Best. Night. Ever. Page 2

  “Um,” I say, because that’s all my brain can handle.

  Syd takes that as a yes. “Come on,” she says to the other girls, and everyone tromps through the door with their dresses and bags, making the foyer feel way too crowded. Syd has always treated my house and my family like they belong to her, too, but this is the first time I’ve ever minded. Usually it makes me feel like we’re sisters.

  “Your place is really nice,” Abby says.

  My dads appear at the top of the stairs, and their eyes widen when they see how many people are here. I’m half hoping they’ll freak out and send everyone home, but they don’t. Dad just says, “Hi, Sydney. Who are your other friends, Gen?”

  Syd acts like the question was directed at her and introduces everyone, and all the girls smile politely and say hi. “Come on up,” Papa says. “We’ll stay out of your way, but let us know if you need anything, okay?”

  “Thanks, Mr. Brooks!” Sydney chirps, and all four of them head up the stairs and around the corner to my room. I take a couple of deep breaths—I can do this, I can handle this—and then I follow.

  My room is already covered with their stuff by the time I get there. There are dress bags and jackets heaped on my bed, a duffel bag on my chair, a curling iron on my desk, and shoes scattered all over the floor, so I hover awkwardly in the doorway. Abby and Shanti are huddled together, giggling over something on Abby’s phone, and Ilana’s chattering on and on about hair-curling techniques. Six months ago, Syd would’ve rolled her eyes and made a face at me over Ilana’s shoulder, but now she looks superinterested. These days, it’s getting harder and harder to find my best friend in her.

  Ilana spots me and takes in my outfit, head to toe and back again. “Is that what you’re wearing?” she asks.

  “Yeah?” I don’t intend for it to be a question, but it comes out like one—I can’t tell if she’s saying that my outfit is wrong. I smooth the leopard-print skirt with both hands. “Syd picked it out.”

  “I think it’s perfect,” Syd says. “Very punk rock.” But all the girls are pulling their dresses out of the bags now, and even though they don’t match or anything, all of them are satiny and pastel and delicate with tiny spaghetti straps. It looks like maybe they came from the same store. When Syd didn’t ask me to go to the mall with her, I’d assumed she was wearing something she already had, not shopping with other people.

  I look down at my Chucks and wonder if punk rock is really what I want to be when everyone else’s outfit is so classy and feminine.

  “Your hair looks cool,” says Shanti. “Did you do it yourself?”

  “No, my dad did it.”

  Abby unzips her jeans and wriggles out of them; she doesn’t seem self-conscious at all about taking her clothes off in front of me, even though we’re not friends. “Which one is your real dad?”

  I hate when people ask me that. My skin is almost an exact midpoint between Dad’s pale skin and Papa’s dark brown, so I could be biologically related to either of them. But come on—it’s nobody’s business.

  “They’re both real,” I say, misunderstanding on purpose.

  A satisfying blush tints Abby’s cheeks pink. “No, but, I mean . . . which one is, like, your dad dad?”

  “She’s adopted,” Sydney says. “Can I borrow your lipstick?”

  I hate that my best friend is explaining my family like I can’t speak for myself, like it needs to be explained at all. I hate that Abby and the rest of them are even here, asking rude questions and hogging my mirror and turning my calm, quiet haven of a bedroom into chaos. I hate that getting ready alone with me apparently isn’t enough for Syd anymore, that she doesn’t realize how much I need her—and only her—right now.

  “I have to do my makeup,” I say, and then I hurry down the hall and lock myself in the bathroom before anyone can object.

  Not that they would, probably.

  I open the medicine cabinet and grab the tube of mascara my aunt once left here, but I have almost no practice putting it on, and I’m shaky with anger and nerves, which makes it even harder. I poke myself in the eye three times before I give up and throw the stupid mascara brush into the garbage as hard as I can. What does it even matter if my eyelashes look “supersize” and “clump-free,” as the tube promises, when I’m probably about to crash and burn in front of hundreds of people?

