Trapped (7 page)

So I sit down and, for lack of anything else to say, tell her about the Winter Ball. And then to my surprise, I tell her about Clayton and how he broke my heart and how I hope my cranberry red dress will make him jealous. “I know that sounds silly and petty …”

She chuckles. “I think it sounds quite normal. In fact, I remember a time when I did something very similar to that.” She tells me a story about a boy she liked in college and how they were good friends and study partners. But to her dismay, he seemed more interested in her roommate than her. “And my roommate, her name was Lola, well, she was so glamorous and attractive. She looked a little like Bette Davis with her red lipstick and fancy clothes. And she smoked cigarettes too.”

Miss Julia shook her head with disapproval. “So I tried to catch Howie's eye by imitating Lola.” She laughed. “But smoking made me sick to my stomach, and I never looked very good in red lipstick either.”

“But did you get his attention?”

“In a way, I did. Howie took me aside one day and told me I would do better to just be myself.”

“That's nice. So did you start dating him then?”

She waved her hand. “Oh no, he married Lola that next summer.”

“Oh …” I feel disappointed and sad for her.

“But really, I was thankful. Poor Howie turned into a hor-rible alcoholic and Lola was miserable. They both died young and unhappy.” She stroked the cat in her lap and smiled. “I'm quite content with my little life, and oddly enough, it turned out just like Howie said to me years ago. It's better to just be myself.”

I nod, taking this in.

“I'm sure you'd agree with me on that. You seem like the kind of girl who knows how to be herself.”

I think back to the bracelet I snatched from Kelsey … and what I did … then look away.

“Oh, I'm sure there come times when you're not completely sure about who you are,” she continues in a rambling sort of tone, “but that's just part of growing up. Eventually, you figure it out and the puzzle pieces fall into place. You realize being you is the best you can be.”

“I hope so …”

“Just be true to yourself, GraceAnn.” She points to the clock on the mantel. “Goodness, how time flies with you here, but I suspect you want to be on your way. I'm sure you'd rather be getting ready for your big night than sitting around here listening to old tales of days gone by.”

“Don't be so sure of that,” I say as I stand. “But my best friend, Mary Beth, would probably like it if I pick her up soon.” I explain how we're going to get ready together and help each other with our hair.

“Yes, yes, be on your way, Cinderella.” She chuckles. “And if you have any photos taken, perhaps you'll bring them by to share with me sometime. Or maybe I'll be able to get myself over to the pharmacy before long.”

“You just take care and get well.” I reach out to grasp her hand. “And thank you for sharing your stories with me.”

As I drive to Mary Beth's, I consider Miss Julia's words about being true to myself. It's not like I haven't heard that kind of advice before. I mean, who hasn't? But for some reason it felt almost prophetic coming from her mouth. Like she had some idea of what I am dealing with.
I will never, never, never cheat again
. It is behind me now. I just wish I could forget about it.

. . . [CHAPTER 6]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“
Y
ou don't seem very excited,” Mary Beth tells me as we make the final tweaks to our hair and makeup. “Are you feeling okay?”

I feign an enthusiastic smile. “Sure. I feel great.”

“Tired from working all day?”

“Maybe.” I sigh, trying to shove off this weight that seems to have attached itself to my spirits — the remnant guilt from yesterday. “But I'll be fine. I think I'm just hungry.”

“That reminds me … Yesterday in art I overheard Jorge and Bryant, and it sounds like they're cooking up something special for dinner.”

“They're cooking?” I stick in one last hairpin to secure my loose updo, frowning at how some of the hair is already slipping out.

“Well, I'm not sure they're actually cooking, but they seemed to be working on something.” She looks concerned as she brushes on some blush. “But I have a feeling that neither of those guys has much money, so we better not set our expectations too high.”

“As long as we get something to eat, I won't complain.”

“And we definitely shouldn't expect a limo.”

I just nod, then turn to look at her. “You look smashing, darling,” I say with a fake British accent.

Mary Beth grins. “And you look stunning.”

“Ready to face the cameras and crowds of adoring fans?”

