Even When You Lie to Me (8 page)

“So any initial thoughts on
Pride and Prejudice
?” It was a Friday and Drummond knew we were flagging. The homecoming dance was that night and we’d just come back from a dress-code assembly. No shorts for guys; no skin for girls.

When no one answered, he said, “I’m not going to get
Dangerous Minds
on you and try to link Jane Austen to your homecoming dance, but they’re not entirely unrelated.” Silence again. “Lila, any brilliant theories?”

Lila looked up from doodling. “Paul Rudd was really hot in
Clueless.
”

He sighed. “That’s not even based on the same…You know, I don’t even know why I’m bothering today.” He put the book down so its pages splayed out on the table. “All right, Frank, you’re obviously dying to tell us, so—what color is your dress?”

Frank tapped his pen against his bottom lip. “If I tell you, then someone else might steal my idea.”

“Mine’s purple,” Dev said. “The color of royalty.”

“An excellent choice,” Drummond said. “Frank could learn something from you.”

“What’s yours, then?” Frank asked.

“My dress?” Drummond said. “Red, obviously. Slinky, to show off my curves. Short, because I’ve got great legs.”

Everyone was laughing now. “You are way too old to pull off a dress like that,” Katie said.

An “ooh” went up from the class and Drummond said, “That’s ageist.”

“So you’re coming to the dance, then?” Lila asked.

“If Frank doesn’t upstage me,” Drummond said.

“But are you really?”

“If Dev promises he will wear purple. I don’t want to clash.”

“Cross my heart,” Dev said.

“But are you
actually
going?” Lila said, exasperated.

Drummond finally looked at her with mock annoyance. “
Yes,
Lila, I am actually going. As a chaperone. Apparently it’s illegal for Frank to take me as his date.”

Drummond turned back to the class, and Lila whispered, “Coming now?”

I rolled my eyes. “You think I’m that predictable? But, yes.”

Lila came over to my house to get ready that night. She brought three outfits: all, she said, in increasing factors of sluttiness.

“This one’s a three,” she said, holding a glittery top and a long skirt against her body. She curled her lip. “Senior bingo?”

“A little,” I said.

She tossed it onto my bed. “How about this?” She held up a red dress with a shiny bodice and ruffles on the flared skirt. “Too nineties?”

I nodded. When she threw it onto the bed, I picked it up and stretched it
experimentally.
“Is the top of this spandex?”

“Yep. My aunt bought it for me,” she said. She held up a short black dress. “This will have to be it.”

“Just slutty enough,” I said.

She wriggled into it while I averted my gaze. “So?” she said after a minute.

She looked
fantastic—older
and sexy and confident. It made my throat constrict with fear.

“You look great,” I said.

She turned to the mirror and smoothed the fabric over her flat stomach. “I look fucking hot, actually.” She turned back to me. “Now you.”

“Me?” I said. “I’m just wearing what I have on.”

She squinted at me like she was scrutinizing a poorly drawn map: I had on a pair of loose jeans and a button-down shirt.

“It’s not a T-shirt,” I said. “It has buttons.”

“It’s plaid,” she said.

“It’s festive.”

“At least try on the dress.”

“No way.”

She looked at me seriously. “Please?”

“It’s not going to fit.”

“Don’t,” she said. “Anyway, it’s stretchy.”

“Oh good,” I said. I considered her, looking hot in her dress. “I’ll try it on. But no promises.” I grabbed it and went into the bathroom. I didn’t have any strapless bras, so I pulled it on over my bare skin. My boobs sagged a little, but not too badly. It fit, at least, and the ruffles didn’t look that stupid. There were no horrible bulges or gobs of fat leaking out the sides. But it looked all wrong on me; I didn’t recognize myself in it. I was about to take it off when Lila burst in.

“You look good!” she said. I couldn’t tell whether she was just trying to make me feel better.

“No, I don’t,” I said. “I feel safe in plaid.”

“No plaid!” she said. “Wear this. You look hot.”

“I won’t feel comfortable.”

“You will. Just give it a few minutes.”

I sighed. “All right.”

“Now what about your face?”

I looked at it in the mirror. “What about it?”

“Makeup? I brought a whole bag full of crap. I think I’ve had some of it since before puberty.” She rummaged briefly and extracted a tube of glittery purple lip gloss. “See?”

“You think I need it?” I was afraid of makeup. It felt like using a toothpick to try to dam a waterfall. I knew that without it I didn’t have a chance with guys, but I was also afraid that if I did wear it and still no one noticed me, it would confirm all my worst fears about myself.

“Just put on some mascara,” Lila said. She never made me feel bad that I wasn’t interested in girly things like she was. I wondered how awful she must think I looked if she was suggesting it.

“Okay,” I said. “Just don’t make it look like I have spiders crawling out of my eyes.”

There was a soft knock on the door. Lila and I glanced at each other.

“Yeah?” I said.

My mother’s blond head came into view. “I just wondered if— Oh my God! Lila, did you get my daughter into an actual dress?”

Lila grinned. “I did. High five, right?” She held her hand up.

“Absolutely,” my mother said. She stuck her palm out but nearly missed Lila’s hand. She let the door slide open. “Can I come in, girls?”

“It’s a little crowded,” I said, but she was in already.

“Are you putting on makeup too?” my mother asked. “You should have told me! I thought I’d never get you wearing mascara, Charlie. Good work, Lil.”

“Mom, we need to go soon,” I said.

“Sure, I know, honey,” she said. “But you’ve got that mascara on a little thick, and if I could just…”

She always did that.
You look fine, but if I could just…
Like I was some deteriorating project of hers that needed constant shoring up.

