Rules for Secret Keeping (15 page)

“It is,” he says. “But in the end the victory will be worth it.” He pats the car affectionately. “And old Sagamore here will thank me.”

“I guess so,” I say uncertainly. I mean, Sagamore can't really thank him, because she's a car. Also, Sagamore would probably be just as happy if Tom took her to the mechanic.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Tom says. “I got a new suit for the
You Girl
dinner.”

Uh-oh. “Oh,” I say. “You really didn't have to do that. In fact, I needed to talk to you about that. It's—”

“No, I wanted to!” he says. “Usually I hate shopping, you know that, but this time it was fine, since it was for something I'm really looking forward to.”

“Right,” I say slowly. “But actually, it turns out that—”

“Now, Samantha.” Tom straightens up from under the hood and holds his hand up to stop me from saying anything more. “There is no reason to be nervous. I don't care if you win or lose or if you decide you don't want to do this
secret-passing business ever again. You are an amazing young woman, and winning or not winning this award is not going to change that.” He smiles. “The suit's gray, and it's rather dashing if I do say so myself.”

“Great,” I say, weakly smiling back. I am a horrible, horrible person. The thing is, I
want
to take Tom. It would be
fun
going with Tom. But I could never, ever in a million years tell my dad that. He would FREAK out. So as much as I hate it, I have to let Tom know that he can't go. But how can I tell him that
now
? Especially when he's having such a hard time with Sagamore. I feel the start of tears burning at my eyes, and I take a deep breath and try to keep them from developing into the kind of tears that spill down your cheeks.

Taylor comes walking up the driveway then, home from cheerleading, her long hair swinging behind her. “What's with you two?” she asks. “Tom, are you fixing the car again? Ewww, Samantha, you have grease all over your hands.”

“I'm replacing the serpentine belt,” Tom says happily.

“Yeah, well, you're both filthy.” Taylor wrinkles up her nose, then drops her books on the ground and comes over for a closer look. But not too close. She would never risk getting dirty.

Not like me, apparently. There's grease all over my
fingertips (how did that happen?), and there's a smudge on my jeans. “I'd better go inside and get cleaned up,” I say. “Emma's mom is going to be here any minute.”

“Where are you going?” Taylor asks.

“We're going to Charlie's aunt's consignment shop to pick out something to wear to the Fall Festival,” I say.

“Ooooh, the Fall Festival,” Taylor says in a singsong voice. “So do you have a daaaatte yet?”

“No,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. I can't believe she's bringing up dates in front of Tom! How off-the-charts embarrassing. Although he probably subscribes to the same school of thought as my mom, the one that lets me be alone in my room with a boy because she just can't fathom the idea that anything could happen. “I'm not going with a date. I'm going with Daphne.”

“Then why are you going with Emma and Charlie to pick out costumes?”

“I'm not,” I say. “I mean, we're not getting costumes. We're getting outfits. Or they are. I'm mostly just going for fun, to get ideas. Daphne and I will probably get our outfits together.”

“Everyone goes to the Fall Festival in costume,” Taylor says wisely. She leans over, touches her toes, then bounces up and down and repeats the movement a few times. Taylor gets tight after practice, so she's always
doing stretches. Sometimes she does splits just to show off, which is very annoying.

“What do you mean, everyone goes in costume?” I ask.
Costumes?
Like, Halloween costumes? I really hope Eric Niles doesn't get wind of this.

“Costumes,” Taylor says. “You know what costumes are, Samantha.”

“Yes,” I sigh. “I do.”

“Ahh, the Fall Festival,” Taylor says. She looks off into the distance, and a small smile drifts across her face. “That's where I had my first kiss.”

“Yes, well, I'm sure you girls will have plenty of time to have your girl talk as the festival gets closer,” Tom says. He wipes his hands off on a dirty rag that doesn't really do anything except smear the grease around his hands. And then he says, “I'm going to go inside and call Dan down at AutoZone to see if he has that part I need. Looking forward to the dinner, Samantha. Remember what I said.”

“I will,” I say.

“The dinner?” Taylor asks once Tom is in the house. She pops up out of her stretch, then leans back down and picks up her books. “What dinner?”

“Oh, nothing,” I say. “I really have to get inside and wash up.” I start crossing the lawn as fast as I can, but Taylor's legs are about three times as long as mine, and she
catches up to me in no time.

“Is he talking about the
You Girl
dinner?”

“No,” I lie. Which is, of course, fruitless, since Taylor isn't stupid.

“Samantha, you know that dad isn't going on his Turkey trip, right? And that he thinks he's going with you?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I know, I just . . . I haven't had a chance to tell Tom yet.”

“Well, you better,” she says. “You better tell him quick, before he goes out and spends tons of money on some suit that he'll never wear again.” Yikes.

“I
know,”
I say. “I'm going to.”

“When?” she presses.

“Soon.” Right after I figure out how to save my business and keep Emma from stealing Jake. Not necessarily in that order.

“THIS IS AWESOME,” EMMA SAYS, HOLDING
up a turquoise-and-gold flapper dress that has fringe on the bottom and skims her knees.

“Eww, no,” Charlie says. “We don't want to look like we're going as twenties girls.”

“Why not?” I ask, fingering the fabric. It's soft and delicate, and it feels silky and perfect between my fingers. If I were looking for a costume, it's what I would want.

“Because last year at our school Halloween party, Jennifer Pritchard showed up wearing a flapper dress, and hers was real, and we would constantly be compared to her. Plus it is way too Halloweeny.” Charlie makes a face.

“Oh, right,” I say, even though I kind of have no idea what she's talking about.

