Star-Crossed Page 17

  As for Willow not inviting Tessa, I have to admit that seemed more logical to me. Tessa was a great person, but it would be easy to find her obnoxious. Sometimes she overdid it with the Shakespeare-insults thing, and even I’d been having trouble with her volume control lately. A team-captain sort of person like Willow wouldn’t appreciate anyone who didn’t follow orders. And being friends with me was probably not helping Tessa either.

  So I asked Mom to drive me over to the grocery store to get chips and soda. Tessa and I were having our own private cast party, I told her.

  “What about Lucy?” Mom asked.

  I hesitated. Of course I knew that Lucy would be outraged that Tessa and I had been excluded, and would skip Willow’s party on principle. But it didn’t seem fair for me to invite her over that evening. She had every right to celebrate with the rest of the cast, I thought. She’d earned it.

  But when Lucy’s mom called mine to arrange a carpool to Willow’s house, Mom told Mrs. Yang why I wasn’t going. So, of course, Lucy immediately called my cell to say she refused to go to Willow’s, and would tell “everyone” how Willow had purposely left Tessa and me off the guest list.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I protested.

  “Oh yes, I do,” Lucy answered firmly. “It’s about time someone did.”

  That was the end of it. You didn’t argue with Lucy once she’d made a decision.

  At six that evening, Tessa showed up at my house with a pint of vanilla ice cream, a bag of smashed Oreos, and a small pack of jelly beans.

  At six fifteen, Lucy arrived with Keisha and Ellie. They were carrying trays of homemade brownies.

  At six thirty, Elijah rang the doorbell, with Jake and Ajay on the step behind him.

  Cara came over to me and whispered, “Turn on some music. I’ll run out to get more food and stuff. And pizza.”

  “Hurry,” I said. I was starting to panic a little, because I hadn’t hosted a party since my tenth birthday.

  It was a good thing she was quick. Because by seven, there were thirteen cast members at my house. By seven thirty, there were twenty-six—including Liam. And before people started leaving around ten o’clock that night, everyone from the play had stopped by—everyone except for Willow, Charlotte, and Isabel.

  And Gemma.

  I had a good time, I really did, dancing with Liam and Lucy and Keisha—although the fact that Gemma had stayed away was distracting. By now I felt sure that the two of us were good friends despite Willow, although it seemed that Gemma’s loyalty to Willow was stronger than her friendship with me. I didn’t see any other way to think about her not showing up in my living room.

  But at eleven that night, still buzzing from all the sugar and the dance music, I got a text.

  Gemma: Sorry I missed your party!!

  Me: It wasn’t really mine, it was the cast’s. You were at Willow’s?

  Gemma: No, had to dine with Mummy then go back to her hotel. Bloody boooring.

  Me: Oh, too bad.

  Gemma: Willow had it worse, apparently. Loads of food but no one showed.

  Me: Whoa, literally no one?

  Gemma: A few, but sounds like they left almost immediately to go to your house.

  Me: *no comment*

  Gemma: *me neither*

  37

  “Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,

  To help me sort such needful ornaments

  As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?”

  —Romeo and Juliet, IV.ii.33–35

  On Sunday morning, before she made the trip back to college, Cara and I did our French toast ritual. At the diner, we didn’t bother with menus. By this time, the waitress remembered our usual orders, but when she started to fill my cup with coffee, Cara pulled it away from me.

  “No coffee,” she said. “You’re so twitchy—the last thing you need is caffeine!”

  “But I always drink coffee at breakfast!” I protested.

  “Fine. Can she have some decaf, please?” Cara asked the waitress. Then she grinned at me. “Jeez, haven’t you heard of post-production letdown?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I admitted. “But I can’t help it if I’m not depressed!”

  “No, I guess you can’t. Oh, well.” She grinned. “So what’s next on the school calendar?”

  “Nothing. Just school.”

  “You sure about that?”