She giggles.

To our surprise, when we go out to where Mom and Dad are waiting, Mary Beth's mom is there as well. And a nice array of appetizers is set out on the island in the kitchen.

“Surprise,” Mom says as Dad goes for his camera.

“You did this for us?” Mary Beth's eyes grow wide.

“Your mom and I did,” my mom tells her. “For you and your dates.”

“We thought it was one way to get them to linger a little,” Mary Beth's mom says.

“So we can meet them.” Dad snaps some candid shots. “Just to make sure they're respectable young men and not just trying to make off with our beautiful girls.” He grins as he adjusts his camera lens.

“And you girls do look beautiful,” Mom says as she adjusts a strap on my dress.

“So grown-up and sophisticated,” Mary Beth's mom adds.

Before long, Rory is barking and the guys arrive. As Mary Beth and I meet them at the front door, I'm impressed by their interesting outfits. Jorge is wearing a mint green tuxedo that he says is from a thrift shop and straight out of the seventies. I can tell Mary Beth is impressed, and I'm starting to wonder if this random dance date thing might turn into something more with her. Her eyes light up even more as Jorge hands her a boxed wrist corsage of purple orchids.

“You look great,” I tell Bryant as I admire his sleek-looking dark suit and narrow tie. “Where on earth did you get that suit?”

“It's from the sixties. It belonged to my grandfather.” He smoothes his hand over his shaggy brown hair and nervously hands me a wrist corsage. It's similar to Mary Beth's, only my orchids are white. “My grandmother did some alterations to make it fit better.”

I nod with approval. “It's perfect.”

“You, uh, you look really nice too,” he says politely.

“Thank you.” I can tell he's really uneasy as he looks around — this must be way out of his comfort zone and I feel a little sorry for him — but at the same time, it's kind of cute too.

“I didn't know your parents were rich,” he whispers to me.

I glance around the large foyer and shrug. “It's just a house.”

“Our parents want to meet you,” Mary Beth says. The guys exchange worried glances but follow as we lead them toward the kitchen, where introductions are made. And when the guys see the little feast laid out, they soon begin to relax. My dad gets more photos and takes some video, and finally it's time to leave.

But before we go, my dad stops the guys and gives them a very serious look. “Now, I realize how some kids think a dance like this is an excuse to drink alcohol and party, but I want to make it crystal clear to you boys that that is not only unacceptable and illegal but I will personally come after both of you if I hear of anything like that happening tonight.” His scowl melts into a charming smile, and I feel like crawling under a rock.
“Understand?”

Bryant nods with a slightly shocked expression. “Yes, sir.”

Mom laughs nervously. “You see, I work in the ER, and I see the results of that kind of thing far too much.”

“No problem.” Jorge holds up his hand like a pledge. “No alcohol. You've got our word.”

“Good.” Dad seems satisfied, and we say our good-byes and hurry out.

To my surprise, an old but gleaming, long silver car is parked in the driveway. “Whose is that?”

“That's my grandpa's too,” Bryant admits. “It's not a limo, but I hope it'll do.”

“It's great,” I tell him. Okay, it looks a little like something out of a comic book, but it's also kind of interesting.

“It's better than great,” Jorge says as the guys open the doors for us. “It's a 1964 Cadillac — and in mint condition. I can't believe your grandfather let you use it, man.”

“First he made me wash and wax it and clean out the interior, then he made me swear on my grandmother's life that I would drive safely and return it looking as good as it looks now.”

“This is so cool,” Mary Beth says from the backseat. “I feel like we're starring in an old movie.”

“This is fun.” I nod. “Much better than a limo.”

Bryant turns on the radio and a jazzy song comes on. “This is my grandfather's favorite station, but I can change it — ”

“Don't you dare,” Mary Beth says. “I love jazz.”

“It's nice.” Leaning back into the soft leather upholstery, I feel myself relaxing. And as I focus on the evening before us, the oppressive guilt that's been weighing on me might be lifting … slightly. Anyway, I am determined not to think about it tonight. Not after I see all the time and energy these guys are putting into our evening.

