Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,103

and Dickerson exchanged a glance, like they’d been partnered on a huge case. Nadler drew himself up and said to me, “Did they violate you girls in some way?”

“I’ll fill you in, Officer.” Bobby gestured for Nadler and Dickerson to come closer, and the trio retreated farther from us and spoke for a few more minutes. Both officers’ faces were grave.

“Bobby’s not making us out to be victims or something, is he?” Tina said.

“He’d better not be,” Marie said.

“Maybe he has to, if he’s cutting a deal,” Joanie said. “Who cares? Better he plays the ‘poor girls’ card than we sit in a cell or something.”

The officers left. “Mercy,” Dana said. “We must not be getting arrested.”

Bobby was headed back toward us. I couldn’t gain anything from his expression as he read the words on the field one more time.

“You know, even if Bobby’s pissed, this was fun,” Wendy said. “Someday, you’ll all be my bridesmaids or some shit and we’ll think about this day.”

“You’re going to have ten bridesmaids?” Tina said. “That’s not a wedding, that’s a circus.”

“You can all wear your uniforms,” Wendy said. She playfully punched Tina in the arm. “Anyway, I’m not going to get married. My parents made that sacred institution look pretty nasty.”

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be your bridesmaid,” Tina said.

“Bridesmaid . . . ,” I said, the word turning noisily in my brain, the way you cranked a penny you’d put inside a gumball machine. “Oh, fuck! My dad’s wedding!”

“Girls . . . ,” Bobby was saying as he got closer—he must have been about to lecture us or at least tell us what the officers had said—but when he saw my face, he stopped short. “What’s happening?”

“I’m supposed to be at my dad’s wedding, like, already! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! What am I going to do?” It wasn’t only that I should have been at the banquet hall by now, it was that I was covered in weather-resistant chalk, smelled like a mixture of Summer’s Eve, dirt, and sweat, and knew I wouldn’t remember how to cover up my black eye the way the Estée Lauder lady had taught me. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“No, you’re not, you’re going to be fine,” Tina said. She was holding my shoulders and speaking her words slowly to calm me down. “We’ll help you.”

“We’ll go to the high school, you can clean up in the girls’ locker room, and I’ll drive you to the wedding,” Bobby said. “I’ll explain that it’s my fault you’re late. Whatever you need.”

Everyone looked at me with a mixture of astonishment and envy, as if Bobby’s offer was some kind of proclamation of his love and devotion. And who was I kidding? It felt kind of great.

At the high school, I washed up quickly under the scorching locker room showers. As soon as I emerged, my teammates surrounded me, equipped with everything in my makeup and toiletry bags, plus some of their own add-ons.

“Who’s got the hair dryer?” Tina said.

“Got it,” Joanie said, holding it in the air and jogging over to stand at attention next to Tina. “And the hot rollers I keep in my locker. Every magazine says these are essential to go from day to night.”

“Good, I need you first. Makeup, be ready.”

“I’m on makeup,” Marie said, who’d found my new makeup bag and set it on the locker room bench next to me, along with a bag of her own.

“I’ll help,” Arlene said. “I can do all the blending. I’m really good at that.”

“Good,” Tina said. “Take her from don’t-mess-with-me-I’m-a-vandal to everything’s-under-control-I’m-the-maid-of-honor,” Tina said. She shook her head at the way Lisa rolled up a chunk of my hair. “No, don’t make the curls too tight. She needs a soft wave to fall over her black eye, if we can.” Finally, she looked at me. “See? You’re going to be fine.”

“You’re going to be late for your dad,” I said. Tina’s dad was driving in from Wisconsin to take her to dinner downtown.

She waved me off. “He can deal with some uncomfortable time sitting at my mom’s house.”

“Thank you,” I said and, realizing how lucky I was, added, “You’re the best.”

Tina shrugged. “I know.”

Dana Miller tapped Tina on the shoulder, as if she were seeking an audience with me but needed Tina’s approval. She extended a bottle of Chanel No. 5 toward me, cupping it in both hands like it was a delicate baby bird. “It’s from Assistant Principal