Hiding From Us

37. kim

‘‘Beautiful,’’ said Robin. ‘‘Absolutely beautiful.’’

     She was overreacting, of course, but I chose to believe her. I’d worn this dress before; it was strapless and long, tight but flowing, and it was this dark silver color. I felt a little bit awkward wearing it—exposed, almost, to horrible things called boys—but it was a dance. Also, Robin had held me in a painful headlock until I’d agreed to it.

     I said, taking on a British accent, ‘‘Why, thank you, darling. You look ravishing as well.’’

     ‘’Oh, I know,’’ said Robin, ‘’I was talking about me, not you.’’

     Beside her, Grace frowned. 

     But Robin laughed, just as I had expected her to. ‘‘Kimmy, I was joking. We all look lovely.’’ She hooked her left elbow with Grace’s and did the same to me with her right elbow. For a moment, we stood in front of the mirror, smiling, admiring ourselves in dresses that we didn’t often dress up in. 

     Then Robin’s phone buzzed. After checking her text, she said, ‘‘Shain and Erick are on their way.’’

     ‘‘Just them?’’ I said. 

     ‘’Um, I think they picked up Henry and Adrian, too. You know. Because everyone needs a boyfriend now.’’

     ‘‘Henry isn’t my boyfriend,’’ I said, ‘‘and might I point out that you, Robby, do not have a boyfriend either.’’ Henry. Suddenly, at the mention of his name, I was glad that Robin had convinced me to dress up nicely.

     When Erick’s SUV pulled up, we piled in next to our ‘boyfriends’: Shain was beside Erick in the front, Grace sat in the middle backseat, squished between Robin and Adrian, and Henry and I sat apart in the middle. He was dressed in a purple sweatshirt that advertised excuses about homework. His jeans were metallic gray and rumpled, unlike the dark trousers that he usually wore. Overtop of his shirt was a teal hoody with no sleeves, and combined with these old red hi-tops that looked way too big for him, it gave Henry—shy, geeky Henry—a really cool look. Skater-ish. Gangster, almost. The dance posters had said to dress formal, but Henry dressed formal every day. To see him like this, without a tie or a button-down shirt tucked into his ironed pants, was actually really nice.

     He watched as I got in. His hair was spiked up, just a bit, almost like he’d attempted to gel it. He said, ‘‘Wow. You look really nice.’’

     Don’t blush don’t blush don’t blush don’t blush—but my body betrayed me, and I flushed red. ‘‘Thank you,’’ I said. My mind had picked the worst moment ever to lose my usual sarcasm and energy. ‘‘You look great, too.’’

     I turned back in my seat and frowned when I saw Shain watching me. She was wearing a charcoal fedora (the irony—she wore toques in the summer and hats in the winter). I raised an eyebrow at her, and she mirrored me. Then she flicked her gray eyes to Henry and back to me, with a look that said, I know your secret. Are you going to make your move?

     I spiked my brows back at her in a look that said, It’s a challenge I’m willing to take. You chill with your man, and I’ll chill with mine.

     Shain smiled in agreement before turning around to the front. 

     We arrived at the school and stood in line for about ten minutes until the doors opened. Nobody was dressed like they were going to a wedding or a funeral, but most of the guys had button-down shirts, or even ties. The girls wore lavish, expensive dresses with shoes that looked like torture devices (not including me. I’d worn my rasta-colored hi-tops).