Fancy White Trash (21 page)

Cody grins at her. “It was fun.”

“Yeah,” she says with a giggle. “See you tomorrow.”

With a wave, she and Kent are gone. Me, I'm still in changing-room hell.

“Maybe I am getting fat,” I say from inside my cubicle. I twist around, contorting myself so I can get the zipper at least partway up my back. “All these things are tight.”

“It's called
fashion
,” he says. “Get out here and I'll help.”

I push back the curtain and do a little twirl for Cody. He finishes zipping me and stands me in front of the mirror.

He smiles. “I'm a genius. That's the one.”

One look in the mirror and I know he's right. “You
are
a genius!” I give him a quick hug, partially for finding such a great gown and partially out of joy that I don't have to try on anything else.

Back in the changing room, I slip it off and look at the price tag. “Cody, it's on sale!”

“This is a perfect birthday!” he jokes. “Hurry up, will you? I'm ready for smoothies.”

I bundle up my things and head for the line at the cash register. After I pay, we zigzag through the aisles toward the exit.

“What about your present? You ready for that?” I ask, dodging a middle-aged woman looking at formal dresses by herself. What's that about?

I can tell Cody's pleased, but he says, “Abs, I thought we agreed the best present we could give each other was to put money in the New York Fund.”

“It's just a small thing.” I'm about to reach into my canvas tote and give it to him when a big guy cuts in front of us and blocks our way.

“Should've known we'd find you here.”

“Hey, Craig,” I say, clutching the plastic hanging bag in my suddenly sweaty hands.

Cody shrinks a little when he sees that Sean is also here.

Before they can start, I say, “What're you boys doing in the Juniors Formal section? Planning something spectacular for homecoming?”

For reasons I don't understand, Craig and Sean have always steered clear of me. Not that I'm complaining. I just wish the invisibility shield covered Cody, too. They act like I haven't spoken.

Sean picks up a glittery red dress off the closest rack and tosses it to Cody. “Your color, Cody?”

“Not really.” Cody catches the garment in one hand. His fingers fidget with the hanger. The dress dances.

“Be serious, Sean,” Craig says, his bushy brows bouncing up and down with his words. “We all know Cody wants something a little . . . faggier.” He grabs the pink dress Becca'd been talked out of. “Your boyfriend would like this, wouldn't he?” He laughs.

“I don't have a boyfriend.” Cody clenches the hanger. The plastic snaps.

“For your information,” I say, “Cody's going to homecoming with Jenna. Jenna Harris? A girl?” I am all for Cody being gay. I am not interested in seeing him humiliated in public.

“That fag hag?” Sean snorts. “And it's not hard to wonder why you've never had a boyfriend, Savage. I've heard gays all stick together.”

I don't think, just grab something off the nearest rack and throw it. The hanger beans Sean on his temple.

“Bitch!” He rubs the spot. “You'll pay for that.”

“Yeah?” I advance toward him. Dresses drop off the racks as I pass, arms swinging. I grab another empty hanger. “Bring it on.”

The saleswoman who rang up my dress is suddenly by my side. “Can I help you with something?”

“I've got this under control,” I tell her. I have the new hanger raised in perfect throwing position.

She gently takes it from my hand. “Perhaps I should call security?”

“No,” Cody says at the same time I say, “Good idea!”

“Come on, Sean,” Craig says. “They're not worth it.”

“Losers,” Sean calls out before joining Craig in a hasty retreat. They take a right at the entrance to the store, toward the food court and Kactus Kal's all-you-can-eat buffet. Neither one looks like he's ever missed a meal.

“Wusses,” I say to Cody. “I can't believe they're even considered human.”

Cody doesn't look mad. He stares blankly at the scarlet dress still in his hand.

“Hey.” I snap my fingers. “You okay?”

“They'll never leave me alone,” he whispers. “It doesn't matter what I do. Who I am. There's no escape.”

I've seen Cody like this before. The only cure is intensive retail therapy.

