He loops his arm through mine. “Okay, then let’s get you to art.”
I nod and let him lead me through the throng of seniors in the commons.
But feeling eyes on me, I glance over to find Cooper watching us.
I offer him a small smile, but with a twitching jaw he turns away and pushes through the set of double doors leading outside.
“Hey, Ellis,” Dad says when he answers his phone on Friday night.
We’ve exchanged a few texts since my move to Bramble Falls, but they’ve been brief and half-hearted, a quickHope you had a good day at schoolorI forwarded your mail to your aunt’sorDo you know where Mom keeps the iron?I miss having actual conversations with him, but he’s always so busy, it’s been impossible to get him on the phone. Until now.
“Hey, I can’t believe you answered,” I say, grinning as I curl up in my bed.
“Yeah.” Something clinks in the background, and he sounds distracted when he says, “Just got home from work.”
“Oh wow. Another late night at the office. Have any fun plans tonight?” I ask, knowing he never does anything fun—except work, because that’s his idea of a good time.
“Not really. But, hey, did you need something?” he asks. “I’m about to go grab some takeout….”
“Oh,” I say, my smile falling. “Yeah, no, I don’t need anything. Just wanted to talk. I miss you.”
He sighs. “I miss you, too, Ellie Belly. But you and Mom will be home soon. It’ll be like you never left.”
But we did leave. Mom dragged me away from my life there, and I won’t ever forgive her for it.“Yeah. You’re right. I just wish ‘soon’ wasn’t so far away.”
“I know, but it’ll fly by.” Dad’s keys jingle. “All right, well, give me a call tomorrow. Have a good night, Ell.”
“Okay,” I say, even though I know he likely won’t answer when I call tomorrow. “Love you.”
“Yep. Love you. Talk soon.”
Dad ends the call, and I toss the phone on the bed beside me as Sloane flings open my curtain and drops a large pile of fabrics in various colors and materials onto my bed, offering the perfect distraction from my disappointing phone call.
“Good grief, how are dresses so heavy?” she says.
“Um, why are you bringing me a pile of fifty dresses?” I ask, eyeing them.
“Because the apple cider tea party is tomorrow. I already got my dress months ago, but we have to pick one of these for you to wear.” She sits on the edge of my bed. “All of them have fancy matching hats and gloves, but I would have needed another two arms to carry those up too.”
“And why do you have so many dresses?”
“Mom takes tea party dress donations whenever someone is done with one they’ve worn in the past. So these are all pre-owned but also very cute, in a very specific sort of way,” she says. “I’ll hold them up so you can pick one.”
“Can’t I just wear one of my own dresses?” I ask, even though I know I didn’t bring anything remotely suitable in the pared-down basic wardrobe I squeezed into my two measly suitcases.
She shakes her head. “Nope. These are tea party appropriate—big and fancy and outlandish. You have to embrace the absurdity, though. As long as you don’t mind wearing secondhand stuff? I know you’re big into fashion in the city….”
“No, it’s fine. I go thrifting all the time. Or at least I used to.” I maneuver my way to the other end of the bed.
“Okay, cool. I’m sure at least some of them will work.” Sloane stands and holds up the first option—a puffy dandelion-yellow dress with squared shoulders and a V neckline. “This one looks like it’ll fit.” I scrunch my face, and Sloane laughs. “Okay, so that one’s a no,” she says, tossing it to a new spot on the bed.
“A big no,” I confirm. “Even if I’m embracing absurdity.”
We continue through the pile, laughing and cringing at some of the options. I ultimately select an off-the-shoulder A-line dress in pistachio green. It’s satin and tea-length and, honestly, showstoppingly adorable.
Sloane picks up the pile of dresses. “Okay, so I was waiting until we were done to say anything, but…”
“But…?”