  The waking nightmare that’s been haunting me for weeks pops into my head before I can stop it. There I am in the center of the stage, spotlight shining down on me, countless eyes and camera lenses staring straight at me. Tess counts us off, and Faith launches into the bass riff of “Hear Us Roar.” I grip the microphone tight in my sweaty fingers. I’ve practiced this song a million times; I can practically sing it in my sleep. But the bright lights are disorienting, and that familiar panic starts creeping up my throat, and when I open my mouth to sing, all that comes out is a horrifying, raspy croak.

  I grip the sides of the sink and gasp for breath. I can’t be the lead singer of a band. Joining Heart Grenade was supposed to be a small, comfortable step on the way to something scary, and now it’s gotten completely out of control. If I freaked out at a choir concert, it would be pretty bad, but if I screw up in front of the TV cameras tonight, it’ll be so much worse. Everyone will see—my parents, my grandma, my choir director, thousands of strangers I don’t even know. By this time tomorrow, the entire town could be laughing at me.

  I should probably just stay here in the bathroom until the broadcast is over. It’s not like anyone can force me to go. Maybe if I text Carmen again and I tell her I can’t handle the pressure, she can get a ride home from the wedding in time to—

  There’s a knock on the door. “Gen?” calls Syd’s voice.

  “Yeah?” My voice comes out shaky.

  “Can I come in?”

  I’m not totally sure if I want her to, but I turn the lock and say, “Okay.”

  She slips inside and closes the door. She’s wearing her dress now; it’s the same light blue as her eyes, and tiny sparkles glint along the neckline. Her hair is pinned up in a simple twist.

  “You look pretty,” I say.

  “Thanks! So do you. There’s one thing missing, though.”

  “I tried to put on makeup, but I don’t think I—”

  “Not that. This.” Syd opens her hand, and there in the center of her palm is the silver music-note necklace her grandma gave her after her violin recital last year. She wears it almost every day.

  “That’s your favorite, though,” I say.

  “It’s just a loan. I thought maybe you could wear it for good luck, if you want.” She smiles, and the dimple in her left cheek peeks out at me.

  I smile back. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” If she’s giving me her favorite necklace, maybe that means I’m still more important to her than her other friends.

  I hold my braid out of the way while she clasps the chain around my neck. “It looks good,” she says.

  I glance at my reflection, and it does look good. I feel a little more confident with the music note nestled between my collarbones, but only a little.

  “You ready for tonight?” Syd asks.

  I waver for a second about whether to tell her the truth. But when I meet her eyes in the mirror, she looks like the best friend I’ve had since I was seven, and for a minute it’s possible to forget about how my bedroom is full of newer, shinier people. “I don’t think I can do this,” I say. “I’m supernervous. Like, so, so nervous.”

  “Of course you’re nervous. You’re going to be on TV. It’s incredibly scary. But it’s also really exciting, and you’re a great singer, and I know you’re going to rock everyone’s faces off.”

  Bizarrely enough, hearing that I should be scared makes me feel better. When it comes down to it, Syd always knows the right thing to say. “You think?” I ask.

  “Definitely. And I’ll be there in the front row, cheering you on. Keep your eyes on me and pretend nobody else is there, okay? You can totally do this.�
��

  “Okay,” I say. And for the briefest moment, alone in the bathroom with my best friend, I feel like maybe I can.

  ELLIE { 6:48 P.M. }

  THERE’S NO MIRROR IN MY room, but it doesn’t matter. I can feel how absolutely perfect this dress is. I twirl until I’m dizzy, the petticoat underneath brushing against my legs.

  I picture dancing with Kevin. My first dance with a boy. The DJ will play a slow song, and Kevin will spin me in circles. He’ll be wearing a perfectly pressed suit, and I’ll be wearing the rose corsage he brought me, pinned to my dress.

  I pull my journal out of my sock drawer, flop down into my desk chair, and frantically scribble my thoughts and feelings. I want to hold on to this moment so I can write about it later. Maybe it will be a love poem—my first real one—or perhaps I’ll turn my experience tonight into a short story. I’ve never written a romance before.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock on the door, and my chair falls over when I stand up too quickly.

  “Come in,” I say as I pick up the chair and slide it underneath my desk.