“Can we focus on what's important here?” I tug him out of there and in the direction of his favorite shoe store, DSW.

“That they're Neanderthals and when we live in New York, we'll never have to talk to guys like that again?” Cody's trying to play it cool, but his face is pale.

“True.” I agree. “But more important, ta-da!” I reach into my tote and whip out a tiny box wrapped in sparkly paper.

“What is it?” Cody rips open the gift and pulls out a dark-green Matchbox car.

“I know you really wanted a convertible,” I say. “Notice how I spared no expense? It's a Jag.”

Cody laughs so hard he actually doubles over. “Abs, oh God. It's too perfect. Thank you!”

I laugh with him and sing a whole round of “Happy Birthday to you!” as off-key as possible. Heads turn our way, but I ignore them. We walk through the mall, hands linked, and the best part is that Cody can't stop smiling.

Chapter
19

Andre Castillo is black . Not that it's a bad thing, it's just there aren't so many black people in Cottonwood, so you'd think I'd have noticed him before. Cody was right. I hadn't been looking very hard.

“Whatever you want. I'm not picky,” Andre says as we browse the movie posters outside the theater. He was surprisingly accommodating when I called out of the blue and asked him out. Now I'm finding that
accommodating
is possibly the very definition of Andre Castillo.

It's Saturday afternoon and there are lots of people around, couples holding hands and gaggles of middle-schoolers hanging in big clumps. We cruise the row of ads slowly while a dad with two sons tries to talk them into skipping the movie and just going for ice cream. He's not having a lot of luck, and it looks like the little one's getting ready to pitch a major fit. Dad sees it, too, because he breaks down and buys tickets for yet another one of those animated penguin movies.

“This one?” I point out a poster with teenage ballerinas against a snowy background.

Andre doesn't even blink. “Sure. Looks good.”

Not picky
is an understatement. “How about this one?” I ask, indicating the newest Jet Li action movie. “His stuff is usually good.”

“You saw
Fearless
?” Andre's expression finally changes, looks interested.

“And
Hero
. Three times.” Cody loves Jet Li movies. Finally some payoff for watching all those fight scenes. “He's really amazing.”

“Yeah.” Andre buys our tickets and our popcorn. He holds doors open for me.

Andre Castillo is the perfect date. No wonder he scored high on Cody's rate-o-meter. Andre's new, and judging from our short conversation thus far, has no scary baggage attached. He misses his home in Southern California, so he's also a good candidate for Get Out of Town. And he's not dog food in the looks department, either. Still, as he gestures to the third row of the movie theater and asks if I want to sit there, I don't feel anything. Not excited or put off. Not fluttery in the tummy, not upset. Neutral. It feels like we're going through the motions.

The previews start. We munch our popcorn. Andre says something to me and I nod. I'm not what you'd call focused on this date. And it's all Jackson's fault. The few times I've seen him—the last two chauffeur trips before Cody got his license—he acted the same. Like we were still avoiding each other. And I guess we are, because he hasn't called or come by and I sure haven't sought him out. I just read the Rumi poem over and over again, even though I've basically got the whole thing memorized.

The poem runs through my mind like a song you can't get out of your head. I can't stop thinking about the words, what he might mean by giving them to me. I let Andre hold my hand as my head replays the words Jackson chose.

Eventually the movie I've barely been watching rolls its credits and Andre says in his very nice, pleasant voice, “Want to go next door for a coffee?”

We sit at the Starbucks sipping our matching caramel espressos. We talk about school, teachers we have in common. He drives me home. We say good night. He kisses me and all I can think is:
He's perfect. For someone else.

“Night,” I tell him, pushing on his chest so he'll back up. No need for a second kiss: the Web poll is in, and the fans definitely want him off this soap, my own personal
Disasters of My Life
.

“I'll call you?” he says.

“Sure.” Because it's not his fault he doesn't know me— how I think and what thrills me. “We could see that penguin movie.”

He laughs. “Whatever you want.”

