Viv had always loved to sew. At first, it was adding bows to things or learning how to turn something baggy into something that fit her exactly. She added drawstrings and pleats. She used her mom’s castoffs to create something new. By the time she was ten, she had her own sewing machine. By twelve, she learned how to sketch an idea and create a pattern.
She’d made all her friends terrycloth swim cover-ups. She’d taken every sewing class that they offered at Joann Fabrics. By fifteen, she could teach just about any sewing class at Joann Fabrics.
For a real date at the country club, she had more ideas than she ought to about what to wear. She was keen to show Brock Lancaster that she was worldly, stylish, and not a teenager who’d actually not been anywhere or done anything.
Her outfit was fashion-forward. While everyone would likely be wearing puffy sleeves and dropped, waste dresses, Viv would not. She had a satin sheath; she’d created the sleeves and shoulders with sheer netting that matched the sheath. She’d tailored it to her small frame. Puffy overwhelmed her, and she knew it. She chose navy blue as the color. She had a black choker that her mom used to wear in the 1970s and attached the sheer netting to it to make it part of the dress. There wasn’t a poof or a sequin to be found. It skimmed her body and fell at the perfect spot between her knees and ankles. She was so proud of her work!
She loved the look and knew it was her own style. No one would be in this dress because she hadn’t gone to Jacobson’s or the mall to get it. It was her creation.
Brock picked her up in his Fiero, which was the fanciest car in Lenawee County. He was in a sport coat, so that’s how you knew this was a big deal! Normally, he was shorts and polo shirts.
He told her she looked pretty.
They joked about how they both thought theKarate Kid IIIwas the dumbest movie ever, and when they got to Irish Hills Country Club, Brock politely offered to get her a glass of punch. She accepted, and he went off.
That’s when it all went wrong.
She heard laughing behind her. It was a party, of course, and people were laughing. She ignored it, but when people are directing meanness toward you, you can feel it. It creeps across your skin, no matter how much you tried to pretend it wasn’t directed at you.
Viv could feel it. Her neck was hot. She knew the laughter of the girls behind her was for her. Just in case she didn’t, they got louder and aimed some remarks directly at her.
“Probably a Girl Scout sewing merit badge project.”
They made comments that they could see her panty lines, her shoes were too cheap, and they hated her hair. She had it parted in the center and smoothed back. The girls at the club were still sporting Statue of Liberty bangs. Viv knew that wasn’t “in” anymore in New York, but the club girls did not.
Viv didn’t turn around. That probably infuriated them. She’d ignore it. That was all she could do unless she wanted to get into a fight at this fancy place. They started in on how flat her hair was. She knew it was petty and that they were just dumb.
She stayed quiet but felt her knees shaking. Her stomach was sick. Where was Brock? She was weak, and they could sense it.
She did want to have their approval. That was what all this was about, looking cool at the stupid Country Club.
“People make their own homemade dresses because they can’t afford anything else.”
That was not why she did it. She loved designing clothes. If she said that, it would be stupid. What should she say? Should she run?
“Shut up, Kelly, you look like you just got kicked out of a dive bar inStar Warsin that thing. You should talk.”
It was a familiar voice.
“Ugh, and that dress, Kerry, is that your mom’s? Wow.”
It was Libby Quinn, one of her best friends and a regular here, much to her own annoyance.
The girls giggling stopped. Libby Quinn was smarter, more stylish, more beautiful, and had more guts than anyone else in this town, much less anyone at this country club.
“Hey, Viv!” Libby brushed passed the gaggle of girls and put an arm around Viv.
“Hi, Libby.”
The girls now stared daggers at both of them.
Brock returned with the punch in hand.
“Are you kidding? Is this your date?” one of the club girls asked Brock, paying no attention to Viv and Libby anymore. Brock looked like she’d asked him for the equation to solving a Rubik’s Cube.
“You broughtherhere?” another girl added.
“Uh, she needed a ride.”
