Conspiracies - Mercedes Lackey [37]
It turned out that the refreshments were pretty sparse—but then again, only someone like Murr-cat would have room for any kind of snacks after that dinner. There was punch and there were soft drinks—but not in cans or bottles, you had to ask the “bartender” for one and you only got a cup at a time, unless you were a boy, getting a drink for a girl, too. The boys were supposed to do that. The girls were not supposed to do the same.
There were shiny gold cardboard tiaras for the girls and shiny black cardboard top hats for the guys, and noisemakers all bunched up in the centers of the tables, waiting, but hardly anybody even looked at those. No one was wearing them.
“Welcome to our joyous celebration,” Muirin said, straight-faced. “Happy New Year. Be festive if it kills you.”
Now that she wasn’t concentrating on eating and making sure she did all the right things with the right silverware, Spirit got a chance for a good look at the other gowns, starting with Addie’s. It was strapless, with a chiffon scarf, corset-like top, and huge, flowing chiffon skirt, all in a pale ice blue. Like Muirin’s, it was pretty obvious that this hadn’t come from the Little Closet of Horrors, either. Addie didn’t wear jewelry, though she had matching silk flowers in her hair, and not the kind you got at a discount store; these would have looked real, except for the color. Bird-of-paradise flowers didn’t come in blue—though, of course, if you had the right powers, you could turn them blue.
As she looked at the other girls sitting down or milling around, it was really obvious who had gowns of their own, and who had been stuck with the Closet. Poor Elizabeth was one of the latter, bundled into an ill-fitting seafoam horror that made her skin look yellow, and bunched up around her waist. It made her look fat, which was pretty hard to do, considering how slender she was. Elizabeth wasn’t sitting down; she kind of hovered at the edge of the crowd as if she wasn’t sure what to do.
It occurred to Spirit at that point that, unless some of the others had made their dresses—she supposed that was possible; after all, there was a theater group, and a costume shop, so there had to be sewing machines—this was a good way to tell who had money and who didn’t. Anyone who could have a real formal clearly did.
Judging by the lack of Ugly, most of the kids, the girls, anyway, had money.…
“Do I get to keep this?” she asked Muirin. “The dress, I mean.”
Muirin shrugged. “Put it in your closet. If they don’t demand it back, it’s yours. I don’t suppose you know how to sew?” she added out of the blue.
Spirit flushed, because … well, that was one of the things her mom had insisted she learn along with her homeschooling. Most of her clothing was homemade. No, not was, had been, because it all burned up in the fire. The last two years before the accident she’d been making all of her own clothes rather than suffer her mom’s tastes. The only thing they’d ever bought was blue jeans. “Uh, yeah…” she said. “Pretty well. I mean, not like you, but I can do basic stuff.”
“Good. Your payment for that dress is to help me. No one ever wants to get stuck in the Bridal Rejects dresses twice.” Muirin licked her lips. “I collect a lot of favors around October and November, and again before the Spring Dance at the end of the term.”
Spirit blinked. “You mean…”
Muirin began pointing out the dresses she’d remade, refitted, or sewn completely from scratch. “There’s a certain amount of raiding the Theater Department fabric that we can get away with,” she said with a smirk. “Of course, they keep buying up Prom Zombies and sticking them in the closet,