The Moon and More(47)
Author: Sarah Dessen

Jean nodded, then slid off the table, still clutching her purse, and I stepped back to let her pass. Then I watched as Daisy ripped off and replaced the paper cover on the table, put the top back on the wax, then dropped the tweezers with a plunk into a container of cleaning solution. Just like that, everything was clean and reset. Unlike so much else in the world.

Outside in the salon, we found Benji examining the display of gel fill-ins. “Hey Emaline,” he called out when he saw me. “Did you know they use wood sanders to file these things?”

“I did not,” I replied.

“It’s so cool! They have to wear masks and everything.”

I smiled, then turned to Daisy, who was behind me. “Benji, this is my friend Daisy. Daisy, Benji.”

He stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Daisy, impressed, took it. “And you as well. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m just along for the ride right now,” he explained, all casual. “I’m hard to entertain.”

She looked at me, raising her eyebrows. I shrugged, then said, “We’re on our way to the office. There’s some kind of towel crisis.”

“Sounds serious,” she said, as we started outside.

“Margo’s got some new system, all computerized,” I told her. “It’s working as well as you’d expect.”

“Well, maybe you can totally shake it up for her,” she suggested. “Change everything, really quickly. Since you’re on a roll with that today, and all.”

I just looked at her. “I’m really not doing it on purpose.”

“I know. It’s just . . .” She glanced at Benji, choosing her words carefully. “A lot to take in.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Oh!” She snapped her fingers. “Before I forget. This will cheer you up. Wait right here.” I watched her as she went back inside, over to the coat rack by the door, and removed a hanging bag. She unzipped it as she walked back. “Check these out. I found them last time I was at Dolly’s, that vintage store in Durham I told you about? They’re for the Beach Bash.”

I looked at the contents, which appeared to be two very fluffy and ruffled dresses, one pink, one blue. They looked like something Little Bo Peep would wear. In Candy Land. “The thought of wearing this is supposed to cheer me up?’

“They won’t look like this,” she said, sounding offended. “Once I’m done, you won’t even recognize them. But the colors are perfect, since I’m thinking of going with a candy theme.”

“We’re wearing candy?”

“The theme, the vision, is candy.” She sighed, looking at Benji. “Do you know your sister has no sense of fashion-forwardness whatsoever?”

“What’s fashion-forwardness?” he asked.

“Must be genetic,” I said. She zipped the bag back up, turning her back to me. “Hey, hey, I’m just joking. I know they’ll be great. They always are. You’re a genius, Daze.”

This made her smile. “We do have a reputation to uphold.”

“You do,” I said. “All I have to do is wear what I’m told and show up.”

The truth was, I would have liked to be able to take some credit for the fact that Daisy and I had won the Best-Dressed Couple award at the annual Colby Beach Bash for two years running. But it was all Daisy, ever since we’d started attending together in middle school. She was the one who spent the year searching out fabrics, patterns, and inspiration in order to come up with the perfect vision, which she then executed, single-handedly, to her typical high standards. I just got fitted a few times and poked with the occasional straight pin, a small price to pay for half the bragging rights.

“I can’t believe the Beach Bash is happening so soon,” I said to Daisy now, as she hung the garment bag over one arm. “I feel like we just graduated.”

“Thirty-six days to go,” she told me. There was that exactness again; the girl lived by her calendar, with several backups. She was like NASA she was so organized. “Not that I’m keeping track.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “Maybe explain to your brother what fashion-forward means.”

“I will,” I told her. “As soon as I figure it out myself.”

She smiled, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. “Call me as soon as you get off work. You hear me?”

I hugged her back. “I hear you.”

“Nice to meet you, Benji,” she said, turning to go back inside.

“You, too!” he replied. And then, again, he was running out ahead of me to the car, like a dog on one of those retractable leashes, grabbing all the distance possible before he got pulled back.

In the car, I checked my messages. Besides the text earlier from Margo in response to my inquiry about more towels—No towels. Come back for further instruction—I had two new voice mails.

“Emaline, hello, it’s me.” Pause. “Um, Theo.” Another pause, during which I could think of nothing but that kiss among the toasters. “I just spoke to Ivy and she’d really like us to go ahead and nail Clyde down for an interview as soon as possible. I mean, you know, at his convenience, of course. But today. Preferably soon? So if you could”—here, someone in the background was saying something—“call him and set that up, we’d really appreciate it.” More direction from Ivy. Then, “Just call me back as soon as you can. Thanks!”

I hit Delete, looking at Benji, who was fidgeting in his seat, tapping one foot while drumming two fingers on the open window. The next message began.

“Emaline, it’s me again. Theo.” I sighed, then cranked the engine. “So Ivy thinks it would be best if we could just get Clyde’s direct number? So that we don’t have to bother you with these requests? I explained to her that he preferred to go through you, but”—muffled noises, voices, static—“anyway, if that’s possible, you can just text his info to me and I’ll take it from there. But if not, you know, just call me back”—more muffling—“as soon as you can. Thanks!”

“Oh for God’s sake,” I said out loud. Pushy, driven, whatever they chose to call it: it was still annoying.

Instantly, Benji froze, dropping his drumming fingers, silencing the bouncing leg. “Sorry,” he said quietly.