“Yes!” Peyton practically screams.

Katie comes out in another dress that she’s rejecting. She’s in kind of foul mood. “What’s wrong?” I ask her.

She plops down next to me in a tight red dress that barely contains her boobs. “Dallas doesn’t want me.”

“Why do you think that?”

She purses her lips and pushes her hair behind one ear. “Last night. Things were fun. Like really fun. And I wanted to. And—I’m embarrassed to even say it—I tried. And he said no. Guys never say no.”

“Sometimes they do,” I say gently. “I think he really likes you. Maybe he wants it to be special the first time you do it. Like not just some romp in the bushes, you know?”

She lets out a sigh so big it causes one of her boobs to completely pop out of the dress. She looks down and laughs. “Probably not this dress, huh? So do you really think that’s it?”

“What did he tell you?”

“He didn’t explain. Just sort of moved away. Said he was tired. Stopped things pretty abruptly.”

“Why are you trying to go so fast with him? You’ve only been dating him, sort of, for like three days.”

“I’m tired of being a good girl all the time. I’m ready to get some experience, and I like Dallas. I really like him. I’ve crushed on him since school started.”

Maggie comes out in the navy dress at the same time Peyton walks out in the coral one. They both look stunning.

“Wow! You both look amazing!” Katie says.

“I can’t believe I found a dress so fast!” Peyton exclaims. “This is the one. It’s conservative, like they expect us to be, but I adore the bling at the waist. I feel like a goddess.”

“You look like one too,” I tell her. And she does. The color of it with her blonde hair and green eyes is amazing.

She smiles and literally lights up the room.

Maggie stands in front of the mirror. “So you all like this one?”

“It’s very different from Peyton’s but it’s amazing on you. The layers are flirty and fun, but the fit—the way it hugs your body, all the way down—makes it sexy. You look incredible.”

She cracks a naughty smile. “I think Parker will like it.”

“I think all the guys will like it,” Annie says.

“We did good here,” I say. “Maggie, Annie, and Peyton all found dresses. Katie and Ariela, what do you think? Next store?”

They both nod in agreement.

We go to three more stores and try on a bunch more dresses.

Katie finds a shimmering black and gold sequined dress. I find a long, fitted gown that glides down my body like liquid gold. It would be great for a party back home, but after looking at the photos of the past Homecoming Court dresses and listening to everyone talk about the tradition, I really want to wear something appropriate.

I also find an adorable strapless burgundy gown with the cutest flouncy skirt. I buy it to save for another occasion, just because it is so damn cute, but the burgundy would have totally clashed with all the red in the stadium.

It’s weird.

I want to look amazing in my dress but, for the first time in my life, it feels okay to want to blend in. To be part of something bigger than me. I get Whitney’s wanting to stand out. I never want to look like anyone but me. But what I really want is for the alumni to look at me and say, There’s an Eastbrooke girl.

I look at my friends, who are oohing and ahhing over Ariela in a black gown with a soft flowing skirt, sweetheart neckline, and a beaded bodice, and realize that I’m really glad to be here.

Even with things a little up in the air with Dawson right now.

Even though I miss my family.

I feel happy.

I feel like I’ve made friends. Friends who are supportive of each other. Friends who seem to like me for me. Not because of what I wear or who my mom is. They just like me.

And it feels really good.

Dawson texts me just as we’re about to go shoe shopping.

Dawson: I know you’re shopping and won’t answer if I call, but please don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry. Cam said he talked to you last night. That he told you the truth.

Me: He did. But he’s your brother. You can’t tell me he wouldn’t lie for you.

Dawson: Yeah, I guess.

Me: The good news for you is that I trust Riley and he says it’s true.

Dawson: So you’re not mad?

Me: When I got your texts last night, I was really upset, Dawson. I think maybe you have some major sucking up to do.

Dawson: I’m good at sucking . . .

Me: Yes, I know. I gotta go. Shoes are calling. I heart you.

Dawson: I heart you more.

Now that everyone has their dresses, we’re at a department store looking at jewelry, handbags, and shoes.

Katie, Maggie, and Annie rush over to Peyton and me. “I just heard one for the sales girls say that Abby Johnston is here. In THIS VERY STORE! Can you believe that?”

“Um, no, actually, I can’t.” My mom is here? Could that be true? Garrett did say she was taking a trip.

“We’re all going down to the cosmetics department. That’s where she’s supposed to be. We’re going to go stalk her and see if we can get a picture with her.”

Shit. I can’t go see her.

But I want to see her.

God, I want to see her.

They all take off, but Annie turns back around to look at me. I’m still standing here, frozen in my spot.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Um, you guys go. I lived in LA. Seeing a celebrity isn’t that big of deal to me. I’m gonna go back and get that clutch I saw earlier. I think it would be perfect with my dress for the dance. I’ll meet up with you later.”

She runs off and I slink over to the second floor balcony, where I can see down to the cosmetics and perfume counters. I spot Mom right away. There are two men, Ryan and Craig, in black suits trailing closely behind her. James is not with her, which is surprising. He almost always accompanies Mom when Tommy doesn’t. It makes Tommy worry less.

Which means Mom made James stay with the girls. Which means she’s worried about them.

Which makes me worry.

I watch her stop to try on some perfume. She smiles graciously and takes a photo with a fan. I see my friends wandering through the cosmetics counters.

I pull my phone out and call her.

She puts her phone up to her ear just as Annie and Katie approach her. I watch her hold up a finger to them as she answers.

“Whatever you do, Mom, do not say my name out loud. I go to school with the girls who are standing in front of you. They want your autograph.”

“You're here?”

“Yes. I’m hiding behind some clothes on the second floor balcony. I want to see you. Go ahead and sign the autographs. Annie is a huge fan. Then go upstairs to the lingerie department on the fifth floor, grab a couple things to try on, and I’ll be waiting in a dressing room.”

