Read Page 115

“Just open it,” Gwen said. “You know you can’t wear what you’ve got on. They’ll kill you.”

“Cheerleader meat!” Mikey growled as he hit the gas pedal. The Cadillac lurched forward, throwing them back. The radio snapped on with a fuzz and a pop before jumping through stations. Loud, crashing music blasted from the speakers, fast ragged vocals following close behind. Isobel gripped her seat as the car sped away from the stadium. They turned onto the main road, the rear bumper scraping the curb. She glared at the back of Mikey’s absurd hair, which resembled that of a bomb-blasted, smoke-charred cartoon character’s.Advertisement

Next to her, Gwen, impatient, yanked off the box top, revealing folds of lace.

Isobel’s eyes widened.

“What?” said Gwen.

“Gwen, I can’t walk in there wearing that thing!”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s pink!”

“So?”

“Uh—hello—did you not see Carrie?”

“Plug it up!” Mikey cried, and banged the steering wheel rapidly in tune to the drums.

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Isobel glared.

“You’re making a statement,” Gwen said, and draped the gown across her own lap, pulling the zipper down.

“I’m not wearing a pink dress to a goth prom.”

“These are the shoes,” said Gwen, and shoved a pair of rose pink flats into Isobel’s lap.

“Gwen, no!”

“Look, it’s going to be crowded. Everybody between here and the Indiana underground is coming to this thing. How else is he supposed to find you? Honestly, you’d think I was sending you off as a virgin sacrifice.”

“Are you really a virgin?” Mikey chimed almost predictably from the front.

Isobel clamped her mouth into a silent and furious line. Gripping one shoe tightly, she fought the urge to whack him upside the head.

“Besides,” Gwen added, fluffing the dress folds, “this thing took forever, so you’re wearing it.”

“Wait, you made this?” Isobel asked, distracted.

“Altered it,” she admitted. She shrugged. “Half off at the Nearly New Shop. By the way, you owe me twenty-five dollars. Oh, and there’s a smudge on the toe of the left shoe, but I got them to throw those in, so don’t worry about it. Now how do you get this stuff off?” Her hands flew to Isobel, twisting her by the shoulders. Isobel felt the release of her cheer uniform’s zipper.

“What are you doing?” Isobel squealed. “I’m not getting dressed in here!”

“What? Why not?”

“Uh, boy!” she shouted, and shot a finger at Mikey, who lifted his chin and waggled his eyebrows at them through the rearview mirror. Isobel made a sound of disgust. Who was this kid, anyway?

Gwen leaned forward. Reaching through from the backseat to the front, she flipped the rearview mirror so it faced the ceiling.

“Isn’t that kind of dangerous?” Mikey protested.

“Keep your eyes on the road or you’ll be a eunuch before the night’s out.”

“What’s a eunuch?” he asked, chuckling.

“Look it up.”

Gwen fell back in her seat and immediately set to work with the dress. Resigned, Isobel let Gwen help wrestle her out of the cheer top, though her eyes never wavered from the back of Mikey’s spiked head. If he so much as peeked . . .

They were on the highway now and flying. Her turtleneck was the next to go, followed by her sports bra. Then Gwen, hardly giving Isobel time to breathe, threw the dress over her head and pulled down. Isobel fought through the folds of pink to bring her arms through the tunnel of the cinched waist. The satin lining slid smooth and ice-cold against her bare skin, making her gasp. Her fingers wiggled through, seeking for straps or sleeves, but then, without warning, Gwen yanked the dress into place, and Isobel realized that there weren’t any.

“Lean forward,” Gwen said, and shoved Isobel over at the waist, knocking the wind out of her. Gwen pulled up the zipper. The fabric drew snug around her body, molding to her perfectly. “Now sit up,” said Gwen, and pulled her straight again.

Isobel stared down at herself as Gwen fussed. Even in the dark, she could see that the thing was vintage and frilly. It had a lace overlay, a sweetheart neckline, and a poofy skirt that she thought would frill out and fall to just below the knee when she stood. It was nothing Isobel would have ever picked out herself—almost too pretty, with the pink satin Alice-in-Wonderland ribbon that tied around the waist.

Arms folded, Isobel allowed herself to be dressed and primped. Gwen proceeded to strip her of her blue and gold hair ribbons. Head twisted, Isobel stared out the window. They were moving fast. Too fast. But she found herself actually liking the speed for once, and she urged the car along in her mind, never wincing, even as Mikey swung around one sharp turn after another. Up front, he handled the wheel like a wrestling partner. pqdm.com