I’m lying in bed reading when Celia struts in. I snarl, “Ever heard of knocking?” but I stop short when I see what’s in her arms.

It’s a dress. It’s black with tiny ribbons for straps, and a full skirt with crinoline underneath. You couldn’t buy this kind of dress at the mall. It’s old, and it’s sassy and it’s sophisticated. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen, not up close, anyway.

“Where’d you get it from?” I breathe.

“It was Mama’s,” Celia says. “I found it in one of her old trunks.”

“Where are you gonna wear it?”

“I’m not wearing it, dummy. You are.” She holds the dress out to me. “You’re going to that dance, Shug.”

I can’t stop staring at the dress. It is perfect, just right. “I told you I wasn’t going.”

“Shut up and try it on.”

“It’ll never fit me.” I reach out to touch it, and I listen to the way the fabric whispers.

Celia says, “We’ll make it fit.”

“Does Mama know you have it?”

“No. Who cares? She’s not gonna need it tonight. What, does she need a party dress to drink? I don’t think so.” We giggle, and she hands me the dress. “Try it on, Shug.”

“But I don’t have a date.”

“So?”

“So I’m not like you.” I stare at the carpet, then look up at her. “Celie, nobody asked me.”

She shrugs. “So what? You should be grateful you don’t have a date. This way, you can work the whole room and you won’t have some little dweeb hanging on to you. Now try it on, for God’s sake.”

I try it on. It hits just below the knee. It fits.

Celia decides that my hair should be down. She curls it and brushes it till it shines. She puts mascara on my lashes and peachy pink blush on my cheeks. She dabs lip gloss on my lips and shimmery powder all over my face and collarbone. Last of all, she sprays me with her perfume. She never lets me use her perfume. It smells like ripe pears and vanilla.

Celia’s all smiles, and she keeps saying see? See? I do see. Celia can make anything come true. When I see myself in the mirror, I can’t believe it. I don’t look like me at all. I look pretty. I look like the kind of girl who deserves to go to a dance. Celia’s lent me her red wool dress coat with the Peter Pan collar, and I’m even wearing heels! Celia borrowed a pair from Margaret for me—they are black with high, high heels and a dainty toe. She tells me to be careful with them, because they are Margaret’s lucky shoes. They’ll bring me luck too, she says.

When I am finally ready, Celia calls Park to come pick us up. We wait for him in the kitchen. Then Mama walks in, and Celia and I both stiffen. I feel like I’ve been caught going through her purse.

She stares at me. At the dress, and then back at me. “Nice dress,” she says.

“Thanks. It’s yours.”

“I know.” We look at each other some more. Then Park’s car honks, and Celia says it’s time to go.

Mama hesitates, and then she says, “Shug.”

“Yeah, Mama?” I hold my breath.

Please don’t let her try and come too. Please don’t let her ruin this for me.

“I’ll pick you up after the dance.”

“Okay,” I say.

I hope that she can see the thankfulness I feel in the way I smile at her, but I don’t know.

Celia and I run out the front door, and as I’m climbing into the backseat of Park’s car, I look back. Mama is standing on the front porch watching us. Beautiful, she mouths. I feel like I could cry. For the first time ever, I feel it. Beautiful, I mean.

Chapter 41

The gym looks like a Christmas tree. Elaine’s done a really good job. Twinkle lights are strung all around the room, and sparkly streamers and glittery confetti too. There’s a shimmer in the air, and I know that this is my night.

Elaine rushes over to me as soon as she sees me come in. “Annemarie! You’re here! I love your dress!” she shrieks. She is wearing a strapless yellow dress and a flower in her hair. It is a white calla lily.

We hug. “I’m so glad you came,” she whispers.

“Me too,” I say. She takes me by the hand, and we walk over to Mairi and Hadley. They are standing by the punch bowl. Mairi is wearing that black and red polka dot dress Mama wanted me to wear, and Hadley is in a hot pink halter dress. It’s tight, and it shows off every curve she’s got. They both look suspiciously tan.