  My soon-to-be stepmom, Soo-jin, slowly cracks the door open and peeks her head inside. When she sees me, her hand flies up to her mouth.

  “Oh, Ellie.” She drops her hand and sighs. “I can see why you told me you didn’t need to go dress shopping. You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I look down at my dress, smoothing the skirt as I do. “It’s the first time I’ve ever worn this.”

  “Well, it’s magnificent.” Soo-jin walks all the way into my bedroom and shuts the door behind her.

  “It was my mom’s.” I blurt it out before thinking. Once I realize what I said, I cringe.

  “Oh, Ellie.” Soo-jin steps closer to me with her arms out, like she wants to give me a huge hug, but she stops short. Instead, she takes one of my hands in hers. “Don’t ever feel like you can’t talk about your mother. I know she was a special lady.”

  I give her a weak smile. My mom was more than a special lady. She was my best friend—truth be told, my only friend. My heart hurts as I think of how much I miss her, and I swallow the lump that’s growing in my throat. “She loved Jane Austen.”

  Soo-jin nods. “This dress looks just like something Jane Austen would have worn to the ball.”

  I smile, a great big one this time. “That’s exactly what I was going for.” I pull the elbow-length white gloves from my dresser and slip them on. “This completes the look, I think.”

  Soo-jin’s eyes widen, and she gives a little squeal. “I’ll be right back,” she whispers. She throws open my bedroom door and flies down the hall toward the room she shares with my dad. After a few seconds, she runs back to me, something glistening in her hands.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “Close your eyes.”

  And even though my eyes are shut, I can see her beaming face in my mind. I feel something land on the top of my head, and before I can even imagine what it is, Soo-jin tells me to open my eyes.

  Soo-jin takes a step back and looks at me like she’s never seen me before. “Now it’s perfect.”

  My hands flutter up to my head, and I feel the band in my hair.

  “Come with me.” Soo-jin gives a little nod and leads me to her room. She flicks the light on, steers me to the full-length mirror in the corner, and I am face-to-face with myself.

  Sort of.

  I mean, I know it’s me. Of course it’s me.

  But I’m . . .

  I’m pretty.

  Soo-jin has put a pearl-covered headband in my hair. The jewels match the buttons on my dress perfectly. It’s just the look I was going for, and I feel like I stepped right out of Pride and Prejudice.

  My mother would have approved.

  “Thank you, Soo-jin.” I hug her ever-so-lightly so I don’t wrinkle my dress. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It is.” Soo-jin smoothes my hair. “It belonged to my mother, and I know you’ll wear it well.”

  “I will.” I take a deep breath.

  “Are you nervous?” Soo-jin asks. I look back at the mirror to see if anxiety is written all over my face. But the only thing I see is a pimple that’s been there since Tuesday.

  I nod. “I mean, it’s my first dance.”

  Soo-jin gives me a knowing grin.

  “But I’m glad it’s with Kevin.”

  “Well, he’s a very lucky boy,” Soo-jin says.

  I turn from the mirror and look at her. “I’m the lucky one. Kevin Wilton is the most handsome boy at school. I still can’t believe he asked me.”

  “Of course he asked you, Ellie! You’re a wonderful girl.”

  “It’s just that . . . he’s probably the most popular boy in our class. He could go to the dance with anyone, but he asked me. He realized he’d like to spend the evening with someone he can talk to, someone he can have an intelligent conversation with.”

  I keep going. I don’t usually share this much, but there’s something about Soo-jin that makes me go on and on. Since my mother died five years ago, there’s been nobody I could talk to—besides my journals, that is. Until she came along.

  “We were in the library. I was working on my novel—the one about the time-traveling princess—and was so into it that I didn’t see him coming. He coughed to get my attention, and you could imagine how shocked I was to see Kevin Wilton—the Kevin Wilton—standing there. He asked if he could see my algebra homework. At first I thought he was going to copy my answers, and my heart sank a little. He’s quite smart, and I know he could do it on his own if he tried. But all he did was look at my paper for about two seconds, and then he pulled out the chair next to mine.”

  “And then?” Soo-jin looks at me like I’m about to read off the winning lottery numbers.