  The waitress brought my decaf. I dumped a jug of half-and-half into it and took a slurpy sip. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Remember the Valentine’s Dance?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I guess. But who cares? I’m not going.”

  “Mattie, you have to.”

  “Are you serious? Why?”

  “Because Mom’s in charge of it. She’s done a ton of organizing. She’ll feel embarrassed if her own daughter doesn’t show up.”

  “Yeah, but I already told her I probably wasn’t going. It’s not like she doesn’t know!”

  “She may know, and I’m sure she won’t force you. But she’ll still feel bad if you don’t.”

  “Cara, why should she?”

  “Because she did it for you, doofus. To be part of your school. And your life.”

  The waitress brought our French toast at that point, which was lucky, because I wanted to end this conversation. It really bothered me that my big sister, who was usually so supportive (when she wasn’t just talking about herself), was now guilting me about the stupid dance. I’d just had the best two days in my school career, probably the best two days of my entire life, and here was Cara telling me I should do something that would make me miserable.

  I mean, it would be weird enough watching Elijah and Lucy dancing together. And as for Gemma and Liam? My brain cells refused to even imagine it. I’d totally messed up when it came to this couples business.

  But also the whole idea of dress shopping with Mom under time pressure, when I’d sworn I wouldn’t ask her to do that—it sounded like the worst possible way to spend my Sunday. And even if I did ask Mom to take me shopping, and even if she did say yes (after giving me a hard time about breaking my promise to her), how would I know what dress to pick out, anyway? It would be like thinking up a costume.

  The waitress brought Cara the check. She put some money on the table, then raised an eyebrow at me.

  “So?” she said. “Any thoughts about this dance?”

  “It’s too late, anyway,” I grumbled. “It’s in a few days, and I haven’t asked anyone. And no one’s asked me.”

  “What about Gemma?”

  I swallowed. “What about her?”

  “I thought she was your crush.”

  The no big deal way she said this almost made me laugh. “Cara, I can’t go to the Valentine’s Dance with Gemma.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because this is middle school, remember? Kids can be jerks.”

  “Mattie, you can’t let your life be run by jerks.” Cara mopped up some maple syrup with a piece of French toast. “Oh, whatever. It’s eighth grade. Just go with your friends. Next objection.”

  “I don’t have a dress,” I sputtered.

  “Ahh,” she replied, her eyes sparkling.

  We got into her car. She started driving toward the highway, in the opposite direction from our house.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “It’s a surprise,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ll text Mom when we get there.”

  She turned on her radio and started singing. We drove for a half hour or so, then we got off at the exit for Mantua. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever been to this town before, but none of it seemed familiar, I thought, as Cara parked on a street that had cafés and stores with the word “shoppe” on the awnings.

  “Come on, little sister,” she said, leading me to a “thrift shoppe” called AdVintage.

  “What is this place?” I murmured, breathing in a spicy dried-flower smell as we entered.

  “This is where you shop when you’
re an interesting person,” Cara declared. “And I am proud to say you now qualify.”

  She walked over to a rack and held up a black satin dress that looked very 1950s, with a red belt and red buttons. “Whoa. Check out this.”

  “It’s very dramatic,” I said. “But—”

  “And look at all these!”

  More dresses. Racks and racks, most of them costumey, really. Except they’d actually been worn as real dresses by real women once. I tried to imagine those wearers, their names and occupations. Lila the advertising executive. Maggie the hat-shop owner. Hortense the rat-catcher.

  One dress seemed to me like a Juliet. Not like a Gemma, just a Juliet. It was dark purple velvet, with an open square neck and a full, swingy skirt that would be incredible for dancing.

  What was her occupation? Wait—I had it: Juliet the actress.

  I tried it on in front of the mirror. I twirled.

  “I really love this one,” I admitted.

  Cara grinned. “Then it’s my present to you.”

  “Really? What for?”

  “A rock-star performance in the play,” she said. “And also for making Mom happy.”

