Poppy’s eyes found and held hers for as long as Rose had ever locked eyes with anyone, the fire in them transmitting a crackling message that sounded likeI wish that for you, too. Then Poppy flicked her eyes down, scanning Rose from collar to shoes.
“That’s not going to work,” she said flatly. “You look like a librarian.”
It seemed Rose’s admission hadn’t moved Poppy to treat her with kid gloves. It heartened Rose, even as the comment stung. “This was my best shot,” she said. She gestured to her closet. “And in there is a lot of the same, but feel free to give it a go.”
Poppy disappeared behind the closet’s heavy oak door, riffled through Rose’s sparse but serviceable collection, then gasped. “Okay, this is so obviously it.”
“What’s ‘it’?”
Poppy crossed the room in two strides, a black dress in her hands. “I have no idea why you bothered with anything else.”
Rose worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “You don’t think it’s a little much?”
Poppy held it against Rose, tucking the sides in at her hips. “That depends,” she said. “This is a fresh start. You get to be anyone you want. What if you were the girl who wears this dress?”
Poppy gathered Rose’s hair and twisted it up into a loose swirl, pinning it in place with her fingers. Rose studied herself in the mirror. She’d never actually meant to wear the dress. It had been an impulse buy one Saturday at a county flea market, tucked behind a rack of heavy men’s jackets and button-downs. The handwritten price tag had nearly stopped her heart, but before she walked away the woman at the booth reached out, covered Rose’s hand with her own, and tore the tag off.
“Sale today,” she said. “You name your price.”
Rose handed over a crumpled twenty-dollar bill, and in return, the woman folded the dress into a brown paper bag.
“This isn’t just any dress,” she whispered. “It was lucky for me. I mean,lucky. It’s the reason I was in the right place at the right time. I hope it’s lucky for you, too.”
Later, while packing for school, Rose had nearly left it behind, certain it would be a waste of a hanger. But the small, stubborn part of her that still believed in luck tucked it into her suitcase anyway. What if the luck rubbed off? What if it changed something?
Poppy’s eyes pleaded, and the thick black lace hung around Rose’s frame, desperate to be worn. So Rose made a decision that would change everything. She decided she would try her hand at becoming a bold person who wore beautiful things.
They took small shots of Grey Goose—a parting gift from Poppy’s mother—to steel themselves against the cold and the nerves; then Poppy led the way across the quad and down a long, winding staircase to the first level of the senior dorms, still empty for freshman orientation and the perfect breeding ground for precocious first-years. Poppy had warned her that getting ready would be the best part of the night, but disappointment still crept in as the sky darkened. Twinkle lights lined the windows, casting a glow that struck Rose as eerie when paired with music that sounded like the last gasps of her parents’ old dishwasher. Everyone wore a variation of the same tight black top, long-and-short-sleeved polo, dark jeans with designer buttons. The music was too loud and the people were too animated. Rose thought longingly of her bed. She could be cinnamon swirled in her sheets beneath the comforter that had followed her from middle school through the present, a book in her hands, a cool Vermont breeze rustling the curtains Poppy had hung earlier that afternoon. She would be safe there, beyond the perception of anyone who might pass judgment and find her unworthy.
Rose weighed the pros and cons of leaving and could not reconcile flight with her desire to start over. She took a sip of punch for the isolated teenager she’d once been—the girl she owed it to, to try.
“Rose!” Poppy called from across the room. “Come over here!”
They’d gotten separated during a buoyant rendition of “Livin’on a Prayer,” and until now, Poppy hadn’t been particularly worried about coming back together. Rose pushed her way through the mass of young men and women, following the sound of Poppy’s voice, toward a corner where Poppy and a tall man in a red-and-white flannel looked to be getting very well acquainted. Someone caught her elbow before she could figure out what was so important.
“Jess,” the man holding her elbow said, then shook his head. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re not Jess.” He let her go.
“No,” she said. “I’m not.” He was tall and lanky with a mess of curly brown hair that looked like it had been cut unevenly around the ears. Rose had never seen anyone under the age of sixty in a sweater vest, but he’d clearly found it the most appropriate attire he could conjure for this party. It struck her that the two of them would have complemented each other in her original outfit, dressed like a pair of librarians expert at pulling just the right books from the stacks. There was something in his eyes, or in the punch, or sewed into the fabric of her dress that made her bold. “I’m Rose.” She held out her hand.
“You’ve got something on your teeth,” he said, taking it.
The blush spread across her cheeks like red wine seeping through white carpet. “What is it?”
“It’s red,” he said. “I think it’s lipstick?”
Rose wielded her sleeve like a windshield wiper until she’d mopped up every bit of saliva, then forced a smile. “Gone?”
“Like it was never there.” He crossed his hands in front of himself. “I’m Landon.”
“Landon,” she repeated. Rose had never felt like her name matched her. She felt it belonged to someone tall and elegant, with a neck long enough to pull off drop earrings. She couldn’thave known Landon for more than thirty heartbeats, but she felt his name was tailor-made for him.
“Rose!” Poppy called her again from across the crowded room.
“Does she belong to you?” Landon asked.
“My roommate.”
“They’ve got me rooming with a football player,” Landon said. “I’m not sure if they’ve had their first practice yet, but I might have to get the health department involved if the smell gets any worse.”