She’s opened her coat to reveal a black minidress, which exposes most of her cleavage. I give it a tug. “This!”
“Umm. A dress?”
My glance wanders to Levi and Aaron, who are also taking off their coats to reveal elegant suits. “And you all! My God! You look like royalty or something, and here I am like a stable girl!”
“I’ve got a dress for you,” Gwen says. “We’ll fix you up in the bathroom.”
“Why didn’t you all just warn me beforehand?”
“Because youwouldn’t have come,” Levi repeats.
“Come on, Paisley. They’re playing really awesome songs already, and we’re missing all of them.” Aaron grabs me by my coat and attempts to pull me along, but I stay put. Next to the fire.
“They’ll never let me in,” I repeat.
Gwen snaps her hand mirror shut, tosses her lip gloss into her handbag, and puts both her hands on my shoulders. She smells of raspberries. I like raspberries. “Listen. We’re on the guest list. Everyone from iSkate is on the guest list. Theyhaveto let you in. We’ll get you ready in the bathroom, you’ll turn Knox’s head, maybe tonight he’ll give you the washing-machine number I told you about, I’ll meet some hot athlete or other, Levi and Aaron can do their weird samba-thing out on the dance floor, and everyone’s happy. Right? Right. Come on.”
I pull off my cap in order to look halfway presentable but when we make it to the two guys in black, I see my reflection in the glass and get a briefoh-my-Lord-am-I-uglyattack. I look like I’ve put my fingers into a socket.
“We’re on the guest list,” Gwen says and gives them our names. One of the men checks us off the list while the other watches me going in.
“My cap causes static electricity,” I say and shrug my shoulders apologetically.
“You’re good,” the other one says, making room. I shoot the staring dude one of my most winning smiles, with my white-flecked boots, with my rat’s nest of hair, and feel big, bigger than him. He’s at least six-five. Doesn’t matter. I’m bigger.
The music is good. They’re playing Kygo. The Weeknd. Drake. It’s hot, people are heating one another up at the same time, the windows are for the most part fogged. It smells of damp armpits, alcohol, and expensive perfume. The bass is making the floor vibrate and cuts waves through the dancing mass and laughing faces.
“Bathroom!” Gwen shouts into my ear. I nod, we give Levi and Aaron a sign, and disappear past the bar and down the hall to the bathroom doors. Gwen turns around, pushes the door open with her back, and points at me with her index finger. “It’ll all be good. I’m telling you, it’ll all be good.”
I see my boots against marble. It’s far too chic to be a bathroom. My shoes seem dirty. They’re me. The floor is Aspen. But then I think that maybe there’s a reason for the marble. At parties, bathrooms are the places that make history. This is where secrets are whispered. The place where plans to kiss someone out on the dance floor and, who knows, maybe seal your fate are hatched, then a trip to the Himalayas, a wedding, bike tours with kid trailers. Smudged lipstick mouths telling the truth while the booze makes your nerves tingle. Of course the floor is made of marble. Of course it is.
“Well now.” Gwen pulls a breeze of fabric out of her big bag and holds it up. It’s got a rose-colored top with elbow-length sleeves and an airy skirt that just about reaches the knees. “It’s a gift. Mom bought it for me for some Christmas party at iSkate, but I hate pink. The color makes me all moon-faced.”
“You’re always giving me clothes,” I say while pulling my sweater over my head. “Say it.”
Gwen hands me a pair of nylon tights. “What can I say?”
“Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo.”
“Not today, Cinderella. I’ve got to conserve energy. For emergencies.”
I slip out of my boots, thick socks, and jeans, stuff everything into Gwen’s bag and pull out a pair of ballet flats. “What kind of emergency?”
“We’ll see when we get there. Turn around.”
Gwen takes off my hair tie and shakes out my hair. She twists the strands, puts the top hair into a loose bun, and leaves the others loose. Then she takes mascara and nude lipstick out of her bag and turns to my face.
“God,” she says. “I’d kill to have your lips.”
“Thanks.”
“Shhh. You’ll smear everything.”
“Sorry.”
“Paisley! Okay, good, good, I’m done.”
I look into the mirror and see someone else. The girl across from me has pink cheeks. Cheeks full of life. Big, shining eyes that look like they’d never seen anything but joy. Lips that speak of love. Without a sound. I don’t see myself, but I see what I could be if I stopped being Paisley with all those shadows in her eyes. Man, oh, man, how lovely I’d be. Howbeautiful.
