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More important than what I remember, though, is this: If she wasn’t actually getting gas, then what was she doing?
nineteen
I look over my shoulder for a couple of days, but when I don’t see Nosy Mary again, I call the enounter random and move on. By the night of the Halloween Dance, I’ve all but forgotten about my awkward conversation with the strange lady at the gas station.
Betsey and I help Ella get ready for the dance. With two dryers to make it go faster, we each take half of her head and diffuse dry her curls. Then Bet and I each hold one side of the yellowing strapless dress we got on eBay while Ella steps in. I feel like a forest animal helping Cinderella, but Cinderella’s ball gown was a lot cleaner.
With a black ribbon that hits the smallest part of Ella’s waist, her dress was probably pretty once. But then it sat in someone’s closet for a few years, and once in our hands, it was tossed in the dirt and intentionally slashed to serve as the perfect outfit for a Zombie Prom Queen.
“You look so creepy,” I say, smiling.
“She doesn’t even have on her makeup yet,” Betsey says devilishly. “Wait until she’s got exposed brains on her forehead.”
“Just don’t make it too gross,” Ella says. “I don’t want to turn off Dave.”
“Not possible,” Bet says. “That dress may be old, but it was made for you. He’s going to drool, exposed brains or not.”
At eight o’clock, Bet and I are reading in the rec room when my spy phone rings. I glance at Betsey and she smiles, but doesn’t take her eyes off the page.
“Hello?” I say quietly.
“Hi there, Lizzie B.,” Sean says in a tone so low I can barely hear him.
“Why are you whispering?” I ask, sitting up on the couch, because I think my voice sounds weird when I’m lying down.
“I’m just… I don’t want anyone to hear me.”
“Where are you?” I ask curiously.
“On your front porch.”
Panicked and overjoyed at the same time, I throw down the phone and jump off the couch.
“What’s happening?” Betsey says, looking at me funny.
“Sean’s here,” I say as I run out of the room. I race down the stairs, skidding around the landing in the middle, and rush to the front door. When I fling it open, there’s no one on the porch.
“Hey!” I whisper into the darkness. “Sean?”
“Hi,” he whispers from somewhere to my left. “Is your mom here?”
“Now you ask me that?” I say, stepping out onto the porch and looking in the direction of his voice. I see him standing in the bushes, smiling. His hair’s not stuck up in its usual style tonight; instead it looks like he put his chin down and shook his head hard and his hair stayed that way. There are shiny pieces crisscrossing each other on his forehead, threatening to conceal his eyes. But thankfully, they don’t. He’s so gorgeous in the moonlight.
“Surprise,” he says.
“You’re insane,” I say, rolling my eyes at him despite feeling overjoyed to see him. “Get in here.” He gently climbs out of the bushes and carefully wipes his feet on the doormat, then steps inside. He kicks off his shoes without me asking. He’s wearing holiday-appropriate orange-and-black-striped socks that I find adorable on him. He stands there, holding his shoes in one hand and his bag in the other, just looking at me.
“Hey,” he says seriously. There aren’t any lights on in the entryway; we’re shadows.
“Hi,” I say.
“I’m really sorry for being a jerk this week,” he whispers. “I mostly came over to tell you that.”
“You weren’t a jerk,” I say. “You were just… upset. I can see how you would be. I know it can’t be easy to have Dave—”
Sean steps so close to me that our noses could touch.
“I was a jerk,” he says. “And I’m sorry.”
