I’VE GOT DRESSES AND DRESSES PILED UP ON MY BED. Every single one I brought with me to Jar Island. I’ve tried on six, but none of them are right for tonight. I put on number seven, a lacy white dress with a crinoline skirt, but it looks babyish, like an oversize christening gown. I want to look beautiful tonight. Beautiful enough to have been homecoming queen myself, if I wasn’t the new girl, if I’d never had to move away.
As I sort through the pile, I wonder if maybe Aunt Bette has something I could borrow, or if it’s not too late to go to that fancy boutique on Third Street in White Haven. The dresses there cost, like, three hundred dollars, but I’m pretty sure my mom would agree that it’s worth the expense. Looking good, I mean. Not just good. Tonight I have to look perfect. Even though Ashlin is the one who’s going to be crowned homecoming queen, tonight is my night.
Then I find it, right at the bottom of the pile. A dress I don’t even remember buying. It’s a one-shoulder, long and floaty and shell pink. Layers and layers of chiffon. I check the tag. It’s from that fancy boutique.
And then I realize—Aunt Bette. I told her I was going to the dance. She must have gotten it for me as a surprise, hid it in my closet for me to find. I could cry!
I throw the white christening dress off and put this one on. It’s not a dress I would have ever picked out for myself. And as I slip it over my shoulders, I hope I can pull it off. It’s so stylish and unique, and definitely the most expensive piece of clothing I own. You can tell just by touching it, how nice the fabric is. It feels like spun cotton candy on my skin.
I walk slowly over to the mirror and have a look. I almost don’t recognize myself. It’s so nice. More than nice. Perfect.
Exactly how I want to look when Reeve meets his downfall tonight.
I run out of my room to go find Aunt Bette, to thank her and to show her how perfectly the dress fits me. She’s not in her bedroom, and she’s not downstairs, so I try her art studio. I haven’t been up there yet since I’ve been back. It’s her private workspace, and she’s been keeping the door closed, the way she used to when she didn’t want to be disturbed. Today her door is open, but just a crack. Maybe it’s unintentional. Maybe it just blew open or something.
I’m not sure if I should leave my hair down, or maybe wear it to the side? Aunt Bette would know. Anyway, I’m dying to thank her, give her a big hug.
“Aunt Bette?” I call out, running up the stairs.
The attic walls are lined with paintings. Stacks and stacks of studies. Sometimes Aunt Bette will paint the same scene fifty times before she gets it right.
The roof is pitched, and I have to walk down the center if I don’t want to bump my head. Aunt Bette’s easel is set open at the end of the room. She likes to paint with the window at her back. Next to the easel is the table where she sets out her paints and brushes. The tiny puddles of paint glisten, still wet, fresh. I see her legs, hear the sound of her brush dotting the canvas.
“Aunt Bette!”
She leans past the canvas and looks at me. I do a spin for her. “Mary, you look beautiful.”
“Thank you. I love this dress.”
Aunt Bette nods and smiles. “I’m so glad you’re happy now.”
“I am,” I say. “I really am.”
I go back down to my room and brush my hair. Then I open my jewelry box, take out my daisy pendant necklace, and put it on.
For my twelfth birthday party I invited my whole class to Jar Island, to my house. That’s how it was at Montessori. Everyone invited everyone. All the other years, I had the party on the mainland, because that’s where the other kids in my class lived. We’d have it at a bowling alley or the laser tag place, or a pizza parlor. But this year it had to be at my house, because of the theme.
I got the idea when I went to the card shop on Main Street to pick out invitations with my mom. I saw cards that were shaped like circus tents, with red and yellow stripes, and you had to peel back the flaps of the tent to see the party info.
I could already picture it. A carnival theme party, with a ring toss and a basketball free throw and fun foods like cotton candy and popcorn and maybe even funnel cakes. Our backyard was huge, so there’d be plenty of room. For a second I worried that a carnival theme was maybe too babyish for seventh grade, but then I reasoned that the boys would be excited about the games. They’d like showing off how many shots they could make in the free throw, and the girls would like the prizes. We ordered those on the Internet—stuffed animals and fruity lip balms for the girls, and baseball caps for the boys.
My dad cut holes in a piece of plywood, and then Aunt Bette and I painted an elephant and a giraffe and a monkey around them so people could stick their heads inside and take photos. We rented an old-time popcorn machine and a cotton candy spinner. Dad was going to grill hot dogs, and Mom would make her potato salad.
Even though everyone hated me now, if I threw a great party, it could change their minds about me.
I was sitting on the curb, staring down the street, waiting for my mom’s car to come back from the ferry with all the mainland kids she was picking up. They were supposed to come in on the three o’clock. But it was after four, which meant three boats had stopped at Jar Island already.
I had this terrible feeling in my stomach. No one was coming to my party. Not even Anne. I thought of my mom waiting at the docks, holding a sign we’d painted together. It said CIRCUS THIS WAY. All I knew was that I couldn’t be in the backyard with Aunt Bette and Dad anymore. They kept fiddling with the decorations and the games we’d already set up, to have something to do. And they offered a couple times for me to open the presents they’d bought me, as if that would make me feel better.
At around four thirty Reeve’s mom drove down our street. As soon as I saw him, I jumped up. I’d been casually bringing up my party to him for weeks, telling him about the kinds of games I planned to have, the prizes, the chocolate cake we were ordering from Milky Morning. I came up with the basketball free throw idea just for him, because I knew how much he liked basketball. I asked Dad to buy a hoop. He mounted it to the garage.
His mom parked the car. I could tell they were arguing. Eventually Reeve got out. He slammed the door really hard.
“Hey,” he said, sullenly. “Sorry I’m late. My mom had to drop my brothers off at a game first.”
“It’s okay!” I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the house. I knew he didn’t want to be there. I knew his mom probably forced him, but I was so happy he came.
Aunt Bette and my dad were standing under the basketball hoop drinking coffee. As soon as they saw me and Reeve walking up the driveway, they sprang into action. Aunt Bette hit play on the stereo, and circus music filled the air. Dad grabbed the game tickets and tore off a fat strip for Reeve.
“So no one showed, huh?” Reeve wanted to know.
I didn’t answer. Instead I took Reeve up to the food table. “Are you hungry? We have hot dogs, cotton candy, popcorn. You can have whatever you want.”
Reeve sighed. “I guess I’ll have a hot dog.”
I fixed him one. “Do you like ketchup or mustard?” I asked him.
“Ketchup.”
At about that time my mom came back. Alone. She was frowning, but when she saw Reeve, she brightened. “Reeve, I’m so glad you could make it,” she said.
“Umm, you know. I think I heard on the radio just now that it’s raining on the mainland. I bet everyone at school thought the party was canceled,” he said. His cheeks were burning up.
I looked at him gratefully. “That’s got to be it, Mom.” And then my eyes went to the box in his hand. I’d noticed it the second he’d come out of his mom’s car. A small white box tied with pink ribbon. It had to be for me.
“Here,” he said, shoving it toward me. “Happy Birthday.”
I started opening it right in front of him. I couldn’t wait. He watched me, peering over my shoulder instead of eating his hot dog.
He’d bought me a necklace, an enamel daisy with a yellow center and white petals. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I almost couldn’t get it on, because my hands were shaking so bad. Mom had to help me with the clasp.
He looked nervous. “Is it okay?”
“I love it,” I told him.
Despite everything that happened after, he was good to me that day. On that day, when I needed him the most, Reeve was my friend.
The necklace is shiny, not a bit of tarnish, even after all these years. As sad as it is, wearing it again makes me happy. As happy as I was when Reeve gave it to me on my twelfth birthday, once upon a time.
