I can’t tell if she really wants me to leave, or if she’s testing me, daring me to take her up on it. Even if it is just a dare, I’m done playing Amari’s games.
I stand up and accidentally kick over my bucket of popcorn but don’t even pick it up. I want to get out of there.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I say to Amari.
She looks away and doesn’t respond.
I grab my bag and walk out without looking back. I can feel a knot of sadness in my chest, but it’s not enough to turn me around.
I have so much to lose, and even more ahead of me.
I hope she does, too.
18
A few hours before the homecoming dance, I’m standing in front of the mirror in my dress when I see my mom cheesing in the doorway. I do a little spin for her, loving the way the fabric twirls around me.
“Wow, I knew it would be perfect!” Mom says. “Let me just fix those straps.”
She picked the dress for me, and I was surprised at how much I loved it when she brought it home. The champagne-colored fabric glistens from every angle, falling just above my matching heels. Mom pulls at the crisscrossed spaghetti straps in the back and the dress gets a little more snug but not too tight. It really is perfect, and I couldn’t be happier.
“Great choice, Mom,” I say, smiling at myself in the mirror.
“Of course it is!” she cries, grabbing some bobby pins off my dresser. “Hair time, which side?”
I point to the right side even though I’m not sure what she’s doing. I’ve slathered on enough gel to make sure my bun doesn’t move, and it looks almost as flawless as Ms. Bree’s always did. My mom chuckles when she feels how hard my hair is. She puts two pins in an X.
“That’s so cute, more, please,” I tell her. She grabs two more and doubles them.
“So, I promise I wasn’t snooping…” She looks at me in the mirror. I brace myself. “But I was cleaning and found the college pamphlets in your desk drawer.” She turns me around to face her. She’s smiling but her eyes are watery.
“My teacher gave me those. She thinks I should study writing in school. But there’s no guarantee I’ll get in and I’d want to get a scholarship, anyway,” I quickly explain. I don’t want her thinking I expect Travis to pay my way. Or worse—that I’m going to try for something and mess it up again.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course we’d be happy to pay for college. You know I’ve always wanted that for you—I just wanted you to want it for yourself. And writing makes sense—you’re always scribbling something in a notebook. I’m… I’m really proud of you, honey,” she says, wiping a tear from her cheek.
She was always really adamant about college. “Being a woman in the world is hard enough without adding a lack of education to it” was her favorite response to my spontaneous gap year suggestions. But she insisted that I focus on careers that paid well—apparently, dreams didn’t do that. I was prepared to figure out my fear of blood to help sick people and pay my bills forever.
“Thanks, Mom, that means a lot,” I say. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I was doing something that makes it crystal clear to her that I am on the right track.
“Of course, now finish getting ready! I want a million pictures!” She laughs, and I do too.
Kayla and I put the finishing touches on our makeup in my bathroom. I go for a sparkling gold eye shadow and natural pink lips. Kayla has lashes on that make her look like a movie star. I know I wouldn’t last very long with them, so I opt out.
We head downstairs, and my mom snaps a few pictures of us before Travis reminds her what time it is. He helps us into the car and drives the four of us to the country club, where the dance is being held.
We consider taking our jackets since it’s finally getting cold, but ultimately decide against it. Kayla looks even more amazing in her dress against the white stone backdrop of the club. The soft yellow spotlights lining the outside of the building trick my eyes into seeing gold sequins on her dress where I know there are only blue ones.
“One more, girls,” my mom says, holding up her phone as I join Kayla on the steps. She’s fiddling with her camera, probably trying to find portrait mode.
“Mom,please,” I say. Kayla laughs and points to some of the other kids also trying to escape the drop-off line of parents and their cameras.
“You girls look like movie stars though!” she says, coming over to smooth creases in our dresses from the car ride.
“We sure do!” Kayla says, nudging me.
“Okay, one more together and then we’re out of here,” Travis chimes in.
“How about one of all of you?” Alice’s mom pops around the car and holds her hand out for my mom’s phone. She motions at her and Travis to move in closer to us.