  “He sat in the chair, backward. He always sits in chairs backward. And then he looked right in my eyes and asked me if I would go to the dance with him.”

  “That’s very romantic.”

  “It was.” I sigh. “Just like in my daydreams.”

  I’ve been in love with Kevin since first grade, ever since he told me he liked my poem about George Washington. It’s not like we’ve talked much since, but I’ve always hoped he’d notice me again. And now he has.

  “You deserve all the happiness, Ellie.” For a second, Soo-jin looks like she might cry, but then her face brightens. “Can we go downstairs and take some pictures?”

  I can’t help glancing in the mirror one last time. I smile at the girl staring back at me.

  I hold my skirt up as I carefully navigate the steps. The front door slams, and Ashlyn comes racing into the house. She’s got a scowl on her face, which just gets more severe when she sees me.

  “Ashlyn,” Soo-jin says, “doesn’t Ellie look beautiful?”

  Ashlyn barely looks my way as she passes me on her way up the stairs. “She looks like a hundred-year-old doily,” she mutters under her breath.

  Soo-jin doesn’t hear her, but I do. And I suspect that’s just what Ashlyn had hoped for.

  When my dad first told me about Soo-jin, the first thing he mentioned was that she had a daughter my age. I was thrilled. I had always wanted a sister, and this was the next-best thing. But then I found out that Soo-jin’s daughter was Ashlyn, and my sisterly dreams burst into flames.

  Of all the girls in the world, my new “sister” had to be Ashlyn. Ashlyn, who actually found Little Women boring. Ashlyn, whose idea of a good read is Star magazine. Ashlyn, who can’t write anything that’s longer than 140 characters.

  At school, Ashlyn pretends she doesn’t even know me. Of course, nobody would ever mistake us for sisters. And it’s not because she’s Korean and I’m white. It’s because she’s everything I’m not—outgoing, social, and gorgeous. While I eat lunch in the library alone, everyone wants to eat with Ashlyn. While I’m invisible, everyone knows Ashlyn. While I don’t have many friends, everyone loves Ashlyn.

  And she reminds me of that every single day.

&nbs
p; “Wait a minute.” Ashlyn stops on the step above me. She’s staring at my head, her face scrunched up like she’s just been diving into dumpsters.

  Soo-jin and I both stop and look up at her.

  “Mom!” Ashlyn screeches. “Is that—is that Halmoni’s pearl headband?”

  “Yes, it is. And your grandmother would be so happy that it’s being worn. Doesn’t it match Ellie’s dress perfectly?” Soo-jin touches the top of my head, tucking a piece of loose hair into the band.

  “You always tell me I can’t wear it because it’s only for special occasions!”

  “This is a special occasion, Ashlyn,” Soo-jin begins. “And it matches Ellie’s—”

  “Whatever.” Ashlyn turns around and stomps up the steps before Soo-jin can finish.

  Soo-jin’s lips form a thin line. “I’m sorry about her. She’s just upset that . . . well . . . She’s having a tough time adjusting to a blended family.”

  I want to tell Soo-jin that it isn’t easy for me, either. Although my dad and Soo-jin have been together for a couple of years, we only moved in together a few months ago. It was really weird to go from living with just my dad to living with two more people, especially when one of them is Ashlyn. Our old, quiet life was replaced with blasting music and constant chatter (Ashlyn loves the sound of her own voice), but I still try to be kind.

  Instead, I just smile. I don’t want to upset Soo-jin; she’s trying so hard to treat me like family.

  While the doily comment still rings in my ears, I remind myself that Ashlyn isn’t going to the dance. At least I don’t have to wonder if she’ll make snarky comments about me in front of her friends. Without Ashlyn there, I can focus on someone who sees my good traits. I can focus on Kevin.

  Soo-jin positions me in front of the fireplace. Then she calls my dad out of his office. Dad refuses to learn how to use a smartphone, so Soo-jin hands him the camera while she fusses with my dress.

  Dad pauses before he snaps the picture.

  “Oh, sweetie. Your mother’s dress looks beautiful on you.” Dad smiles, but it’s one of those sad smiles where his mouth looks happy but his eyes look faraway. “She would be so proud right now.”