Five Steps | Chaelisa

Chapter 36

Roseanne's POV

My heels are completely frozen to the marble floor under me as I take in the girl standing in front of me.

A green, floor-length dress that's just tight enough to show off every single one of her curves, the neckline plunging down well past her sternum, a ruby-red necklace hanging over the bare skin of her chest, matching her earrings and, not coincidentally, my dress.

"Oh my God, Suzy. You look..." I smile, meeting her bright eyes. "Beautiful."

She lets out a giggle that echoes through the foyer, her heels clicking over to me.

"Back at you. The dress looks so good. We made the right choice," she tells me. I look down at my mom's sparkly red dress and the pair of two-inch heels that hopefully won't be my cause of death tonight.

"Thanks," I say, trying not to be too obvious as I pull the fabric down so it sits a little flatter.

"Shall we?" she asks, offering me her arm, a thin gold bracelet dangling from her wrist.

I blush and wrap my hand around her upper arm, letting her lead me into the gallery.

Whatever step five was in the plan, I think it's safe to say we're well past it. We walk up to one of the many bars floating around the gigantic room.

"Hey, could I get two glasses of chardonnay?" Suzy asks, surprising me, but unfortunately, she can't quite manage to pull it off like... well, like some other people can. The bartender, dressed in a white shirt and a black bow tie, sees right through it. He pours two ginger ales into champagne flutes without a word and slides them across the bar to us.

"It was worth a shot," I whisper.

As we begin to walk around the show together, I spend most of the time looking at all the students dressed up in their fancy clothes, wondering if they're actually having a good time. I'm not sure how anyone could like all of this. I've never been much of an art connoisseur, but the idea of looking at the art right in front of the artist makes me real nervous.

"Oh, hey. This girl's in my lit class," Suzy says, tugging me into an exhibit.

I follow her into an area with paintings hanging on makeshift walls in the middle of the room. Each painting looks a lot like the one before it, amorphous blobs of various sizes and skin colors on canvases ten feet tall.

"Lindsay?" Suzy asks, approaching a girl a couple of inches shorter than me, dressed in a velvet blazer and oxford shoes. She lifts her chin, squinting at Suzy for a second before recognition floods her face.

"Suzy." She smiles approvingly, obviously as entranced by Suzy as everyone else. "Hey. It's great to see you."

"You too." Suzy peeks back at me. "This is Roseanne," she introduces me, and I reach out to shake Lindsay's hand. "I didn't know you'd be here. This is your exhibit?"

"Yes, it's called Race Place. I've been working on it for almost two years now," Lindsay says, proudly looking up at her masterpieces, her blue eyes shining against her milky-white skin.

"Tell me what it's all about," Suzy says. Lindsay starts telling us about how each piece represents the erasure of race in American culture and the journey she's been on while trying to figure out how to translate what she's learned into this particular medium.

I try to listen at first, but it all sounds so rehearsed, so dry, that I just can't rein my attention span in for long enough. Maybe I should've just asked Suzy to go roller-skating after all. It would've been ten times the fun. Crappy chicken tenders, root beer, and maybe even a little limbo.