Throwing Like a Girl (23 page)

Finally we get to the lip.

“Okay, is it top or bottom that’s…fat?”

“It’s top
and
bottom on the left side.”

“Okay, apply gloss with care, obviously, dabbing on the swollen part. And then just roll your lips together if you can. Make the best of it. Act like it’s an asset, not an obstacle.”

“An obstacle to what?”

She pauses. “Sounds like you already know.”

And we’re giggling as we hang up.

It’s nearly seven. I hear a car in the driveway. I peek out the window. Nate’s too beautiful in his tuxedo. My mother rushes in. “Ella, he’s here. Is that how you’re wearing your hair?” She’s practically hyperventilating.

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“It doesn’t look like you’ve even brushed it.”

“I don’t brush my hair. I just let it dry. And I put some of this in it.” I hold out a small bottle of what my sister Beck calls “product.” “It calms your hair down. You might think about using it.”

She says, “Very funny.”

I take one last look in the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door. The sea foam looks grayish blue at the moment and matches my eyes. I put on tiny fake diamond earrings, and they work well with my tousled-hair look. All in all, as long as I don’t rub my eyes and smear the mascara, and as long as no one stares at my mouth, I look okay.

My mother says, “Your father is going to take pictures of you and Nate.”

“Mom, no.”

“Yes. Ella, it’s your first date, your first dance. You’ll thank him later for taking a few pictures.”

“Not with this lip, I won’t.”

She ignores me.

The dress swishes as I glide downstairs. Nate is leaning over my dad’s shoulder to show him something with the digital camera. Then he stands up and sees me.

And I’m extra careful not to trip down the last step.

I’ve never seen anyone look at me this way—a long, wordless gaze like in the movies. I’m not sure if it’s the lip or the dress or the fake diamond earrings that catch the light.

“Ella,” he says.

“Hi.”

We stare at each other for a minute, and the strangeness falls away. I can’t believe how happy I am to see him. There’s been so much going on with me and Rocky and softball, and, of course, Sally lurking in the background, that I worked myself into a panic over his intentions and whether I could safely like him or not. But here he is.

“I have something for you,” Nate says, taking two long strides and grabbing a corsage from the table by the door. Opening the clear box, I see the pretty, purplish flower with baby’s breath around it.

My mother says, “Oh, Nate, that’s lovely.”

“It’s for your wrist. I wasn’t sure if the pin-on kind…well, I didn’t know if it would work with what you’d be wearing.” He smiles.

I take it and slip the band around my wrist. It anchors me in a way. I tell him, “I got a fat lip.”

He tries not to laugh. “I heard. Are you gonna be all right?” he asks.

I pretend to consider this for a moment. “I think so.” The truth is, I don’t even care about the lip anymore. I’m too happy.

“Okay, then,” my father interrupts. “Three pictures. That ought to cover all the bases.” He winks, and I roll my eyes.

When we’re done, my father clears his throat. “Midnight, Nate.”

“Yes, sir.”

In the car, I say, “Sorry about my lip.”

“Ella, please. That’s crazy.” After he starts the car and turns down the radio, he says, “You look really beautiful.”

We drive slowly down the street. He keeps looking at me, smiling. Finally he says, “So I had this idea for dinner.”

“Okay.”

“Wait, I didn’t tell you yet.” We both laugh.

“So,” he continues. “I used to bus tables at this diner. I know it’s not romantic, but I thought it might be fun, and we’d get first-class service because I know everybody there.”

“Sounds great.” And I take a deep, relieved breath, because that’s something I hadn’t thought about: how to eat at a fancy restaurant without your mother there to tell you what fork to use or to stop drinking out of someone else’s water glass.

The diner is a fifties kind of place with old-fashioned music and lots of neon signs. Frannie will love for me to describe it in detail because of her
Grease
obsession. I try to start memorizing things: the mini Coke bottles; the jukebox with Elvis songs; the waitresses in short, pink uniforms. A hostess takes us to a booth in the back, and various members of the staff
come over to chat with us, waitresses and cooks and dishwashers. Nate introduces me, and they’re all very polite, not mentioning my lip once.

