The Hidden - Jessica Verday [60]
I remembered those words coming from someone else. Caspian had said them to me once. I glanced away, out the window. A pickup truck passed us on the right, with two guys in the front seat. They were keeping pace with us, and Beth noticed.
“That driver is kind of cute,” she said. Leaning over, she smiled flirtatiously at them. The driver honked his horn, and his passenger did some sort of hand motion that either meant Call me or Give me more. I couldn’t tell which.
“Keep us on the road, Beth,” I said with a grin when she kept looking at them.
“You never know. Those could be our Hollow Ball dates.”
The truck edged forward, the driver holding up a sheet of paper next to his window with a phone number scribbled on it. Hey, hotie, textt me, it said.
I burst out laughing as Beth made a face. “At least we know they can spell,” I said to her. She stepped on the gas, blowing past them with a smile, and her laughter filled the car.
“Oh, well. Guess neither one of them was Prince Charming after all.”
We came to a ramp and slowed down, pulling off at exit twenty-four. The road went through a little town with a speed limit of thirty-five, which Beth had a hard time staying at, and we bumped along the way. The town was one giant pothole.
“We’re looking for Denim Street,” Beth said, keeping an eye on street signs. “How fitting.”
It came up on our left, and she made the turn. A bright orange cement building with a pink and green striped awning sat surrounded by vacant storefronts. The parking lot was filled to capacity. “Guess the secret’s out,” I mused. “Looks like everyone else knows about this place too.”
“Great,” Beth said. “I hope there’s still some good stuff left.”
We parked two blocks away and walked down to the store. Two girls were struggling with a giant puffy garment bag that was snagged on the exit door, with another girl pushing behind them, trying to make her way out.
“I hope we don’t get trampled or anything,” I whispered as we ducked under the garment bag and slipped in.
“Stampede!” Beth said, mimicking a cowboy.
We walked into the main showroom, and immediately I saw why it was so busy. Rack upon rack filled the massive place, all sorted by designer, color, or occasion. It was a free-for-all. Girls everywhere were pulling out handfuls of dresses at a time.
“How are we supposed to find what we want?” I asked, taking it all in.
“Start at one end and pull what you want. Pull what you’re unsure of too, in case I want it, and I’ll do the same. But be careful. I heard about this brawl that started over in the Betsey Johnson section, and it took the cops to pull everyone apart. Assault and battery charges were filed.”
“Jeez, Beth.” I looked at her. “What did you bring us into?”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Just stick with me. All my years of running track will come in handy when I book it from one end of the room to the other to beat out the girl who is grabbing the perfect gown.”
“Oh, I’m definitely sticking with you. No doubt about it.”
We headed into the fray, and divvied up sections. I found myself on one end of a metal rack, thumbing through dresses and shouting back to her when I found something.
“There’s a pink dress with one shoulder strap and some sequins on the hem here,” I called out. “You want it?”
“Light pink or hot pink?” she asked.
“Hot pink.”
“If it’s in my size, pull it.”
I yanked the dress off the hanger and draped it over my shoulder, then continued flipping through the plastic dress coverings. I wasn’t sure what I wanted yet. Purple? Blue? Or maybe something pink? To match Beth.
A little voice in the back of my head started whispering, What color would Caspian like? Something green to match his eyes? Or black? To match the stripe in his hair?
I tried to push those thoughts away. I tried not to think about the pang that hurt my heart.
“Yo, Abbey!” Beth suddenly called. “What about this?”
She held up a deep red sleeveless satin dress that looked like something a flamenco dancer would wear to do the tango in. It had a plunging neckline, a thigh-high slit, and black roses