Mairi looks me over and says, “I like your dress. Where’d you get it?”

Hadley says nothing, just watches me with narrowed eyes. Her silence is proof positive that Celia did somethin’ right.

“Thanks,” I say. “It’s vintage.” I don’t know if it’s vintage or not, but it sounds good and Mairi looks impressed.

“So where are the guys?” I ask, supercasually.

Mairi rolls her eyes and flicks her hair in the direction of the basketball court. I look over. Mark, Jack, Hugh, and Kyle are trying to slam-dunk balloons into the hoop. I laugh, and Mairi frowns.

“I want to dance,” Mairi says, her lower lip sticking out. “Come on, girls. Let’s go make them dance with us.”

She marches over to the boys, and Hadley and Elaine follow her. Elaine gestures for me to come too, but I shake my head no. They pull their dates by the arm and onto the dance floor, and soon they’re all dancing in a circle.

Pouring some punch into a paper cup, I remind myself that I wanted to come, that being alone isn’t really that bad.

Then Jack walks over to the punch bowl. “Hey,” he says. He is wearing a white button-down shirt, black pants, and sneakers. And a tie that says, “Eat my shorts.”

“Hey,” I say.

“I thought you said you weren’t coming.”

“I thought you said you weren’t coming.”

He shrugs and tosses a cookie into his mouth. “My mom made me,” he mumbles, his mouth full.

“You’re gross,” I say, curling my lip at him. “Learn some manners.”

“You’re gross,” he mimics.

And then we stand there and eat cookies. Occasionally we laugh at people dancing, and Jack imitates their moves with a deadly serious expression on his face. He moves back and forth, shuffling his feet and waving one arm in the air. “I’m Kyle, and I’m cool,” he says. I can’t stop laughing.

I also can’t stop watching Mark. He and Hadley seem so comfortable with each other. She keeps giggling and messing with his hair, and he lets her. He actually lets her. I know for a fact that he doesn’t like anyone touching his hair.

Every so often Elaine raises her eyebrows at me, and motions that I come over and dance too, but I shake my head. I’m fine where I am.

Then Ms. Bickey gets on the microphone and announces that it’s the last dance. I haven’t danced with Mark once, or anybody for that matter. This is my last chance. He’s standing across the room with Kyle and Hugh. I think all the girls made a group trip to the bathroom, and I figure I have a few minutes at least.

To Jack I say, “I’ll be right back.”

He just shrugs, and I make my way over to the boys. Kyle looks at me with wide eyes. His eyes flick up and down like he doesn’t recognize me. I almost say it’s me, Annemarie, you big dummy. But the fact that he notices, that feels really good.

Kyle clears his throat. “Wow, you look nice,” he finally says. He is wearing a pink tie with light blue stripes. Only Kyle Montgomery could wear a pink tie.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

I look only at Mark when I say, “You wanna dance?”

Mark looks surprised, but he nods. I take his hand, and we walk out to the dance floor, and it’s just like I imagined. I’m careful not to look in Jack’s direction; I don’t want to see him making fun of any of my moves. My arms are around Mark’s neck, and I’m careful not to let any part of me get too close to any part of him, but it’s nice. He’s wearing his father’s cologne, and his shirt feels crisp against my fingers. We’re swaying more than we are dancing, but it’s still nice. I’m also taller than Mark, taller than I’d realized. But like I said, it’s still nice.

It’s nice until I feel the tap on my shoulder. It’s Hadley. “Excuse me, but I’m going to have to cut in, seeing as how Mark’s my date and all,” she says. She smiles without opening her lips.

Mark doesn’t say anything; he just shrugs. I don’t know what to do, so I back away.

As I lean against the bleachers, I watch them dance. Hadley’s a good head shorter than Mark. Her arms are wrapped around his neck, like she’s hanging on for dear life. She looks up at him, and then he kisses her. Just like that, they’re kissing.

I feel dizzy and sick to my stomach. We were supposed to be each other’s first kiss, and now everything’s ruined. And the way they’re kissing, it doesn’t look like it’s the first time. Ms. Bickey goes over and says something to them, and they stop. For the second time that night, I feel like I might cry. When did Mark stop being mine?

