“You mean literally a dress?”
“Mm, I wouldn’t. Think weekend chic. Classy, but comfortable. Something that makes you think, ‘Damn, I have it going ON’ when you check yourself out.”
“Oh. Right.” I couldn’t actually summon a memory of that feeling, but I knew exactly who to ask for advice.
Dear Diary,
They used to talk about a young woman being “accomplished,” which meant she could do all the ladylike things: singing, drawing, dancing, pouring tea. Maybe speak a smattering of pretty foreign words, learned from a governess since girls didn’t get a formal education.
Nowadays the list of things you’re supposed to master is a lot longer. Be pretty! And smart! And sporty! They call it being well-rounded, but sometimes it feels like they’re saying the same thing as in the olden days: Pretend to be perfect in every way!
M.P.M.
Chapter 13
On Friday, I dressed in the blouseAnton had sent home via the twins, accompanied by a note explaining that it should be worn with jeans to keep the look young. He’d also drawn a diagram to guide my makeup application, complete with color palette.
The black shirt had a high neckline, but the Respectable Widow effect was offset by semi-sheer lace panels and cap sleeves. When I regarded the results in the mirror, I wasn’t sure they quite reached the level described by Arden, so I ran up the stairs to the twins’ room for a final consultation.
“Very vintage chic,” Addie pronounced, sweeping a section of my unbound hair forward so that it hung in front of my shoulder. “Brings out your chestnut highlights.”
Shaking her head, Van set down a bound copy of the script and rose from her bed to brush my hair back the way it had been.
I was too busy savoring the wordchestnutto care where my hair fell. Perhaps it lacked the poetry oftitianorraven,but it was infinitely better than plain old brown, which had always been my secret dread.
Van heaved a theatrical sigh. “Our little Mary, all grown up. I didn’t think it would happen this fast, did you?”
“Mary’s her own person. Who among us ever really plumbs the depths of another’s heart?” Since Addie had moved on to braiding a small section of my hair, I both heard and felt the tension behind her words, delivered in a series of sharp yanks.
Van came to inspect the results. “I like it. Simple and charming without being too jejune.”
Addie humphed. Another time I might have wondered about the discord scenting the air like overripe laundry, but my mind had already leaped ahead to the evening with my friends. With a hasty thanks, I slipped out the door, ready for my next adventure.
When Arden parked the car behind Millville High, my spirits deflated. We were one amid a sea of vehicles gathered for the weekly field hockey match. And while the lights were bright and the percussion section of the school band was pounding out a jaunty rhythm, this was not exactly uncharted territory. Cam’s games were a regular feature in my life, which was why I hadn’t felt bad about missing this one. I was also acutely conscious of being overdressed.
Arden linked her arm through mine. “Are you excited?”
I summoned a smile. “Yes.”
It wasn’t really a lie; I was excited to be there with my friends. That would be different from sitting with my family, trying to keep my mother from cursing too loudly when she didn’t like the officiating. “I guess you must have had ‘sporting event’ on your list?”
“Something like that.” Her mouth curved in a distinctly Cheshire cat fashion.
Lydia gave a skeptical huff. “I hope we’re not about to walk into something weird.” She considered Arden for a moment. “You know flash mobs are not a thing anymore, right?”
Arden merely shrugged. The rest of us hurried to keep up as she pranced through the gate and past the concession stand, not slowing until we reached the bleachers. Pulling me to a halt, she surveyed my appearance.
“Shake out your hair,” she instructed. “Okay. Now look over there.”
I turned, doing my best to make the movement appear natural. The crowd was a patchwork of half-familiar faces, blurring into a general impression of Millville High students. I was beginning to worry I’d missed Arden’s big surprise when an anomaly caught my eye.
It was the guy I’d noticed at the mall; the well-groomed, disapproving one. He appeared even more out of place in this context, where no one else had seen fit to polish their shoes. I felt a lot better about my own outfit.
“Ta-da!” Arden hummed in my ear. “Ask and you shall receive!”
Of the many questions buzzing around my brain, I chose to pose the most baffling. “How did you find him?”
“His host dad plays racquetball with my uncle,” she said, as if that explained everything. “Will Arnheim, German exchange student at Jefferson High—which is why his shoes are so extra. He’s only going to be here one semester, so we better hurry.” Placing a hand at the small of my back, she shoved me forward.