Without looking at his menu, Nate orders a double cheeseburger, curly fries, and a strawberry shake. I decide on a hamburger, cheese fries, and a chocolate malt.

Then everyone leaves us alone to stare at each other. It’s strange being here in our fancy clothes, but it’s fun, and it helps me relax a little.

Nate says, “I know you’ve got SPC in Tulsa this weekend, so you won’t be around for
Show Boat
, but I was wondering if you’d like to go to the dress rehearsal on Thursday night. It’ll be like the real thing, except the seats won’t be full.”

Everything he says, every time he opens his mouth, my heart soars. I just can’t get over the fact that he’s talking to me, that we’re on a date together, that we’re going to prom tonight.

I realize I’m so excited I forgot to answer him. “I’d love to go,” I tell him.

And then we start talking about the musical and how it’s going. About softball and Rocky and how much I love playing and being on the team. He tells me he knows Anthony and how hard it was when he blew out his knee. We talk about Nate going to SMU in the fall and trying to be a walk-on for the football team. We talk about how good the food is here and how cool this place is. And we don’t talk about Sally at all.

I feel like Cinderella, and I wish Prince Charming and I could stay here the whole night, because it’s just us. Because he doesn’t make me feel embarrassed about my lip or the fact that I’ve never been to a dance or worn a fancy dress. But it’s nearly nine when
we finish the hot fudge sundaes. He pays the bill and leaves the tip, and then there’s no other reason to stay.

Back in his car, I say softly, “That was really the best dinner I’ve ever had.”

He looks over at me, and says, “Me, too.”

Prom is at the downtown Hyatt. We’re almost there when Nate says, “I know things have been weird with you and my sister.”

That’s one way to put it.

“I’ve wanted to explain it to you for the longest time. So you wouldn’t be…I don’t know, scared off by her.” He glances over to see if I’m still with him. “I know I give her a lot of slack, but there’s more to it.…” He stops for a minute. Thinks.

I study my hands in my lap, the huge corsage on my wrist.

“My mother is pretty crazy and she drinks too much. And I barely see my dad. Sally seems to get everything dumped on her. I don’t know how that happened. She used to be the princess in the family. Back when everyone was happy and my parents were still together.” He sighs, like it feels good to say it. “If she didn’t have me to stick up for her, she wouldn’t have anyone.” After a moment he adds, “Do you think that’s messed up?”

“No,” I say honestly, unable to imagine what life is like living with an alcoholic. I think back to the day I overheard Gwen and Joy talking about Sally’s mom, and the whole picture becomes clearer.

“I have to look out for her,” he says.

“I understand.” And I actually think I’m starting to.

He reaches over and takes my hand. The corsage blocks my
view of our clasped fingers, so I close my eyes and just feel the warmth radiating up my arm. We don’t talk the rest of the way, but he hums again and that makes me smile.

At the hotel, people are arriving in limos like it’s a red-carpet film premiere. And the girls do look like movie stars bound up in their dresses and hair clips. The guys, though, still look like kids playing dress up. Except Nate, who drives us carefully through the chaos and parks far away from the fray. He grabs my hand to help me out of the car and holds on tight as we walk past people huddled in the parking lot, who are probably drinking or smoking before going in.

In the lobby a sign reads: W
ELCOME
S
PRING
V
ALLEY
D
AY
S
CHOOL
P
ROM
-
GOERS
. I want to make a joke about how lame

that is, but I don’t. A nice lady directs us to a wide, winding staircase. She says, “You’re in the second-floor ballroom.”

Nate looks at me. “Is it that obvious that we’re prom-goers?”

I just want to kiss him. I mean, not so much with my embarrassing fat lip. But come on, he said exactly what I was thinking. I love that.

