Runner Girl

Chapter Twelve

"I've never been to a dance before."

Janel stares at me for a moment, but instead of asking why, she calls over my shoulder, "Rosie! Get over here."

Rosie bounces up to us, her hair flying. "What's up?"

"We're taking Lana shopping."

***

To my surprise, Rosie and Janel take me to a thrift store in a sketchy part of town. "I thought we were going to the mall," I say, eyeing the storefront. The windows are covered with boards, and the sidewalk in front of the store is cracked.

Rosie takes her keys out of the ignition and rolls her eyes. "Only if you want to have the same dress as all the other unimaginative girls at school."

"I don't really care," I say, getting out of the car. "I mean, it's just a dress, right?"

Janel shakes her head. "Lana, trust us. It's your first dance; you don't want to waste it looking like a cookie cutter Barbie, do you?"

Considering that my first thoughts of the cheer team, before I met them, had been exactly along those lines, I flush. Janel loops her arm through mine.

"That's what I thought." She drags me toward the store, and once we're inside, some of my fear dissipates. Although the neighborhood is sketchy, the store itself is bright, clean, and packed with clothing racks.

Rosie makes a beeline for the back of the store, and Janel and I follow her. My eyes get wider as I take in the startling array of stuff around me; hats that look like they belong in a gangster movie are hanging on the wall, with vintage rock posters hung haphazardly in between. I spot a fur coat, something covered in feathers, and a pair of glittery ruby slippers before I refocus on the rack Rosie and Janel are digging through. There doesn't seem to be a method to the madness in the shop, but clearly the girls have been here before and know where to look.

"What about this?" Rosie pulls out a long dress that reminds me of something a Greek goddess would wear; the neck plunges in a low V, and the A-line waist is accentuated by perfect pleats as the skirt spills to the floor. But the fabric ruins the illusion; it's tacky floral polyester, like something straight out of the 70s. I shake my head firmly.

"I'm not a hippy," I say, pushing toward the rack. "Let me look, too."

Janel chuckles. "I knew you'd get into it once we started." She holds up a dress that looks like a vintage tennis uniform, polo collar and all. "Sporty spice?"

I giggle at the ridiculous reference. "That's cute," I admit, looking at the faded white fabric. "But I thought you said the dance was formal?"

Janel shrugs. "It's semi-formal, but as long as you feel good in it, you should wear whatever you want. Not pants," she says when I start to open my mouth. "And not running shorts, either."

Rosie snorts. "Do you remember when Angelina made that dress out of pop tabs?"

I swing around in disbelief. "Seriously?"

The girls nod, and then they start swapping fashion reminiscences. They aren't catty about it, just matter-of-fact, and my self-consciousness begins to melt away as we paw through the racks.

Their stories shift from clothes to kisses, and by the time we head toward the curtained off dressing room in the corner, my head is spinning with the information Janel and Rosie have dished out about the social web at school. I've never paid much attention to gossip or what other people are doing, but Rosie and Janel seem like they know everybody's story, including which people the girls on the team want to date, have dated, or have sworn never to date. According to Rosie, everyone on the squad seems to have uncanny luck with relationships. I'm more interested than I feel like I should be, soaking up the information as Rosie and Janel hang up a ton of dresses in the dressing room and then shove me inside, closing the curtain behind me. Neither of them have mentioned Rakesh in any of their stories, and a tiny part of my brain latches onto the omission with excitement. Cool it, I tell myself firmly, surveying the stack of dresses and trying to decide where to start. There's no reason to think he's even interested.

I try on the sporty dress first, and I really like it. Still, I don't think it's fancy enough for the harvest dance, not given the way Janel and Rosie have described their dresses, so I set it to one side. It's only four dollars, so I might buy it just to have, but first I need to find a dress for the dance.

After I've made a sizeable dent in the pile, I start narrowing it down and showing Janel and Rosie the ones I like best. Janel votes for a loose, floor-length dress that looks like the midnight sky, complete with little silver and gold sparkles woven into the deep blue fabric and shimmery spaghetti straps, but Rosie likes the teal sheath dress with the long bell sleeves that ends just above my knees. I swap back and forth between the two, even though my leg starts aching from all the standing, and finally I settle on the blue dress. I look surprisingly good in it, even without curves to fill out the top; the long, sparkly fabric makes me feel like I've been dipped in water, and it covers my walking cast without showing even a hint of the brace. I buy it and the sporty dress, and then Rosie and Janel whisk me back into the car to take me shoe shopping.

"But I can only wear one shoe!" I exclaim. "It's not like it's going to matter."

"Lana, I want an honest answer. Is there somebody at school you like?" Janel turns around from the front seat and stares at me, pinning me to the spot with her frank gaze.

"Why does that matter?" I ask, fidgeting with my seatbelt.

Janel rolls her eyes, and Rosie laughs, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "That sounds like a yes to me!"

"The harvest dance is a great place to impress whoever it is," Janel says matter-of-factly. "If you didn't like anyone, it wouldn't matter as much, but since you do, why not go all out?"

I consider her words. "I don't know if he likes me," I begin, suddenly feeling vulnerable and pathetic.

"There's one way to find out; ask him to dance."

My heart speeds up at the thought. Would he say yes? I think back to our brief, flirty encounters, to his blinding smile, and to the warmth that fills me whenever we've touched, no matter how briefly. I can feel my cheeks heating up, but instead of spilling everything, I bite my lip and look out the window as we finish the drive in silence.

I let them drag me into a shoe store, but I refuse to even try on the heels they find for me. Instead, I buy a pair of comfy, flat sandals with gold and silver laces that crisscross up my ankle, like some kind of ancient warrior's shoe. My dress is long enough to touch the ground, but I'm not going to try to learn to walk in heels now. "Besides," I rationalize when we're checking out, "I can't try to wear heels with the boot."

Rosie laughs. "You're right. I wasn't thinking about that."

"We might want to hem your dress, though, just in case." Janel offers, but I shake my head.

"It'll be fine," I tell them, suddenly sick of shopping. "Let's just grab some food and head back."

We sit outside with our cups of frozen yogurt, and Rosie and Janel keep up a steady stream of conversation. I join in occasionally, but mostly I just listen to them, enjoying their banter and feeling surprisingly comfortable, even after the whirlwind shopping excursion and the fact that I almost spilled about Rakesh. With friends like this, I think, shoveling the last of my dessert into my mouth, I might even have fun at the dance. A little flutter of excitement takes root in my stomach, and this time, I don't push it away.