'd learned not to argue with Dad about pictures. He absolutely insisted, at every dance or big event, and I'd learned that it took more time for me to (unsuccessfully) talk him
out
of it than if I'd just gone along with it from the beginning.

Taylor and I stood in front of the stairs, and he curled his arm around my waist. I leaned into him, glad to have his arm around me. But I noticed something then—he seemed to pull away a little. I hid my frown. He was
probably just nervous in front of my parents. We both smiled while Dad took his pictures.

“Time to go,” I said. “Before you blind us both with that flash.”

Dad waved us out the door and Taylor and I climbed into his mom's car. Mrs. Frost turned around, smiling at us.

“You look lovely, Lauren,” she said. Mrs. Frost was so much nicer than Mr. Frost. She was way more relaxed. I was relieved that
she
was taking us tonight.

“Thank you,” I said. “And thanks for picking me up.”

“Exciting night, isn't it?” she said, pulling out of my driveway. “Sixth grade is over—are you glad?”

I sneaked a glance at Taylor. He stared out the window.

“Um, yes. I'm excited about summer,” I answered.

Mrs. Frost smiled. I looked at Taylor again, unsure what was going on.

“Do you think they'll have sliders?” I asked him, bringing up his favorite party food.

“Maybe.”

He didn't even look at me when he spoke.

“Everything okay?” I whispered.

That got his attention. Tay turned, locking eyes with me. He didn't look upset anymore.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling. “I was just in my head.” He
reached over, squeezing my arm. “I'm glad we're going.”

“Me too. I thought you were mad at me for a minute.”

He shook his head. “I'm not mad. Not at all.”

Good—I'd misread him. Maybe he'd been sad that tonight was our last school dance together. Or maybe he was a little nervous, like I was, about talking later. I knew things were going to be fine, but talking about it was going to be hard. I could barely think about it without feeling sad myself.

We talked about silly, light stuff for the rest of the drive. Eventually, I saw the old Taylor, my boyfriend, smiling and laughing. It calmed me and the closer we got, the more excited I became about the dance.

My clutch vibrated. I opened it to see the red light on my BlackBerry blinking.

Ana:

I'm here! Where r u guys???

Lauren:

Pulling in driveway now
.

Brielle:

2 mins away
.

Ana was probably standing by the drinks table looking bored. She always did that until Brielle and I managed to convince her that dances were actually
fun
.
By the third or fourth song, she always got into it.