None of the Above(2)

“Krissy, you know I love you. But did you have to wear sleeves?” Vee asked as we got ready for the dance, her voice a tug-of-war between admiration and horror.

As Faith zipped me up, I checked to make sure the seams I’d tailored weren’t noticeable. The dress had been my mom’s, and it didn’t have real sleeves, just wide triangular straps to hopefully de-emphasize my javelin shoulders.

“What’s the matter with sleeves?” I asked.

“I’m pretty sure everyone else is going strapless,” Faith said sympathetically. Her own dress had a sweetheart neckline that perfectly showed off the jade necklace her grandmother had given her for her sixteenth birthday.

“Even the people who shouldn’t are doing it,” Vee added. “It’s, like, a Homecoming law.” When she saw me lifting up my arms and twisting down to peek at my underarms, she relented. “Come on, are you seriously worrying? You look good in everything.”

I glanced up at the edge in her voice, and caught her running her finger against the rough fiberglass of her ankle cast, which Vee had had specially tinted to match her skin.

“I can’t wait to see you in your dress,” I said, changing the subject.

“Let me go get it,” said Faith, going over to Vee’s closet, where the four-hundred-dollar ankle-length dress she’d rush-ordered the day after her accident hung like some holy relic.

Vee tossed her dirty-blond hair like a horse swatting off a fly. Just like that, the moody snarkmistress was gone, replaced by the girl who had set me up on a double date with Sam after I told her how cute I thought he was. The girl who held my hair back and gave me a Sani wipe when I threw up my first tequila shot. The girl who helped me sort out my mother’s clothes the day my dad left them on the front curb because he couldn’t deal with having them in the house anymore.

Faith and I helped her slip her dress on, and the three of us stood in front of the mirror. We’d literally been friends since we’d been born, when our mothers bonded in a postnatal yoga class. In grade school, my mom would comment on how well Vee and Faith complemented each other as friends. “Sweet and spicy,” she said. “They balance each other out.” Even then, Vee had an edge, while Faith was the sugar.

“But what am I?” I asked.

“You, my Krissy?” my mom said. “You’re the steady.”

I didn’t think that was too exciting, but my mom just smiled, stroked my hair, and said, “It may not sound exotic, but it’s the best thing to be.”

I smoothed down Vee’s dress. “See?” I said. “You can’t even see your cast.”

Vee leaned against me and turned to her side, cocking her head. “Still wish I’d listened to Ms. Green when she said we should have people vote the week before the dance.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s in the bag.”

As Faith and I helped Vee down the stairs, the camera flashes went off like fireworks. My dad was waiting at the bottom of the steps with Faith’s parents and Vee’s mom, his eyes bright with tears.

“God, you’re an angel,” he said, “just like her.” He pressed me into his shoulder and I closed my eyes, fighting off embarrassment but finding myself tearing up anyway. Even though he wasn’t wearing his warehouse uniform, he smelled faintly of metal and wet cardboard, which isn’t exactly perfume but always smelled like home to me.

Faith’s mom asked me to take a picture of them. They were almost exactly the same height, and could’ve been sisters with their identical dimpled smiles and straight jet-black hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vee’s mom inspecting her dress, moving layers of the skirt around while Vee stood stiff as a mannequin, her hand gripping the banister for support.

“Your father’s sorry he couldn’t be here,” her mom said, “but you know how busy things are this time of the year. We bought you this to match your dress.” She handed over a blue satin purse studded with pearls and crystals, and lowered her voice. “I made sure to put in some protection. Wouldn’t want you to be pregnant for prom.”

“Mom!” Vee hissed.

I stifled my grin. Obviously, Vee’s mom didn’t know that she’d gotten the birth control shot earlier that month. Vee had convinced me to get one, too.

“But I haven’t gotten my period in years,” I’d protested, which was a lie, because even before I’d started hard-core training when I was thirteen, I’d never gotten my period. Ever.

The three limos pulled up with the boys. Even though I thought it was totally over the top, Vee had insisted that we get separate cars. When I asked her why, she’d just raised her eyebrows at me until I blushed. The limos lined up along the Richardsons’ driveway in a row of gleaming black, and a morbid part of me couldn’t help thinking that it looked like a funeral procession.

I got one more tight hug from my dad, who whispered in my ear, “Have fun, and be safe,” which was the most disorienting thing that happened to me all night, if it meant what I thought it meant. My dad never really talked to me about Sam—he left that stuff to Aunt Carla, for better or worse. In fact, one of the reasons I’d never let Sam get past third base was my terror at the thought of my dad ever finding out.

But did he accept it? Maybe even expect it?

It was hard to get the thought off my mind in the limo while making out with Sam, who’d already had half of a Sprite bottle filled with champagne. He looked like a different person in his tux. Distinguished, almost. He’d put some gel in his light-brown hair, and I caught the whiff of a new cologne.