Chapter Nine
223 days until graduation
I’ve never understood the elation that comes with school dances.
Sure, it’s fun to dress up, go to a fancy dinner, and then a dance, but I catch myself wondering every year if it’s really worth the hassle.
This year is no different, if anything it’s an even larger escapade now that Eloise, Winnie, and I have dates, because our mothers have taken it completely over the top.
Monday, Winnie and I went with Wren to the local flower shop to pick out the three corsages and three boutonnieres.
Tuesday, the girls and I went to get our nails done, where Eloise complained the entire time.
Wednesday, Winnie called me crying after getting yelled at in ballet for having acrylics on. I told her to tell her teacher she’ll stop wearing nails when the boys have to put their feet through the torture of pointe shoes like the girls.
Thursday, I went with Eloise and Logan to make reservations at the restaurant we were planning on going to.
On Friday, Wren texted Eloise, Winnie, and I telling us we were to be at her house at three o’clock on the dot, no later, no earlier.
It’s two thirty now, and I’m thanking God that Winnie lives next door to the Callaghan house.
It has been a long morning of makeup, curling each other’s hair, and putting dresses on.
Chrissi and my mom are both here. They’ve been running around all day, picking up corsages and boutonnieres from the flower shop, going to the store to get jewelry for Eloise since she never did it herself, and helping us with anything else we’ve needed.
This is the most I’ve seen of my mom in months.
I zip Winnie’s dress, which is dark blue and made of silk that falls to the floor. It fits not only her body, but her personality perfectly.
My mom’s smiling from ear to ear as she pulls my dress out of the bag it has been hanging in.
This is my first time seeing it, and it’s exactly what I wanted.
The top is a beautiful corset, which matches the skirt made entirely of black, glittery tulle. The straps match the skirt and have bows on either shoulder.
“Mom, it’s gorgeous!” I say as I grab the hanger from her. “This is exactly what I wanted.”
“Try it on!” Winnie gleams.
I smile brightly as I walk toward Winnie’s ensuite bathroom.
Once I put the dress on, and my mom zips it up, I look into the mirror and I’ve never felt happier.
“This is so beautiful.” My voice rasps as my hands run down the tulle skirt. I turn around to look at my mom, who has tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”
“You look perfect, Genny.” She’s smiling, wiping under her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Woah.” Eloise and Winnie say when I open the door, making me laugh.
Eloise is in her dress too, tight fitting and sparkling sage green. It contrasts beautifully with her strawberry blond hair.
There is a moment between the three of us I can feel deep in my bones, where the connection between us is palpable. In all three of us, I see our moms.
Thankfully, before anyone gets too sappy, Chrissi yells for us from downstairs. “Girls, we need to go, now!”
Just like any other time that we’ve walked into Logan’s house, the boys are nowhere to be found. The place is decorated to the nines, per the occasion.
“Oh, look at you three!” Wren smiles brightly as she pulls each of us in for a hug. “You are going to have so much fun.” At this moment, despite my original hesitation, I believe her.
“I’m guessing the boys are upstairs?” Winnie asks.
“Yes, but they should be ready.”
“Logan!” Eloise shouts up the stairs. “Get down here!”
We walk into the kitchen to wait for them. Chrissi and my mom are setting out the flowers and pins that we will have no idea how to attach to the boys’ suit jackets. Luke’s mom, Nessa, is setting out snacks and drinks along the island countertop while Wren is in the foyer, probably fixing the boys’ hair and making sure they all have their ties on properly.
“You would think after over a decade of prep school, you would know how to tie a damn tie,” Wren grumbles, and I know she’s talking to Logan.
Winnie’s rocking back and forth on her heels, no doubt nervous.
I want to say something like, “He already loves you” to make her feel better, but I think it would only make her more apprehensive. The truth always does.“You’re fine,” I say instead, resting a hand on her shoulder to steady her.
“This has to be a dream.” Winnie’s head swings around at the sound of Logan’s voice.
There he is, standing in the kitchen”s entryway, wearing a navy-blue suit with a white button up underneath and brown dress shoes. He’s looking at Winnie as if she’s the most ethereal figment of his imagination.
