Page 71 of The Big Easy & Other Lies
In the corner of the page, my mother had painted a flock of snowy egrets lighting on a rose bush. Trista doesn’t notice them until the next page, when she looks up to see that the bush has disappeared under the flash of their feathers. Soon each bird plucks a single white feather from its breast, and more and more birds come, each sacrificing a feather. They become a beautiful white gown with tiny cap sleeves and a huge gauzy skirt.
“Thank you, dear friends!” she called as she turned in the direction of the castle, looking forward to the last night of the magical ball. Her face glowed at the thought of seeing Prince Sterling once more, and Lala cackled in delight, for she knew it was love that illuminated Trista with greater beauty than ever before.
That sentence caught me. It was the first time love was mentioned in the story. I’d never paid attention to that. Trista didn’t fall in love with the prince because he rolled into her swamp patch looking good in tight pants. She fell in love with him after spending hours in his company, laughing with him, and dancing with him, and listening to the stories that taught her who he was.
It was a lot like the last two weeks of being with Rhett, minus the dancing.
Love? No. But maybe something like it.
Holy crap.
Chapter 26
My mom used to love the old schoolFootloose.Maybe shrimpy Kevin Bacon and his skinny tie did it for her. Probably it was the idea of a girl being with a boy that her family didn’t approve of, and them overcoming the odds. I think she watched it over and over again to live out the happy ending she never got after Drake Simoneaux smashed her dreams into an oak tree.
I always liked the musical montage when Kevin Bacon’s character, Ren, is teaching his friend Willard to dance to this cheesy eighties song and everyone is wearing hideous jeans and bad perms. The remake butchered it, trying to de-cheese it. The cheese is what made it great. The whole idea of weeks passing in the flash of a three-minute-pop song while Willard goes from a klutz to a dancing machine killed me. Magic!
That’s exactly what happened to the next month of my life. If I knew the first thing about film, I’d be editing together clips of me, Rhett, Bran, and Livvie: shots of us laughing in the middle of the spare room, me and Livvie digging through bags of old clothes, me and Rhett sneaking more kisses behind the stage curtains, and shots of Rhett shoving notes in my locker with snatches of lyrics he’d written about me. Me!
I’d score it all with a happy pop song, cutting in images of Amber looking over my costume ideas with grudging respect, and Delphine asking for me to do things in her grumpy voice instead of yelling.
I had discovered life inside the bubble that all the happy LaSalle people occupied, the worry-free zone that let them drift untroubled. It was the first time I’d experienced that since my mom died. For years I’d watched their world through a two-way mirror, permanently on the wrong side of the action. Now I had stepped inside an iridescent dream. I knew it wouldn’t take much for it to pop, but for once I let myself float above everything and be happy.
It amazed me to sit now at my worktable and think about it. The Rhett situation was almost perfect. Every now and then a slight tension crept in when we discussed our plans to hang out. Our time outside of school saw us either sorting through the hoard or hanging out at neutral locations like the movie theater. He may have called off Angelique, but I didn’t feel like testing my luck by showing up at his house. He didn’t make a big deal of it. He’d suggest it, and I would make an excuse. Then his mouth would tighten slightly and neither of us would have anything to say for a while. But then he’d say something like, “All right. I get it. But I’ll ask again next week.”
That blip aside, our relationship amazed me. We laughed. A lot. At lunch, between classes, in texts, on the phone. We talked about college and plans and parents and lack of parents. He made playlists for me. After the first true cold snap, I made him a lined shirt jacket from my gray flannel. I still caught sidelong glances when we moved down the hall together with fingers entwined, but they were looks of envy, not people staring at me like I was a curiosity.
And then, as if thinking of him had summoned him, Rhett plopped down beside me in the design room.
“If Gervis pulls us out to do some improv BS because you’re in here, I may stop speaking to you,” I warned him.
He planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “I told him I was stepping out to work on my monologue. As long as I have it down for next week, he won’t care.” He leaned closer to look at the fabric laid out on the table, flipping it up to see the pattern better. “What is this?”
“Pleather. It’s for Fagin’s pimp outfit.”
He shook his head. “This is going to be the weirdest production I’ve ever been a part of. Cool.”
“Yeah. These costumes aren’t as fun to sew as the fairy tale stuff we did last year, but the ideas are more interesting.”
“Speaking of costumes...”
My heart sank. I knew what was coming next. “Rhett—”
“I know Angelique’s party isn’t your thing. I do. But it’s about the most perfect time for you to come over. Ever.”
“The biggest party of the semester to which I’m not even invited is not a good time to show up at your house.”
“It is,” he said. “The house will be packed. She’ll be too busy trying to play hostess to worry about you. And if you wear a good enough costume, she’s not going to be all fixated on your face. And by good enough, I mean something seriously bland that attracts no attention at all.”
I snorted. “Me make a not-awesome costume? Please. That’s like me telling you to go to Daddy T’s and play Chopsticks off-key.”
He grinned. “I know. But think about it. If you show up wearing theScreammask, do you really think she’s going to pay much attention to you at all? Especially since I plan to keep you super busy making out behind closed doors.”
“Shh,” I said, and a hot blush made my cheeks tingle. I caught Chloe’s half-smile as she worked at the next table over. “Go monologue or something.”
“Say you’ll come,” he said. “It’ll make me happy. Because I really, really want to makeo—”
“Gah! I’ll come. Stop talking.”