“Sounds good,” she says and hangs up.

I slowly back away from the balcony and almost knock over a rack.

“Can I help you?” a sales clerk asks me.

I jump. Look guilty. “Um, no.” I look at the escalators and decide I’d be better off going the back way. “Where's the elevator?”

She points a finger toward the back of the store.

“Thank you.”

I quickly walk to the elevator and take it to the fifth floor. I grab the first four items I see and ask for a fitting room.

I shut the door and drop to the little stool.

I look at my hands. They’re shaking. I’m so excited and nervous to see Mom.

Pretty soon, I hear Ryan speaking. “Yes ma'am, that's fine.”

"Keatyn?" Mom whispers.

I swing open the fitting room door. She rushes into the room, pulls me into a tight hug, and I immediately start crying.

She smells so good. Like lavender, honeysuckle, and the ocean.

We hug each other tightly and cry for a while before either one of us speaks.

Finally, Mom gently pushes me away and looks at me. "God, I've missed you. And look at you. You look grown up. Your outfit is adorable. You put it together yourself, didn't you?”

I smile and wipe tears from my eyes.

“You were always better at fashion than me. I can't put anything together without Kym. So you’re just here shopping with your friends?”

“Yeah. I got chosen for Homecoming Court, so I needed a dress.”

“Oh, honey, that’s great! I’m so proud of you! So, you’re doing well?”

“Yeah, I’m doing well. I actually really like school.”

“Does that have something to do with a certain boy?”

I grin, just thinking about him. “Yeah, it probably does. But all of it’s good. I’ve made some great friends. So why are you here in New York?”

“I’m doing a couple morning shows tomorrow and a couple interviews today. Pre-release buzz for To Maddie with Love.”

“How are the girls? I miss them so much.”

She holds up her phone and scrolls through pictures of the girls. I start crying harder. I’ve only been gone a month, but I can already tell they’ve grown.

But then she stops on one that causes me to start laughing through my tears.

It’s Gracie. She’s apparently moved on to cold weather gear from her usual swimsuits, princess gowns, and angel wings. She’s got on fuzzy multi-colored striped tights, ladybug rain boots, the pink tie-dyed tutu I was wearing the first time I met Tommy, and a long-sleeved T-shirt with pink hearts. Her hair is in pigtails and she’s holding a chalkboard with an arrow on it. The arrow is pointing to an adorable fluffy Golden Retriever puppy. The chalkboard has the words, Bad dog written next to the arrow. It’s so funny because the dog looks like an angel and you wonder if the dog should be holding a sign pointing to Gracie that says, Bad girl.

We hear Ryan cough. Then he says, “Abby, we need to get going. You have that interview with Vogue.”

“I can cancel it,” Mom says.

“No, it’s okay, Mom. My friends are going to wonder where I am.”

I hug her one more time.

“I love you, Mom.”

She smooths down the back of my hair and says, “I love you too. You should probably stay in here for a few minutes. Give me a head start so no one sees us together. I know people don’t recognize you, but if we were together, they might figure it out. There are a swarm of photographers out front.”

I sit down and waste ten minutes on Facebook. See Annie’s newsfeed photo of the girls with my mom.

I walk out of the fitting room, go through the lingerie department, and down the escalators. I’m just stepping on the escalator to the first floor when my phone buzzes.

Annie: Meet us on the second floor back by the dresses. Abby came off the elevator and was surrounded fans. We're trying to get another picture.

Shit. Mom’s not gone yet.

I’m halfway down the escalator when all of a sudden I see Vincent step onto the up escalator.

My heart starts pounding.

I look around, trying to quickly assess the situation.

Trying to remember everything Garrett taught me.

Mom and her security are upstairs. I could go up there. But then my friends would know. Vincent would follow me. It’d be a mess.

Vincent is messing with his phone. His head is down and I pray that he doesn’t look up.

But just as I’m getting ready to pass him, he does.

Our eyes meet and his widen in shock. His look of shock is quickly replaced with a scary smirk.

He reaches out and tries to grab my hand, but I quickly pull it away.

He leaps up, hops across the escalator, and is now jogging down the stairs after me, yelling, "Abby, wait!"

Why is he calling me Abby?

As I get to the first level, I can see out the front door. Mom was right. There are a mess of photographers waiting for her.

A plan starts to form in my mind.

Can I use them to get away?

It’s the only thing I can think of.

I slip my big black sunglasses off the top of my head and down over my eyes.

I run fast out the front door as Vincent yells out again, practically on cue, “Abby, please wait!"

The cameras start flashing. I rush through them toward the street. They let me through then turn their backs to the store, huddling together.

Which blocks Vincent's way.

The paparazzi.

I haven't been photographed by them for a long time. They only seem to want pictures of cute little kids, not the gangly pre-teen that I used to be.

What used to sort of scare me when I was little seems very comforting right now.

They are protecting me from Vincent.

I put my hand in front of my face as I hear Vincent yell out again. "Abby!"

I turn around and see that he’s working his way through the crowd.

The driver that I hired for the day is parked in the parking garage. There’s no time to call him.

I spy a black town car idling at the curb. I dart toward it and open the door.

As I'm getting in, I hear one of the camera men say, "That's not Abby, dude. It's just some chick in a wig pretending to be. They do that sometimes. Send out a fake. A decoy.”

I run my hand through my soft hair wondering how he could have mistaken it for a nasty wig.

I must need a deep conditioning.

The driver yells at me. “I think you’ve got the wrong car.”

Vincent breaks through the crowd and lunges toward the car as I slam the door shut and yell, "Go!"

Vincent grabs for the door handle just as I slam down the lock.

He stops and stares at me through the dark glass.