What I want is not the point of the Rules, which is why I change my mind and kiss him one more time. I want his perfect score to be enough. But it's not.

A week passes. I see Andre at school and he's friendly enough, but he doesn't call. So he felt it, too, or rather, didn't feel it. No sizzle. Cody says I should ask out the next guy on the list and he's probably right. But I don't. I'm losing faith in the Rules.

Jackson's gone. Cody says it's because their dad kept threatening to “haul his ass to college whether you like it or not,” so Jackson took off to stay with some friends in Phoenix. I don't ask for details like, when will he be back? Because it doesn't matter. Shelby's visited Kait's new place and says Stephanie looks more and more like him every day. Jackson is definitely off the menu.

School drags on. Nothing explodes in Bio Lab, a big disappointment for me, but I don't give up hope. Homecoming Fever infects everyone so that all you hear in the halls are conversations about who's going and not going. Will we win the game? And, of course, what're you wearing?

Brian eats lunch with us under the cottonwood tree more often than not, and Becca-Kent always wave when they see us around. At home, Dad and the Guitar Player have reached a kind of truce, and Mom's morning sickness has eased up. Things are smooth and drama-free, exactly how I always wanted my life to be. I couldn't hate it more.

Chapter
20

I am a princess . Or at least someone who is very, very rich. That's how I feel, decked out in the dress Cody found. It is strapless and snug on the top, its cool gray color spilling out in layers below the waist. When I move, the fabric shimmers with hints of blue. It makes my eyes look mysterious. It makes me feel like someone else. Best of all? Built-in bra! This dress has turned tonight from a dull school dance into an
event
. Cody's right. Details
do
matter.

Cody rings our doorbell. His dad permanently forked over the keys two weeks ago and hasn't taken them back, so all is well in Operation I'll Be Gay in College. When I open the door, he stares.

“What?” I flip a piece of hair over my shoulder. Shelby helped me flatiron my layers into submission. She also did my makeup, smoky and dark. I can see my eyelashes when I blink.

“You look”—his eyes dart down and check out the strappy heels that glitter beneath the hem—“incredible.”

“Thanks! You look fantastic, too.” He seems taller in his dark suit with the muted green shirt. “Now come in. Mom and Shelby want to videotape us.”

He groans but comes along anyway. “I've already been through this at my house. And I won't ever forget your leaving me to face that all alone.”

“We'll have plenty of pictures together since we'll be doing this again at Brian's and what's-her-name's. Admit it, this hair was worth the wait.”

“Jenna.” He ignores my hair and shoots me an annoyed look. “I know you know her name.”

“Smile!” I say in response. We pose for the camera, make some faces.

My mom grins from behind the camcorder. “You both look so grown up. I can hardly believe it. Oh, I wish Steve was here to see you.” She tears up, which I know must be the hormones. The Guitar Player is all of ten miles away, playing happy hour at the Rockin' Rodeo. She doesn't seem to notice that Dad isn't here, either, but he'd told me he had a dinner with Shevon tonight. God, how I hope she takes him back!

Shelby comes over and fusses with my hair. “Stop touching it!” she says. “You're ruining the shape.”

Excuse me for breathing,
I think, but don't say it. After all, Shelby did find Hannah a playdate so she could help me primp. Imagine trying to keep Hannah's fingers off this shimmery dress.

I twirl around to show how my dress swirls at my feet. Cody grabs me around the waist, and we do an awkward box step on the kitchen linoleum.

“Show's over,” he announces, looking at the clock. “We don't want to be late.”

Some people are coming to the dance from the game. Cody and I decided to skip the sports part of homecoming because, as he said, “Who cares?” But I know Jackson's at the game, because I saw him take off in his Corolla hours ago. Cody said Jackson wasn't home two hours this morning before their dad laid into him about the whole college thing.
Poor guy,
I think, but then remind myself that I'm
not
thinking about him.

“Ready?” Cody holds out his arm, and I place my hand on his elbow, like you see in movies. We stroll out to his car and he even opens the door for me. Very fancy.