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air nervously.
"It's right here" said Madison, emerging from the back with a garment bag. "It's here."
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"Oh, yes!" said the saleslady. She clapped her hands together. "Now I remember. You're having it taken in."
"She's deciding whether to buy it," corrected Jessica.
"Of course," said the woman, moving toward Madison and taking the dress from her. "Just
follow me." She disappeared behind the curtains.
Madison came back to where I was standing. "Think about what I said. You have to picture it."
"Okay," I said. "I will."
She gave a little hop of excitement. "Just wait until you see my dress!" she squealed, turning
toward the dressing area. "It's amazing." Halfway to the curtain, she stopped and turned back to us. "But you have to swear you'll say if you hate it, okay? Be brutally honest." I placed my hand over my heart.
"Scout's honor," I said.
While Madison was in the back, Jessica and I plunged into the racks of dresses. Most were really
tacky--tulle, sequins, tulle and sequins, more tulle. The store's selection and Madison's reverence
for pink was starting to make me a little nervous about the dress she'd chosen. What if she
emerged from the dressing room looking like a Hostess cupcake? Just as I was about to ask
Jessica to define what Madison meant by "brutally honest," Madison stepped out from between
the curtains.
She looked like a movie star.
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"Oh my god, Madison! It's ... you're ... wow." The dress was claret silk, strapless, with a
sweetheart top and a tight bodice that ended in a full skirt. There was not so much as a speck of
tulle. The saleslady hurried over and expertly pi
"Madison, you look amazing," said Jessica. "It's definitely my favorite."
Madison spun around "Don't I look thin?"
"Emaciated," I said.
"Basically, you're like the thi
"So should I get it?" she asked.
"Are you kidding?" I said. "Buy it immediately."
She did a little shimmy of excitement. "Okay, I'm going to," she said, checking herself out one
more time in the mirror and smiling at what she saw. Then she turned around and faced me.
"Jessica's got two dresses on hold at Kewpid," she said. "So you're next."
Madison made me sit down on a tiny love seat in the dressing area, close my eyes, and picture
the prom. She walked me through the whole night, starting with cocktails at her house, ending
with my romantic slow dance with Co
"Now," she said finally, "quick: what are you wearing?"
I opened my eyes and looked at her. "I'm sorry,
Madison," I said.
"Nothing?" I could tell she was really disappointed,
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so I closed my eyes for another minute. Then I opened them again and shook my head. "Sorry."
She sat down next to me, letting out a sigh. "Wow, I really thought it would work."
I patted her knee. "It's not your fault. I'm just not a very spiritual person." I wanted to sound reassuring, but suddenly I was fighting back panic. What if my inability to picture myself on
prom night was a sign? What if I spent every free minute between now and prom searching for a
dress, but I never found the right one? How can you be prom queen in jeans and a T-shirt?
Just then, Jessica poked her head through the curtains. "You guys aren't still trying that
visualization crap are you?"
"It's not crap," said Madison. "The Dalai Lama says--"
"When His Holiness gets a Vogue column, Lucy will take his fashion advice," said Jessica, stepping through the curtains. In her arms was a long, dark blue dress. "Until then she needs
more worldly assistance." Standing in front of me, she tossed the bottom part of the dress onto
my lap, stepping back so the whole thing unfolded between us.
"I don't know, Jessica," I said. Jessica's selection wasn't doing much to alleviate my growing
sense of panic. Even though I know a dress looks different on a person than on a hanger, I was
pretty sure I didn't need
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to see this particular dress on my particular person to know it was not the dress for me. The
bodice, which seemed to be made out of a heavy silk, was probably okay, but the skirt looked
like it had the potential to be extremely tacky. "Chiffon?"
"It's the new velvet," said Jessica. "Trust me."
I didn't want to be rude, but chiffon reminds me a whole lot of tulle. Were there sequins on it? I
took the hanger from Jessica while working on the wording of a polite refusal. Remembering
how passionately Jessica and Madison had fought for me to buy the red dress, I realized I'd have
to have more in my arsenal than, It's not quite my style. How about, I hate it because I look like a tacky whore}
But as I dropped the dress over my head and felt the rich fabric slide smoothly down my body, I
wondered just how tacky such a delicious-feeling dress could be. And when I checked myself out
in the mirror, I didn't have to wonder. The answer was clear--not tacky at all.
The bodice was tight silk, straight across in front, low-cut in the back, and strapless like
Madison's. I'd expected the skirt to be poufy, just right for an extra in Gone with the Wind, but it hung almost straight down to the middle of my calves. It wasn't see-through, but you could just
make out the shape of my legs through the filmy, delicate fabric. My skin seemed to glow
against the dark blue silk. I couldn't believe it. I looked ... beautiful.
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When I stepped out of the dressing room and saw the expression on Jessica and Madison's faces,
I knew I'd been right about how I looked. I twirled around, just like Madison had.
"Lucy, you look amazing," said Madison. "I can't believe you found the perfect dress on the first try!"
"Who found the perfect dress?" corrected Jessica.
"Ladies, I'm going to the ball," I said.
I started to laugh, and so did Jessica and Madison. "You mean the prom," said Madison through her laughter.
I shook my head, still laughing, and didn't bother to correct her.
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Chapter Twenty-two
It wasn't until the end of the week that Jessica found a dress she liked, so we wound up spending
every second of spring break shopping. I'd kind of pla
sketches for the landscape I was supposedly ready to start (now that the class, with the single
exception of me, had finished self-portraits, we'd moved on to landscapes). But how can you tell
your friend she's on her own after she helped you find the world's perfect prom dress? You can't.
Which is why, as soon as we were back at school, I not only spent every one of my free periods
in the studio frantically sketching my landscape and working on my self-portrait but also decided if I just cut math one little time--
"Done," I said.
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Sam, the only other person in the room, was sketching on the couch.
"Did you say something?" he asked.
I didn't turn around, too amazed by what had just happened to move. "I'm done," I repeated, my