Bianca stepped out of the car and headed to the trunk. I quickly, like lightning, threw on my mom's white sweatshirt and her high-waisted jeans.
It's really great when all the women in the family wear the same size, and it's good that Jess and I have different tastes.
"I'm changed!" I said happily to Bianca. I was really glad Bianca didn't see my embarrassing outfit change.
Bianca returned with a sad face.
"I'd have to go in this outfit. I left my bag at school."
"I know it's a stupid idea, but maybe you could wear my jacket," I nervously offered her my black jacket.
"It's awesome!" She quickly put it on. Bianca looked great, especially when she wore those black sunglasses. Form-fitting athletic wear, an oversized black jacket, big branded sunglasses, and a messy bun – just stunning. Although if she wore a potato sack instead of a jacket like Marilyn Monroe once did, I'd still really like it. As mom says, 'A fabulous woman is always fabulous.'
***
Surprisingly, there were quite a few people at the exhibition. Amidst the exhibit, folks of all ages were milling about, totally engrossed in what they were seeing. You had your older couples, all cozy and hand in hand, probably reliving their own romantic tales. Then there were the young lovebirds, ogling at those vintage cards like they'd stumbled upon buried treasure. Friends were buzzing around, cracking jokes and admiring the intricate details on the postcards. And of course, you had your shutterbugs, snapping pics left and right to immortalize the charm of it all. It was like a melting pot of nostalgia and admiration for love's timeless allure.
I loved strolling from one exhibit to another with her: no athletes, no annoying cheerleader girls, no teachers, just Bianca and I. The girl fluttered around like a butterfly, exclaiming excitedly and taking photos. Sometimes she'd take my hand and pull me towards an exhibit that caught her eye.
"I wish I had a card like this. Oh, look, this style is so cool!"
I just agreed. I loved the collection – it was very cute and soulful, as far as I could judge, but most of all, I loved looking at Bianca, so alive, and most importantly, not as sad as she was in the schoolyard on my first day at Willow Lakes High.
"Let's take a selfie! Say cheese!" the cheerleader said happily, hugging me. "Oh, you look fantastic! Just like a top model. We have to post it, I mustn't forget to tag you..."
"No, please..." I asked her, alarmed.
"But why?" she was genuinely surprised.
"We said we'd go to your place. Everyone at school thinks so. What if Sky and Irene, those two girls, see and tell the teachers? Your social media, judging by the number of followers, isn't the last one in town."
"Oh darn, you're right. What an idiot I am! I'd have just thrown both of us under the bus. You're so smart, Mel Whiteriver."
She pecked me on the cheek.
"Then let's keep our selfies just for us: a private collection. Exclusive for the chosen ones. VIP photos. Shall we go on?"
I didn't say anything. Just blissfully followed her like an obedient puppy on a leash.
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