brought out the blond streaks in my hair, which I took out of my ponytail and shook to my shoulders. The one bare shoulder was the secret, the reveal. I look like I could be on TV, I thought, turning to see the back. I look like I could be famous. If I wore this dress it would be impossible for anyone to make me feel bad. Powers would shift.
I checked out the price tag dangling beneath my armpit. Four hundred and ninety-five dollars! That was more than a week’s pay. I thought about how difficult my first week had been. My elbows were sore from scrubbing, my hands felt rougher from the various cleaning chemicals. My summer earnings were the only money I had all year for trips to the movies, clothes that weren’t uniforms, and my cell phone bill. But I wanted this so badly that my wanting began to grow a life of its own. I unzipped carefully, leaning forward and rounding my back to pull the dress over my head, trying not to touch the silk too much, afraid to matte its gloss. I sat on the bench to think.
The bell that hung over the front door rang faintly.
“Hi, doll,” said the saleslady. Her voice was surprisingly rough: a smoker, a drinker, or maybe a yeller.
“Hey, Nan.” That voice I knew. It was Jules. It was her talking to a grown-up she didn’t like but had to be nice to voice. I went pale, stuck my hands in my armpits, felt lightheaded. I lifted my bare feet from the ground onto the little bench, my toes as cold as frozen peas. As much as I wanted to run into her, as much as I wanted to force her to face me, as much as I wanted to ask her why she’d done what she’d done and said what she’d said; as much as I wanted to scream and cry and really have it out with her, I couldn’t seem to move from this shell shape. I felt stupid for being here all by myself and trying on a dress without an occasion. What would I say I was shopping for? Next year’s Spring Dance? I could smell my deodorant. I could smell Formula 409 in my fingernails.
“I just came in for my check,” Jules said. “Anyone come in today?”
Of course: this was where she worked! I glanced at the price tag on the dress where the name of the store was printed in pink: Needle and Thread. How had I not noticed? How had I not put it together?
“There’s someone in the dressing room, with the Chloé dress, I think.”
“Great dress,” Jules said, under her breath. They whispered something to each other that I couldn’t make out. Then Jules sighed, and I imagined one hand was on her hip, because that’s usually how she stands when she sighs like that. From the silence, it seemed like they were watching the TV.
“Can you believe this?” Nan asked, and blew her nose.
“It’s so sad. You know Parker Carmichael is my best friend.” My stomach twisted. I clutched my knees. Parker wasn’t her best friend! Parker didn’t know how worried she got about her skin, that she went to the dermatologist sometimes once a week for treatments to prevent a relapse of the acne that had plagued her for a semester our freshman year. Parker didn’t know that even though Jules had the quickest comebacks, trying to conjugate French verbs could make her cry with frustration. She didn’t know that she had a team of tutors and even then couldn’t get above a B in pretty much anything; that she had failed her driver’s-ed test three times. Parker didn’t know that she actually had hooked up with Jeremy Stein sophomore year at the Winter Ball, even though she denied it so much and so often that by now even she believed it hadn’t happened. No one knew that stuff but me.
“Oh, poor girl,” said Nan.
“Are you going to close the shop this week?” Jules asked. I could hear the hope in her voice. Jules liked having a job but hated the working part.
“In July? Are you kidding me?” Sadness vanished from the woman’s voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jules thanked her for the check, and I heard the bells jingle softly.
I waited a few minutes, soundlessly got dressed, left the dress on the hanger in the dressing room, and fled.
I hopped on my bike and cruised out of town, in