Charlie's aunt's consignment shop isn't exactly what I pictured. I thought it would be all kinds of, you know,
clothes.
Instead, it's a costume shop. And not even the normal kind of costume shop, like with fake blood and witches' hats and stuff like that. Instead, it's more of a . . . I don't know. A dress-up shop, I guess. Like a consignment shop, only with weirder stuff that people might use to make their own costumes. And it's all used, which I guess is where the consignment part comes in. So I guess it's kind of a consignment costume shop?

Anyway, when we got here, I asked Emma why there were no Halloween costumes, and she looked at me like I was nuts. “Samantha,” she said. “You don't go to the Fall Festival in a
Halloween
costume, that is soooo fifth grade. You dress up in a
costume
costume.” I didn't really get the difference, so I just said, “Oh, right,” and rolled my eyes like I just got confused for a second.

“Oooh, that's right,” Emma says now. “Jennifer Pritchard. She's so pretty; did you know that her hair is naturally wavy like that? And it's completely real, she doesn't have extensions or anything.” She looks at me and waits for me to be impressed.

“Wow,” I say. I don't even know who Jennifer Pritchard is. Like, at all.

“She
is
pretty,” Charlie chimes in. “But I wouldn't want
to look like her.”

“So who do you think is pretty that you would want to look like?” Emma asks.

They start chattering on about who they think is pretty versus who they think is pretty that they'd actually want to look like. I don't really get the conversation. I mean, if someone is pretty, why wouldn't you want to look like them? Unless, of course, you thought that you were prettier than the pretty person in question. The logic of all this is very hard to keep up with, and it's making my head spin.

“Girls.” Charlie's Aunt Camilla comes out of the back room, where she disappeared to find us something “perfect” after Emma's mom dropped us off. “I have the perfect outfits!”

From behind her back she pulls out what looks like three scraps of brown fabric.

Emma and Charlie scream in delight and start jumping up and down.

“Um, what are they?” I ask.

“Cowgirl costumes!” all three of them shriek.

Then Aunt Camilla pulls a cowboy (cowgirl?) hat out from behind her back, which makes Emma and Charlie scream even more.

“Oh my God, Aunt Camilla, you are a genius!” Charlie jumps up and down and Emma hugs me.

I don't really get why they're so excited, but I don't want to seem like I'm completely out of it, so I just smile and kind of go along with it.

“And,” Aunt Camilla says, her brown eyes twinkling, “I have three of them!”

“Yay!” Charlie says.

“Yay!” Emma says.

“Yay!” I say. And then I realize what they mean. They want me to wear one of those horrible cowgirl outfits. That, of course, is completely ridiculous since (a) I cannot go as a cowgirl. I would look totally out of place in an outfit like that. And (b) I am supposed to be going to the Fall Festival with Daphne, and so we should be coming up with costumes together.

“Oh, I can't.” I take a couple of steps back, away from the offending costumes. “But you two go ahead.”

“We have to have three,” Charlie says. She narrows her blue eyes at me. “Otherwise it's stupid.”

“Completely stupid,” Emma agrees. “If we don't have three, we won't be able to do a dance or anything.”

“A dance?” I don't like the sound of this.

“A step dance,” she says. “Like they do on ranches and in cowboy bars out west.” I doubt Emma has ever been on a ranch or in a cowboy bar out west, and I tell her as much, but all she says is, “I've seen them in movies and music
videos,” and then they're both pushing me into the dressing room and the next thing I know I have the cowgirl outfit on.

“This is a little too small on me,” I say, surveying myself in the mirror. The skirt is super short with fringe all along the bottom, and the brown vest is tight and if I lift my arms up, it shows a strip of my stomach. “So I guess that settles that,” I yell over the door and start to take off the costume. But before I can, the dressing room door goes flying open and Charlie and Emma are standing there in front of me.

“Geez,” I say. “Have you ever heard of knocking?” Or better yet, putting locks on the doors? Aunt Camilla says they don't let the energy of the room flow freely.

“You look ah-mazing,” Charlie says. She jumps up and down and claps her hands, her hair bouncing.

“Yes,” Emma agrees. “It fits you perfectly.”

“It's too short,” I say, pulling on the bottom of the skirt.

“We'll wear tights under,” Emma says. “It'll be too cold without them anyway.”

“The shirt is too short too,” I say.

“Duh, you'll have a T-shirt on underneath.” Charlie rolls her eyes like she can't believe how stupid I am.

“Wrap them up,” Charlie instructs Aunt Camilla.

“I don't have any money,” I say.

Charlie looks at Aunt Camilla. “Aunt Camilla?” she pleads.

“For my favorite niece? On the house, of course. Just make sure to send me some pictures.” Charlie hugs her. Emma hugs her. I hesitate. And then, finally, I hug her too.

“You're going as
what
?” Taylor asks later that afternoon. I'm in her room, on her laptop, going through my email address book and emailing all the other
You Girl
finalists and Candace. I know it's a long shot, but I'm hoping against hope that maybe one of them might not be able to go to the banquet, or that maybe one of them knows
someone
who can't make it and can give up their ticket. Then Tom and my dad can both go. Of course, I'll have to somehow convince my dad to be in the same room as Tom. But I'll think about that later.

“Shh!” I say. “Keep your voice down.” I get up and shut Taylor's bedroom door. I came in here as soon as I got home, so that I could hang out with her and send my email. I was just sitting here typing away and minding my own business and then Taylor asked me what I was going to the Fall Festival as, and at first I tried to lie and say I didn't know, but Taylor can always tell when I'm lying, ever since I was three and she was five and I tried to tell her that I didn't paint her favorite Barbie's hair green. I don't know
how
she knows, but she does.