His blue tie is misaligned, but it doesn’t matter because Winnie takes it off when she nears him anyway. She knows how much he hates them.
I’m so entranced by how unknowingly obsessed with her he is that I don’t even notice when my date walks in the room.
“You clean up nice,” Jameson whispers from behind, making me jump.
He’s dressed in an all black suit and tie, and he has three silver rings on his right hand.
“And you look exactly the same,” I reply.
“Handsome?” He smirks.
My eyes, despite not wanting to, scan his body again. “Arrogant,” I correct him.
“You wound me, Genevieve.” He inhales through gritted teeth and clutches his dress shirt in faux agony.
“Your battered ego has nothing to do with me.”
“Ready for pictures?” Mom asks.
We all nod. Winnie looks excited, Eloise is unenthused, and I’m ready to get this over with.
Chrissi preps everyone”s flowers and starts teaching us how to pin on the boutonnieres.
We take pictures of the boys sliding the corsages on our wrists, and all I think about is how unfair it is all they have to do is slip flowers over our wrists. Meanwhile, we must turn into dutiful little housewives and pin them on through their shirts.
When it comes time to pin the boutonnieres on, Eloise and Winnie do it with ease.
I, however, have a different idea. After pretending to struggle with the pin for a few moments, I jab it neatly through Jameson’s suit jacket in a not-so-gentle manner.
He hisses in pain and pulls away from me when the pin hits him in the chest. “Ow!” He grabs my hand that is holding the pin, as if I was planning on doing it again.
I shrug, feigning innocence, “Whoops.”
“Give that to me!” My mother snaps, trying to take the boutonniere from my hand.
“No, no, that’s okay,” Jameson says. “Let her try again.” He’s giving the type of cocky smirk that would normally make me want to light myself on fire.
“You’re lucky you’re not wearing a white shirt,” I say.
“Why is that?”
“Blood would bleed through white.”
“How about we work on not making me bleed at all?” Jameson grabs my wrist with one hand and the pin I’m holding in the other, guiding the pin through the shirt and into the clip where it’s supposed to go. “See how easy it is to not cause me bodily harm?”
“I think I prefer the alternative,” I snide. “Plus, I wouldn’t classify an accidental poke as bodily harm.”
“Accidental, huh?”
“Why of course.” I attempt to imitate his accent, making him laugh.
We continue taking pictures, letting our awkward moms pose us how they want, like we’re some type of dolls. There’s nothing like having your number one rival’s arm wrapped around you while your mom shouts at you to smile at him.
“Stop holding me like that,” I whisper when he wraps both of his arms around my shoulders from where he’s standing behind me.
“Like what?” He asks sarcastically, placing his hands on my collarbone.
“Stop it.”I slap his hand away.
My mom and Wren are whispering to one another as they take pictures, looking back and forth between us and each other.
I push out of Jameson’s hold when they put their phones down. “Are we done now?” I ask, walking away before either of them answer.
Winnie and Logan are standing in the kitchen laughing at each other. Eloise and Luke are sitting at the island, an empty barstool separating them.
“It’s almost time for you guys to leave,” Wren says, checking her phone for the time.
“Did you hear that, Genova?” Jameson asks quietly from behind me. I don’t look back at him. “The party’s just getting started.”
I thought Wren was kidding when she said Jameson would wipe everything I touch with disinfectant wipes, but it turns out, she wasn’t.
When I get in the limo, Jameson is already there. In one hand he was holding a pack of Clorox wipes, and his other hand was using the wipes to clean everything from the leather seats to the stripper pole in the center of the seats.
“Wow.”
He turns toward me. “I heard you were a bit of a germaphobe.”
I don’t reply, completely in awe.
“Are you okay sitting here?” He motions to the newly cleaned seat.
I swallow hard. “Yeah, this is fine.” I grimace at what I say next. “Thanks.”
When I sit on the newly cleaned seat, I’m even more aware of the fact that he did this for me.
He doesn’t have to be nice to me. In fact, it would probably be easier on him if he wasn’t nice to me. Nevertheless, he’s trying. He’s attempting to build the same bridges I’ve lit a match under, and that speaks more to his character than his motives.