“Okay, but fast,” I said.

“One second,” she said. She jabbed at my eyes with some kind of pencil. “Okay. That’s…well, it’ll do. Do you want to borrow a pair of my shoes? They might be a little small for you, but I think I have a pump that ran wide—”

“I have shoes,” I said. “We really need to go.”

She lifted her hands up. “Okay, okay, your interfering mother is leaving you alone now.” She paused for a second to survey her work. “Oh, honey,” she said. “You look beautiful.”

My throat closed. I grabbed her into a hug suddenly; I could hear her breath puff out with surprise.

“Thanks,” I said into her hair. “I love you.”

When I pulled back, her eyes were shiny. “Okay,” she said. “Go have fun. Take pictures, all right?”

I was already out the door. “No chance!” I called from the hallway.

“Do you actually have shoes?” Lila asked.

“Technically,” I said.

“Your gross old sneakers?”

“Yes.”

We passed my dad on our way to the door. His head shot up when he saw me.

“Charlie,” he said. “What are you wearing?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Lila made me. Is it horrible?”

“Don’t answer that,” Lila said. “She looks great.”

“I look like an idiot,” I said.

“No, you don’t,” he said. “You look wonderful.”

Lila moved toward the door, as fluid as water. “Let’s go, okay? It’ll be in full swing by now.”

“Get home safe,” Dad said. “If you need a ride, just call me, all right? I don’t care how late it is.”

“You’re awesome, Mr. Porter,” Lila said.

“I haven’t even gotten to what you’re wearing, Lila,” he said, frowning.

“Bye, Mr. Porter!” Lila rushed through the door.

“Bye, Dad,” I said.

“You do look lovely, Charlie,” he said.

“See you in half an hour,” I said.

The gym was heaving when we arrived. Noise spilled out in waves and hung in the air like smoke. I lingered behind Lila, watching as people’s eyes swiveled to her and then to me.

“We’ll find Drummond,” Lila said, “if that’ll make you feel better.” I knew, though, that she wanted to show off for him too.

He wasn’t with the other chaperones, who were laughing with one another in a loose circle, their clothes and hair drooping. And he wasn’t anywhere else either; it was just purple-hued teenagers grinding as far as the eye could see.

“Sorry,” Lila said. “Let’s dance until he gets here, okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, gesturing at the buffet table. “I need to get a drink. Fortify myself.”

Lila looked me over. “All right. I’m making you dance in a few minutes, though.” She wandered off into the crowd, her hips swaying in a way that made me feel uncomfortable.

I watched the dancers for a while—the way the rhythm of the songs guided their movements, and how groups spontaneously formed and then fell apart. Some people didn’t get a partner when a slow song came on, and they’d wander to the buffet table as if they’d just remembered they needed a snack. I exchanged resigned smiles with a few of them.

I kept my arms crossed over my chest and tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible. I felt like people were staring at me but I couldn’t tell for sure. Whenever they laughed and looked in my direction, I thought about retreating to the bathroom. I filled a cup with punch and held it like it was a piece of armor. I didn’t know how to carry myself in a dress. I couldn’t figure out where to put my hands or how to stand. The sneakers had seemed like a good idea at home, but all the other girls were in heels and suddenly I wished I’d borrowed some from my mom.

Then I spotted Drummond—he’d finally arrived. A gaggle of kids surrounded him already. One of the girls touched him flirtatiously. He withdrew a little but she didn’t seem to notice; she clung to his arm even as it moved.

As a song wound down, Lila returned, looking sweaty and flushed and terrifyingly sexy. “What’s going on?” she said, knocking into me as if she were a wave and I were a concrete barrier. She grabbed the cup from my hand and took a long swig, draining it. “Thanks, babe.”

I took the cup back and fiddled with it. “Drummond’s here,” I said, pointing.

She looked around. “Polo shirt and Dockers. Hot. He seems to be getting attention, though.”

“Freshmen.”

“Ew. How about we distract him a little? Come out and dance with me.”

“You think my dancing is going to
attract
him? You’ve seen me dance, right?”

Lila tried to pull me away from the buffet table. “Come on, I’ll teach you how to look hot. It’s all in the calves.”

I glanced at Drummond. He was still talking to the kids, laughing now, enjoying himself.

“All right,” I said, but I didn’t move.

“Really?” Lila stopped pulling. “You’ve never actually danced at a dance.”

“I guess I should do it once in my life.”

“You really do like him, don’t you?” she said. She gave me a look I couldn’t read. “Okay, come on, then.”

The music pulsed and I shuffled as much as I could without feeling ridiculous. I could just about sway my hips to the beat, but anything more complicated made me feel awkward and gangly. Lila tried to guide my movements, but she had an internal rhythm I found impossible to mimic.

“Just listen to the music!” Lila shouted into my ear. “Don’t try to move; just let it move you.”

“Oh please,” I said. But a song I liked came on, and Lila started dancing so shamelessly that I laughed and started dancing too. After a minute, I felt my joints loosening and my muscles going slack. The music was loud—so loud that normally it would have overwhelmed me, but instead I felt like I was inside it and it was pounding into me as I danced. Lila sang at me, bouncing and laughing, and I found myself laughing and singing back.

I glanced at Drummond. He was finally looking at us, but he didn’t see me watching him. As much as I hated dancing in public, I had imagined this scene many times at home: pretending to sing to him into my TV remote as I listened to a love song. But now the thought of him seeing me was humiliating. At home I was a siren and he was enraptured by my performance, but here I was just another awkward teenager and he was a bored teacher, wondering when he could get home.