“So where are we eating?”

“It's a surprise,” Bryant tells me as he drives toward town.

Then when we're in town, he drives slowly by some of the nicer restaurants, and I notice limos dropping off kids we know who, like us, are dressed to the nines. But Bryant continues past these places and on toward the less-impressive part of town, finally pulling into a dismal-looking strip mall. The car is quiet, and I'm sure Mary Beth is thinking what I'm thinking: Where are we going to eat here? I sure hope it's not Burger King. The only other eateries are a sandwich shop, which is closed, and a tiny taco shop called Rosita's, where a couple of other cars are parked.

“Here we are.” Bryant parks right in front of Rosita's. “Jorge's choice for dinner.”

“Oh … ?” Mary Beth gives me a concerned look as we get out.

I force a smile. “This should be interesting. Do they really have indoor seating in there? It looks tiny.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Jorge says as he opens the front door. But once we're inside, this looks like a regular taco joint with a counter to order and menus printed on the wall behind it.

“Mr. Mendez,” a plump Hispanic woman says to Jorge, “your table is waiting.”

Jorge chuckles. “Thanks, Tia Rosita.”

“Rosita is Jorge's aunt,” Bryant tells me as the woman leads us past the few customers seated in the tiny dining area and opens a heavy door that goes into another small room. But this room looks totally different — it's like we just entered another world. A round table with a colorful striped tablecloth is attractively set with pottery dishes, silverware, pretty glasses, fresh flowers, and candles. And all around the edges of the tiled floor, luminaries light the room. And Mexican music plays pleasantly in the background.

“This is amazing,” Mary Beth says as she walks around, admiring everything.

“It's beautiful, Jorge,” I say.

“Jorge did it all himself,” Rosita tells us proudly. “He is an artist.”

“My mom helped,” Jorge admits as we sit down. “These are her dishes.”

The food turns out to be just as good as the setting, and the four of us have a truly enjoyable meal. By the time we're leaving to go to the dance, I think this date is incredibly pleasant. Would I have had any more fun if I'd gone to the ball with Clayton? Then I'm surprised that this is the first time I've thought of Clayton tonight. Am I over him?

For the first time since breaking up, I hope that I am over him. I really would like to be done with him. I almost don't care whether or not I make him jealous tonight. I glance over at Bryant and smile to see how handsome he looks in that suit, sitting behind the wheel of this big old Cadillac. This might end up being more than just a one-time thing for me too. Who knows?

When we get to the dance, the valet seems delighted to get the keys to the Cadillac, but Bryant warns him if there's so much as a scratch on it, his grandfather will hunt him down. Then he smiles … and I wonder if he's imitating my dad from earlier this evening. Was I wrong about the bad-boy image? I mean, Bryant can appear to be a bad boy, but judging by his actions, he's really quite nice. Just the same, I don't mind that people watching us might think otherwise. For some reason it feels fun and slightly risky to walk in with him.

“Right this way, ladies.” Jorge holds out his arm for Mary Beth. Bryant does the same, and feeling festive and full of happy anticipation, I link my arm in his as we go into the hotel lobby, which is merrily decorated for Christmas. We're nearly to the ballroom where the dance is being held when Mary Beth mentions a need to use the ladies' room. As we both excuse ourselves, the guys promise to get us some punch.

“Isn't this turning out to be fun?” she says to me.

“I know. Who'd have thought?”

We both go into the stalls, and I hear others entering, chattering as they gather in front of the mirror. One of the girls sounds just like Kelsey Nelson, and suddenly I remember the last time Kelsey and I were in the restroom together — and how I confronted her and ripped off the cheater's bracelet. For that reason, I'm not exactly eager to exit the stall. So I linger.

“Oh, Sean's car is nothing,” Kelsey is saying to the other girl. “I mean, it's nice enough, but you should see the Mustang my stepdad has promised to get me.”

“Yeah, sure,” the other girl says sarcastically, “but that's only if you get an A in AP Biology. How likely is that?”