I just want to go home. My feet hurt. So much for Margaret’s lucky shoes.

Chapter 42

After the last dance everyone’s scrambling to get their coats from the bleachers. I’m in the very back, sorting through a pile of coats when I hear his voice, the voice I’d know anywhere.

“Annemarie? Come on, she’s barely even a girl.”

“She looked like a girl when you were dancing with her a minute ago.” It’s Hugh. He’s making kissing noises. “Oh, Annemarie, I love you, baby.”

“Shut up. I only danced with her because I felt sorry for her. She doesn’t even know how to dance like a girl.”

Laughter.

It’s Mark, my Mark. He’s standing with Kyle, Hugh, and Jack.

My insides freeze up, and I can hardly breathe. I can hardly see. I hate him, hate him, hate him. I hate them all. I want to curl up and hide so no one ever sees me again. I want to make him hurt the way I hurt. I want to die.

I must have made some sound, because he looks up and sees me standing there. His mouth hangs open, but no words come out. We stare at each other, and it’s like the whole gym has gone silent and there’s nobody there but us. Just me and Mark. Except, there isn’t a me and Mark anymore.

I open my mouth to speak, but somehow, I can’t think of a single thing to say.

He says pleadingly, “Annemarie.” That’s all, just my name.

I shake my head. Then tears blur my vision, and I walk away before he can see me cry. Slowly, until I am out of the gym and out of sight, and then I pick up speed. I run like Satan is hot on my heels.

I run all the way to the parking lot, where Mama is waiting. The car is parked in the front row, and I climb into the passenger side without a word.

I forgot my coat, too.

Mama doesn’t seem to notice my hunched shoulders, how small I am. How small I feel. Shivering, I keep turned away from her and cry the whole way home. I pray please don’t see me, please just don’t. Please oh please. I concentrate on those words and will myself to forget everything else. This is the worst night of my life.

He doesn’t like me. He never liked me. He never will.

Worst of all, he is ashamed of me.

As soon as our car pulls into the driveway, I run out and into the house. I run all the way to my room and, kicking my shoes off, I fall onto my bed. Under my quilt I curl up like a sick kitten, and I cry. I cry and cry and cry. It’s the kind of crying where you can’t breathe it hurts so bad—your chest heaves and your eyes swell, and you can’t stop for all the trying in the world.

It hurts bad. I keep hearing the words—“barely even a girl,” “felt sorry for her,” “barely even a girl.” Over and over they dance around my head like a merry-go-round. I keep seeing them on the dance floor, kissing like they really know each other. And Jack standing there, not sayin’ a word, and here I was thinking we were almost friends. He’s not my friend, not even a little bit. He’s not my friend, and Mark’s not my friend, and Elaine’s barely my friend. I’ve never felt so alone in my whole life.

Later I hear my bedroom door open, and Mama comes in. She sits on the edge of my bed. “Annemarie, what’s the matter?”

Right now I don’t trust my voice to speak. I just shake my head. She doesn’t move, so finally I say, “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just leave me alone.” Tears drip down my cheeks, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand.

Mama smoothes the hair away from my forehead. “Shug, tell me what’s wrong.” Her breath is warm and sweet, and I start to relax against her fingertips.

She keeps smoothing my hair, and finally I feel brave enough to whisper, “Mama, he doesn’t want me. Mark doesn’t want me.”

Her hand stops moving. “Then he’s a fool. You are really somethin’, Annemarie. You are extraordinary, and if Mark Findley can’t see that, well, then he’s a young fool.”

I roll away from her and stare at the crack in my wall. “I hate it when you say that.”

“When I say what?”

“When you say that I’m extraordinary.”

“Why? It’s God’s honest truth.”

For a moment I don’t say anything. Then I finally say, “You just think I’m special because I’m your daughter. It’s because you think you’re special. You don’t see me. You just see yourself.”

She says nothing for a moment, and then, sharply, “Look at me.”