Page 100 of Holidating
This dress.
I fiddled with the silky, draping neckline, wondering if I should change. I probably wouldn’t, though. I’d already tried on everything in my closet. Selecting a pink lipstick, I pursed my lips for the mirror.
“I can’t believe you’re going to this party with abasketballplayer,” K2 scoffed from my bed. “The team record so far this season is one forfour.”
The lipstick prevented me from answering her immediately, which was a good thing. It gave me time to reconsider my snarky reply, which would have been to ask Katie howherbasketball game was looking this year. (She and I ran three miles exactly once per week. Neither of us was athletic. We only jogged on Sundays as penance for our chocolate chip cookie addiction.)
“Is it?” I asked instead. “Then losing is something that Andy andI will have in common. Because my dating record this year is zero for two.”
She rolled back onto my bed, her skinny knees pointing the ceiling. “Just because both of your boyfriends turned out to be duds is no reason to sell yourself cheaply.”
“Jeez, Katie. I’m not a horse up for auction.” Her words ricocheted inside my brain. Especially one of them.Cheaply. My stomach gave a little lurch at that word. My mother used it a lot.Cheapwas not how the Vickery women were supposed to behave. But I hadn’t heeded this guidance, and now I was paying the price.
K2 gave me a wounded look. “It’s just an expression.”
“I know. Sorry.” I tried to change the subject. “Have you seen my eyeshadow stick?”
“Um, whoops.” She got up and ran off to her own room in our little suite.
The first week of school, I was positive that Katie and I, with our matching names and our matching Prada suitcases, were primed to take over the world. We’d both ruled our high schools. We were also in agreement on exactly which sort of guys we wanted to date — athletes, of course. We were here to party with whoever did it best, and whoever was the best looking.
In contrast, our third roommate, the tight-lipped Scarlet, had seemed a lot less fun. I’m not proud of it, but I’ll admit that I’d kind of written her off by the third week of the semester. But recently I’d learned that she’d had damned good reasons to be cautious and quiet. And tonight I found myself wishing that it was Scarlet who was home with me. The attack of insecurity I faced right now was bigger than a fashion crisis. I needed the support of a friend who knew aboutlife, and not just what to wear for it.
I hadn’t told a soul yet about the crappy little thing that had happened to me last week. And now that I was primping to go to a party where I’d probably end up face-to-face with the jerks who’d embarrassed me, I could have used a pep talk.
K2 came back into my room with my eyeshadow. And when my phone rang, she grabbed it off my dresser to look at the screen. “It’s your mom.”
“Crap.”
“So don’t pick up.” She did another belly flop onto my bed.
“But I’ve been ducking her.” I took the phone from Katie and answered it. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, sweetie. Getting ready for your date?”
“I am.”And if you knew that, why would you call me now?
“I’ve been making plans for the holidays. We’re having the Iversons visit for the weekend before New Year’s. And then I thought we could pop into the city to see a play,” my mother said.
“Mmm hmm,” I said. “Sounds fine.” But my attention was still on the full-length mirror I’d installed on the back of our closet door. Specifically, I was trying to decide if the pearl earrings I’d put on made my dress look less slutty. Or had I only managed to convert the look into “slut with pearls”?
“Have fun tonight,” my mother said. “Are you wearing something pretty? The girls of Tri Psi knew how to throw a good party in my day.”
“Thank you, I will have fun,” I said, ignoring the question about my outfit. One had to wonder what my mother’s idea of a good college party had been. Surely alcohol didn’t enter the picture, at least not for the girls. And my mother would never sanction any activity that might rumple a girl’s twin set. Mom was a first-class Good Girl. And in spite of massive evidence to the contrary, she assumed that I was one too.
“Is this boy who’s taking you to the party a gentleman?”
“Of course he is,” I said. And it might even be true. Though gentlemanliness had never been high on my list of important qualifications for a date.
And last week I’d finally paid the price.
“Good,” Mom said.
“Yeah,” I said, distracted.
“Sayyes, darling,” my mother corrected. “Yeahsounds cheap.”
“Yes, Mother,” I intoned. “I should go. He’ll be here in a minute.” At least I hoped he would. It would stink to be stood up tonight of all nights. But after all that had gone wrong this week, I probably wouldn’t even be surprised.