Lucky for me, the room is pretty dark. It’s decorated with fairy lights and two huge, dimmed chandeliers. We go to a table where a teacher asks for our tickets. Nate drops my hand to dig into his coat pocket, and I look around, feeling slightly unhinged. My chest and lip are thumping in time to the loud music.

In the few seconds before we disappear into the crowd of people, I wonder if I’ve truly changed since moving here. Then Nate takes my hand again, and we walk through the crowd, the huge wrist corsage bobbing between us, and I feel I’ve found something I lost a long time ago. Like a new sense of myself. A confidence I never had before.

I don’t see one person I know. But all these guys keep coming up to Nate, slapping him on the back, saying hi to me, leaning into him and whispering. Maybe they notice my lip. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter. He seems a little distracted by these interruptions and finally says to one buddy, “Hey, listen, Ella and I just got here and we haven’t had a chance to get out on the dance floor.”

And so, it’s come down to this. Dancing is like singing for me. In the shower, in front of the mirror, I’m unbelievable, but would I ever sing in public? No way. I’ve been blocking out this part of the night, but now it’s in my face.

I
do
know how to dance. I went to dancing school in seventh and eighth grade. I learned the waltz, the fox-trot, and the box step. But that’s a big difference from an actual dance where I’m with someone I like and want to impress. And no one will be doing the fox-trot. There are no steps to follow here.

This makes my lip throb.

I guess he can tell. As Nate drags me out onto the dance floor, he says, “This isn’t gonna hurt a bit.”

But, actually, everyone seems to be having fun and making it up as they go along. Prince Charming, I’m happy to report, is slightly off the beat. He’s actually kind of a bad dancer. I start giggling, and he nods his head, as if to say,
I’m the man
. Which makes me laugh harder.

But we stay out there for over an hour, and I realize this is what it’s about, having fun, not caring if you’re good or bad. We dance several in a row, fast and crazy, and then a slow dance. It’s nothing like dancing school. My hands loop around his neck and his arms wrap around my waist, tight and warm. It’s exhilarating because I can smell every part of him, his skin and his hair, even
the heat from under his jacket. It’s fabulous.

Then he steps back for a minute, holds me at arm’s length. “The only thing bad about slow dancing is I don’t get to look at you.”

And my vast, puffed-up lip rises into a smile.

It’s eleven when we take a break, and I can’t believe the night is almost over. Will my parents be waiting up for me and will Nate kiss me good night with the condition of my mouth? I excuse myself and head to the bathroom to check my lip. It’s packed with girls fixing makeup and hair, chatting and checking one another out. I quickly scan for Sally. Safe.

Hidden in a stall, I listen to all the voices. Do they even notice me at all? Not that I want them to exactly, because my experiences with being noticed by Sally and the girls in Behavioral Science have been disastrous. I thought coming to the dance with Nate and playing on the softball team might make a difference. But they don’t seem to. No one’s come up to me and said, “You play first base, right?” or “You’re Nate’s date, aren’t you?” It’s a bit disappointing.

There’s a lot of turnover in the bathroom. So many girls and so many conversations. I decide to just enjoy this moment and not analyze it.

I take a quick peek at my lip, then I slip out. In the ballroom I look all over for Nate but don’t see him anywhere.

Don’t panic
. He’s probably looking for me.

I backtrack to the bathrooms, waiting casually, but don’t see him. I feel a teeny tiny prick of adrenaline inside me. I try his cell phone, but he doesn’t answer. I leave a bright message, trying to sound funny and not worried. Like I haven’t been looking everywhere for him and asking complete strangers where he is.

It’s eleven thirty. I pictured us saying our good-byes and
walking out, arm-in-arm by now. It’ll probably only take fifteen minutes to get home by the highway, but still. This is cutting it close.

Back in the ballroom, I weave through the crowd scanning every boy. I even look for Sally, Gwen, and Joy, my heart lifting and tumbling with every step. But no luck.