I also like the way it sounds, even in my own head. Dis-com-bob-u-lated. Every syllable pops.
I’m worried that kissing Sam is going to make everything weird between us, but when I go back to school on Thursday, everything feels the same. I go to art class and we work on the project—we’ve moved on to the painting phase—and nothing is different; I spend the whole weekend at Rosie’s, and nothing is different. It’s sort of disappointing. I keep waiting to see if he’s going to kiss me again, but we’re never alone together, so I’m left to overanalyze every fleeting touch.
The one thing that has changed is that suddenly everyone is on board with the idea of going to Winter Formal. Even Andy.
Asha is, predictably, thrilled by this development.
“Six days!” she sings every time she dumps more dishes for me to wash. I glare at her receding back as she prances back through the swinging doors and to the dining area.
Six days. Six days, and I’m going to be facing every person at this school who hates me. I don’t even have a dress yet.
Sam hasn’t mentioned it since that night at the hospital—am I really going to be his date? For real? Or was he just joking? It doesn’t matter. Either way I’m going. I’ve committed.
Later Asha says, “I know a place to look for dresses,” while we’re sitting in one of the booths. She’s finally showing me how to knit. I suck at it, surprise, surprise. But Asha says if she can teach me geometry, she can teach me anything. Today I actually got an A- on a pop quiz, much to the surprise of myself and Mr. Callihan, so I figure she must be right about that.
I cock a skeptical eyebrow at her as I loop the black wool through the needle. Wherever this place is, it better not be in the mall. No way am I stepping foot in that place again.
“There’s this little vintage shop on the west end,” she explains.
I don’t know the west side of town as well as I know the east end. Every place worth visiting is near the lake, and all of the firmly middle-to-upper-middle-class housing is on the east, including my house and Asha’s. But the west side is safe. Mostly it’s all apartment buildings and liquor stores and low-end groceries. There’s no way Kristen or anyone from her posse would be caught dead over there. The next day after school, Asha and I drive over to the vintage shop, this little place called Recollections. I’ve never been. The inside smells musty, like mothballs, and so do most of the clothes on the racks.