  * * *

  The whole ride home, I thought how weird it was that Cara cared about Mom’s feelings so much. Because it seemed that all she ever did was fight with Mom, about everything. Or else complain about Mom’s ridiculous standards. Sometimes I even wondered why she came home from college as often as she did, since every visit was usually one long argument.

  Finally, as we were pulling into town, I had to ask, “Cara, why do you care if Mom would be upset that I didn’t go to this dance?”

  “Why do I care? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, you don’t get along with her. All you two do is fight.”

  “We have our disagreements, yeah. So?”

  “So, do you even like her?”

  “That’s an obnoxious question!”

  “Sorry. But do you?”

  “I love her, you moron. Mom’s the best.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Mattie,” Cara said. “Let me tell you something. Whenever I have a boyfriend problem or a roommate problem, who do you think is the first person I talk to? Mom. Because she’s a great listener. She knows me better than anyone. And she loves me.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So why do you fight so much, then?”

  Cara laughed. “That’s just how it is with us. It has nothing to do with love. And one day, when you’re ready to talk to her about Gemma or anything else, you’ll see all this for yourself.”

  “I guess,” I said.

  “You will. But until then, you’d better keep talking to me.”

  38

  “Come, musicians, play./A hall, a hall!

  Give room! And foot it, girls!”

  Romeo and Juliet, I.v.27–28

  I did go to the Valentine’s Dance in the Juliet dress. But that Friday night was freezing, and I realized that the dress, with its big, open neckline, would probably feel too light for our school’s drafty gym. So I borrowed the Darth Vader cape from my brothers.

  “You’d better bring it home with you,” Kayden warned me.

  “Affirmative,” I said, saluting.

  Mom didn’t drive me, because she needed to be at the gym extra early to set up the snack tables and the disco ball and all that sort of stuff. Before she took off, though, she looked me over.

  “Beautiful,” she said. “And I’m glad you didn’t cut your hair.”

  “You are?”

  “Although your bangs do need another trim.” She kissed my forehead.

  “Mom?” I said. “Thanks for doing this dance. I know how busy you are.”

  She seemed shocked I’d said that. So was I, truthfully.

  “Well, it’s my pleasure,” she answered. “But I’m never too busy for my girl. You know that, right?”

  I nodded. “And sorry if I’ve been acting weird lately.”

  She smiled and brushed my bangs with her fingers. “You haven’t been weird, honey. You’ve been right on schedule.”

  About a half hour later, Tessa’s mom drove over to get me. Tessa was wearing a pale blue sparkly dress that had a Glinda the Good Witch sort of look to it. She even had glitter in her hair somehow.

  “You need a wand,” I told her.

  “Voilà,” she said, waving a paper towel roll at me.

  By the time we arrived, the gym was full of eighth graders. Most of the girls were in glammy party dresses. The boys were more random—some in suits and ties, some in normal clothes, some in stupid football jerseys. But at least none of them were dressed like zombies this time.

  “Omigod, look at Lucy,” Tessa shouted over the music. She pointed to the center of the floor, where our quiet, sane friend was doing wild dance moves we’d never even seen before. Elijah was staring at her in awe, as a bunch of people were crowded around them both, cheering.

  And then my eye caught Gemma and Liam. They were dancing together—in a way that made them seem as if they were together. For real. Both of them so gorgeous (although Gemma was wearing a school outfit, one of her clashing-pattern ensembles), and smiling at each other, as if they were sharing a private joke.

  I couldn’t watch.

  Because really, it was thanks to me that they were together. If I’d told Gemma I’d sent the Romeo note, she wouldn’t have asked Liam. And if I hadn’t lied to Liam about Lucy, he’d have asked Lucy instead. This whole disaster was due to me, due to lying. Or not lying, exactly: just not telling everyone the truth. Which ended up as bad as lying. So now I was as miserable as I deserved.

  “I’m going to get some soda,” I told Tessa.

  She clutched my arm. “You’re leaving me here?”

