Trinkets (22 page)

Noah arrived at exactly 6:50 to get me. He wore a black suit with a blue tie. It didn’t exactly match my purple dress, but that’s okay. He gave me a flower bouquet instead of a corsage, which is cool, because having a clump of flowers on your wrist all night seems annoying. I got him a red rose boutonniere to wear. When he first saw me, he said, “WHOA. You look awesome.” And I actually felt pretty. It was like I couldn’t stop smiling, even though it was for an idiotic tradition. And my aunt made us pose for pictures, a ton of them. She kept saying how proud she was of me. All I know is the lady has a thing for taking photos, but I also know I’m not going to regret having a keepsake or two.

I take Elodie through the living room, which has stopped being redecorated for the time being because my mom “put the project on hold.” Still, everything looks perfect. Lilies are on the mantel and in the kitchen. My dad never liked flowers because of his allergies, but now that he’s moved out, they’re everywhere.

“I love your house so much,” Elodie sighs.

“We might not be here much longer.”

“Really?” She’s surprised.

“My parents are getting separated.”

“Wow.” Elodie takes note of my face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I am.” And I mean it. Except for the fact that there is an annoyingly giant vase of dahlias on the bathroom counter that I have to move every time I brush my teeth, everything is exactly the way it should be.

When we get to my room, Elodie looks at all the piles of clothes and snow globes and frames and perfume bottles on the floor. “Is this all your loot?”

I nod. “I’m getting rid of some of it.”

“Why? Look how much good stuff there is,” Elodie says, holding up a black winter coat with a white furry collar.

“I used to make lists of how much everything cost and then add it all up. Seeing the total made me happy. But now it just seems like meaningless numbers. Not to mention, it’s crap I don’t need.”

“You stole the red dress for me, right?” Elodie studies me.

I nod. “I think it’s my last time for a while. According to the Jeffrey, the judge is accepting my plea bargain, but if I get caught again, it’ll get put on my permanent record.”

Elodie stands in the red dress in front of the closet, admiring herself in the full-length. She’s not making any kind of Mirror Face as she does it. She just is who she is.

She turns and looks at me. “I’ve got to admit, I wouldn’t love this dress half as much if it weren’t stolen.”

I hand her a pair of silver hoop earrings. “As long as you’re wearing a stolen dress, you might as well complete the outfit.”

Elodie takes them with a smile.

“Limo’s here!” my mom calls from downstairs.

“What?!” Elodie and I look at each other, excited.

“It’s an Ecolimo!” she calls up. “It runs on corn!”

Elodie laughs. “Your mom’s awesome.”

I nod in agreement. She’s right. We gather up our stuff, put on lip gloss, and go to the Spring Fling.

I come out of the bathroom stall and see Kayla at the sink putting on lip gloss. I almost bolt, but I decide that would make me look like an asshole.

“Hey, Kayla,” I wave awkwardly.

“Oh, hey,” she says warily when she sees me.

I quickly turn on the water, preparing to get out of there as quickly as possible. I pump soap into my palms. It’s that kind of soap that’s made of sandy little granules that scratch your hands. So much for Spring Fling being a high-class event.

“Hey, Tabitha, I wanted to ask you something,” Kayla says, turning to me.

I know what’s coming and I can’t deal with it. I hold up a hand. “Um, I don’t want to gossip about Brady and Taryn or anybody else. I think they’re assholes and I know you’re
going to try to get in the middle of it, but I’ve got to go. Have a good night.”

I turn to go, but she stops me. Oh God. This is going to be awkward and awful.

“Seriously, Kayla, I’m leaving,” I say firmly.

“No—I just wondered…” She drops her voice. “Do you have a tampon?”

“A tampon?” I’m so confused.

“I just got my period. Can you believe it? Again! It’s like I’m haunted by the gods of menses or something.” She waves a hand in front of her dress. “And I’m wearing white!”

I can’t help it. I start laughing. She looks hurt for a second. “No, I’m sorry!” I say. “It’s just—you’re funny.”

“I’m not funny. I’m bleeding!” she wails. “As if it weren’t bad enough that Noah decided at the last minute to come with someone else. Spring Fling sucks!”

“Wait here,” I say. “I’ll go find something.”

I pass Elodie, but she’s so busy talking to Marc, she doesn’t even notice. As I pass Keith Savage cuddling with Zoe Amato, I hear Zoe say, “What’s Tabitha running around about?”

“Maybe she’s having fun,” Keith responds.

“I am, actually,” I call back over my shoulder. They look at me kind of weird, but who cares? I beeline toward Ms. Hoberman, who is grooving on the sidelines to the band’s fairly unpleasant cover of “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It).” When I explain my request, she says, “Oh, of course!” because she got a degree in education to prepare for stuff like this.

“Oh, my gosh, thank you so much,” I say as she digs through her purse.

“So, have you ever thought about writing for the school blog?” she asks as she continues to root around.

“Not really…”

“Well, you should. We need talented writers to contribute, even just once or twice a week. It can look good on a college application…?”

“I don’t know….” I’m starting to get anxious. Why didn’t I ask someone else for a tampon?

“You can write under a pseudonym if it would make you more comfortable,” she suggests.

I think about it for a second, then I realize, why not? What have I got to lose? And, more important, what have I got to hide?

“No, I could probably write it as myself,” I say. “Yeah. I could totally do that.”

She beams at me, then announces, “Ta-da!” and triumphantly pulls out an organic cotton tampon. I take it from her and run back to the bathroom, where I find Kayla with a pile of paper towels, trying to fold them into a panty-size bundle.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say. “Use this. It’s cruelty-free.”

She snatches it out of my hand, practically collapsing with relief.

“Oh my God, Tabs,” she says, exhaling and hugging me. “You saved my life.”

“Anytime,” I say with a smile.

She looks at me. “I’ve been waiting to ask you something.”

“What?”

“You’re into Patrick Cushman, aren’t you?”

I shrug, trying to be noncommittal.

“Well, I think he’s really nice. And weirdly superhot,” she says with a genuine smile. “I think you should go for it.”

“You do?”

“Totally!” She gives me a thumbs-up and I head out of the bathroom, realizing that sometimes all it takes to reunite old friends—maybe not forever, but at least for a night—is a chance encounter, a dose of advice, and a tiny piece of feminine protection.