“Will you wear that?” He’s biting his lip, and trying not to smile. “That’s how I’d like to die.” One more word and I’m texting Cort to come kick his ass. It was so much easier to keep him in line when she was down the street, and not in another state. The two of them have been on-again off-again since freshman year, and I swear dating her has completely warped him. He’s always been just a little more into her than she was him, and sometimes I think his crazy ego is the only thing that keeps him from being crushed by her. She’s created a monster.
As Anders continues to unabashedly stare—grinning like afool—the light show taking place in front of me catches my attention. Every bit of light in the dark room dances off of me, tiny specks reflecting onto the floor, flickering around my feet as I walk through the room. I twist to the right and left, twirling once as the shiny facets of my shirt pattern the floor like the night sky.
I had admired this outfit in the store window. It was the sort of thing I could see myself wearing, if I had the perfect body and the attitude to match. Out on the brightly lit street I had felt like a clown; like someone dressed in a costume, playing a part I didn’t know the lines for. But in the hazy, dim light of Carnivale, I feel ethereal and otherworldly, like the heroine of a comic book.I should have a coiled whip or something.When I finally tear my eyes from the light show I’m creating, Cam is just a few feet in front of me, shopping bag in hand, laughing softly.
“Oh, you think I’m funny?” I snatch the bag out of his hands and shove it into his chest. “Because Dakota Gray isn’t afraid to make a scene. She’ll kick your ass,” I say with a smile. “Just wait until you see what you’re wearing, Mr. Polo Shirt.” I’m giving him my most devious smirk, hoping that it holds a sort of ominous warning. Even though the clothes I chose for him are far from controversial. “Then we’ll see who’s funny.”
His hands clutch at the bag, grabbing one of mine in the process. “I don’t think you’re funny.” His voice is almost a whisper, raspy and deeper than usual. My breath catches in my throat at the feeling of his warm skin against me, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, face just inches from mine.
“I think you look perfect… Dakota.” He winks.
Anders clears his throat, shaking me out of the moment.
***
When I lock myself in the bathroom, just before the show starts, I don’t expect to see myself in the mirror. I’m not sure what I expect. I guess to look like a little girl who tried to put on hermom’s wedding dress; completely out of place. But I still fit into the picture I see reflected back at me. It’s just a new version of me. I don’t look like I’m playing dress-up at all.You look perfect.The words are caught in my head, like the hook of a song.
The bathroom is dimly lit, with just one buzzing bulb overhead that’s covered in a thin film of gray smoke. It makes everything look soft around the edges, like smudged charcoal. Standing in front of the mirror, my shoulders arched back, stomach sucked in, I examine myself from every possible angle. My small chest, my round butt and hips, my long, muscular legs; it all seems to fall into place, seems to work together.You look perfect.
Nonni was right. This ridiculously amazing outfit—this night—it’s not a worst-case scenario. It’s like one of those thrill rides where the bottom falls out underneath you. Once the panic wears off—once you survive—you feel unstoppable. And if I steer clear of the creepier guys, this night probably won’t even land me on a MISSING poster, or dead in someone’s trunk. As I leave the tiny room, with the buzz of the lightbulb and Cam’s words in my brain, I feel like I could do anything. The band plays song after song, Dakota spins and jumps on the dance floor, and the entire night, Cam never takes his eyes off of me, as three words loop in my head on repeat:You look perfect.
CAM
As we drive down the dark streets of Riverton, the music of Carnivale is still in my ears. Everything around us seems unbearably loud in its quietness. The click of seat belts, the ding of the blinker, the gentle swish of breath past lips—it all feels like it’s being projected through a megaphone, filling my car with deafening sound.
Pulling into her driveway, I finally break the silence. “I’m sorry. If you really hated the outfit, I mean.” Her seat belt clicks open, scraping the metallic sequins of her top as it wraps around her. I’m trying not to smile, to show even an ounce of remorse, but I’m not sorry at all. “I swear I thought you’d like it.” She sits still, our breathing once again the only sound that fills the quiet space. Pulling her lip between her teeth, she swivels toward me, one leg folding under the other until she’s facing me.
“I didn’t hate it.” She starts picking at the sequins of her shirt, pressing each one flat. She rolls her eyes and the tiniest smile plays on her lips. “The outfit’s actually pretty amazing.” She looks down at herself, letting out a rush of air that is somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “I just had to get used to it.” The shy smile spreads across her face and I swear she must be able to hear my heart pounding right now. “Vee felt a little out of place, but Dakota likes it. She really does.”
“Okay then.”
“Okay then.” She’s smiling as she steps out of the car. “Goodnight, Cam.”
“Goodnight, Vee.”
Vee turns to face me in the dark. “You looked perfect too, you know.” I look down at my new jeans and simple black T-shirt as she shuts the door and walks away.
A block from Vee’s house, I stop at the gas station to fill my tank. Swiping my card, a glint of silver catches my eye. Out on the sidewalk, like a disco ball rolling under the street lamps, is Vee. She’s striding down the pavement, a little black sweater draped over her shoulders, her heels swapped for a pair of purple shoes. And I know exactly where she’s headed so late.
***
I drop my body down onto the ground next to her and her shoulders flinch for just a second. Leaning back on my hands inthe cool sand, I’m glad it’s only me surprising her. “Starting a new beachwear trend?” I can’t help but grin, seeing the sand sticking to her leather leggings. “I like what you’ve done with the outfit. I think it’s even better than before.” I bump my foot against her shoe.
“Stalk much?” Her voice is nothing but sarcasm and tease as her eyes remain fixed on the water in front of us. She’s right, I probably shouldn’t have come. But then I couldn’t get the thought of her alone at the beach out of my head. There’s no staff here at night, but who knows whoishere at night. I sat in the parking lot for fifteen minutes but I just couldn’t fight the pull.
“Only on Fridays.” I try to keep my face serious as I say it, but I can’t help but smile as I catch hers out of the corner of my eye. “Sorry.” She gives me a look that says she knows I’m not. “I saw you walking and didn’t like the idea of you down here by yourself this late. I can hang out in my car and just give you a ride home when you’re done, if you want to be alone.”But please don’t ask me to do that.
“You really are like a personal taxi service, huh? Rides in the morning, rides at night. You’re going to spoil me and give me inflated expectations of your awesomeness, Cam Fuller.”
“In that case.” I push myself up in the sand, wiping my hands together dramatically and rising to my feet. “The last thing I want is you thinking I’m going to be awesome 24/7. Good luck with the serial killers.” I dust sand off my pants, stopping when I feel a hand on mine.
She tugs it once, before dropping it. “Shut up and sit down.”
“It’s nice out here. Quie—”
She cuts me off with a soft “shhhh” that sounds like a sigh. We’re sitting just a few feet from the water, far from the lights of the boardwalk. If the wind really picked up, the surf would reach up and grab us. Vee lies back on the sand again, her arms at her sides, and I copy her. Our bodies are just inches apart. Thesound of bongos and acoustic guitar drifts down from the dunes; the only noise as we lie in complete silence. It’s easy to understand why she loves it here. Staring up at the dark, inky sky, the light breeze sends goose bumps across my skin. The gentle sound of the waves and the drums fills my ears. Eventually, the music stops and I suspect that what had felt like minutes has actually been hours. Time seems to pass more quickly with Vee, like at a concert or on vacation.
“Tomorrow? Same place, same time?” she asks, when I finally drop her in front of her house just after 2A.M.