  “No. I just want soda.”

  “Well, hurry back. Oh, shoot. Incoming.” She lifted her chin.

  Ajay, of all people, was walking toward us.

  “Hello,” he said, staring at our feet. “You look nice. Want to dance?”

  Tessa and I exchanged glances and burst into giggles.

  “Which one of us, you mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worm?” she demanded.

  He looked up. “You,” he told her.

  She turned red. “Oh.”

  They both stood there.

  “Okay, time for soda,” I announced.

  By the time I’d poured some Coke into a paper cup with a heart pattern, they were on the dance floor together. I guess it surprised me that Ajay was a decent dancer—although what really surprised me was how happy Tessa looked. Had she had a secret crush on Ajay all this time—a crush she didn’t tell us about because she thought we wouldn’t understand? I supposed it was possible. Anything was, when it came to crushes, really.

  I grabbed a few chips and a red napkin cut into a heart shape. Mom had clearly worked overtime on all the Valentine-themey details: there were heart-shaped balloons and heart-shaped cupcakes, little cellophane bundles of chocolate kisses, and all the tables, covered in red paper, had plastic vases with red silk roses.

  I found a chair on the sidelines next to some kids who’d been in the tech crew. I could see Mom across the floor chatting with Mr. Torres, who was chaperoning. Maybe there was some mother-daughter telepathy thing going on, because at that exact moment, Mom smiled at me and waved.

  I smiled and waved back, causing the cape to slip off my shoulder.

  She pointed at me, mouthing the word, Beautiful.

  I held up the heart-shaped napkin and pointed to her. Maybe I could talk to my mom sometime, I thought—about Gemma and everything else. Because if Cara could, so could I, right? After all, Cara was way more difficult. And prickly. And if she thought Mom not only listened, but also got her—

  Someone pulled up a chair right next to me: Gemma. I inhaled her powder smell as I glimpsed the pink streak in her hair again, which, up close, I could see was just a clip-on.

  “Hullo,” she said. “So listen to this: My dance
partner has just now completely denied slipping me the love-poem-y thing.”

  “He has?”

  “He has.”

  My heart sped.

  She poked my arm. “Ace costume, Darth Vader.”

  I took off the cape. “It’s not my Vader cape. It’s my Cloak of Visibility.”

  She laughed. “Why, so it is. I remember it well. And what a gorgeous dress.”

  “You like it?” I stood up and twirled.

  “It’s amazing! I wish I had one half as pretty. Where did you get it?”

  “A shop—spelled s-h-o-p-p-e—in Mantua that my big sister took me to last weekend. Maybe we’ll take you sometime.”

  “Oh yes, I’d love that.”

  Mattie, you can’t let your life be run by jerks.

  “It’s a date,” I said.

  Something crossed Gemma’s face. A tiny eclipse.

  Actually, um . . .

  I panicked.

  “Or we could go, and not call it a date,” I added quickly.

  “Or we could,” Gemma said.

  “Really? We don’t have to—”

  “No, I’d like to try it. We could try it.”

  She’d said we again!

  “Let’s just call it a ‘dang,’ ” I said, fluttering my napkin. “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose—”

  “By any other name would smell as sweet,” we finished together. Then we laughed. Loudly. A little awkwardly.

  Not knowing what else to do then, I stared at the dance floor. “You looked like you were having fun with Liam,” I said.

  “Yes, I was. He’s lovely. He says he thinks you’re very smart.” She put her hand on my arm. “You should come dance with us.”

  “With you?” I looked into her eyes for a clue. “I mean, with you both?”

  “With everyone,” she said. “We’re not paired up, really.”

  I saw she was right. Tessa was dancing with Liam now, Lucy was with Ajay and Isabel, and Keisha was with Willow and Jake and Charlotte. And so on. Just a big, messy bunch of eighth graders celebrating. Together.

  “All right, I will,” I said. I peeked at Mom, who was pouring some red juice into a punch bowl.