“Okay, then!” I said, grabbing Roux by the shoulder and practically tossing her toward my bedroom. “Why don’t you go find something for me to wear?” I said. “It should take you a while, right?”
Roux was still cracking up at Angelo’s answer. “I love him!” she told me. “Why does everything sound better when a British person says it?”
“Jet lag. Focus on my outfit. Think Audrey Hepburn.”
“I’m not a miracle worker,” Roux protested, but she went anyway as I turned back toward my parents and Angelo.
“Who,” my mother demanded, “is that?”
“That’s Roux,” I said. “My friend, remember? Excuse me, ‘friend’?” I made air quotes around the last word. “She just wants to help me get ready.” I glanced behind me to make sure that Roux wasn’t standing nearby, then I turned back and dropped my voice. “Her parents travel a lot and they’re, like, never home. All she has is a housekeeper who doesn’t work weekends.”
“What about other friends?” my dad asked, but I could tell that my parents were softening. They’re big on family and togetherness.
“Um, touchy subject,” I said. “There was sort of a scene last year. It got messy. Teenage girls are nuts, did you know that? You really lucked out with me. Anyway, she doesn’t have other friends.”
“She’s quite a whirlwind,” Angelo said. “But she seems to have excellent taste in suits, non?”
“Are you insane?” my mother said to him. “What were you thinking!”
My dad closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maggie,” he said, “explain to me again how you have a date.”
“Um, he asked?” No one said a word. “And I said yes?”
“Well, I think it’s a wonderful idea. I do,” Angelo said as my mother glared at him. “Maggie is merely doing her assignment, and quite well, as a matter of fact. She seems to have assimilated in record time.”
“Yes, I have,” I said, agreeing, but then my mother glared at me and I shut up.
“Also,” Angelo continued, as calm as ever, “let’s all remember what it’s like to be young and in this job.”
Well, that certainly did the trick. Both of my parents grew thoughtful, rather than pissed. “If you want,” I offered, “you can give me a curfew.”
My parents looked at each other. “Don’t look at me!” my mom said. “I have no idea!”
“Midnight?” my dad guessed. “Eleven?”
“Two,” I said.
“In Manhattan on a Friday night?” my mom asked. “Uh-uh. No way.”
“Most of the kids I go to school with don’t even have curfews,” I pointed out. “If you make me come home at eleven, I’m not going to get anything accomplished and they’re going to think I’m weird. Well, weirder.”
“What’s Roux’s curfew?” my dad asked.
“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know what that is.”
“I don’t know what what is?” she asked. “And Maggie, is that your closet? Because there are some beautiful pieces in there that are wasting away on some equally beautiful hangers.”
I jerked a thumb in Angelo’s direction. “He did most of my clothes shopping for me.”
“Well done, sir!” Roux raised her palm for a high five, and then, in front of my very own eyes, Angelo high-fived her back.
My dad made a strangled sound and started pouring the wine.
“I don’t know what what is?” Roux asked again.
This should be good. “Roux,” I said, turning to her, “when’s your curfew?”
She pretended to think for a second. “Um, I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with the word. Is it Greek? Latin, perhaps?”
Angelo started to laugh and Roux giggled. “Kidding! I don’t have a curfew, Mr. and Mrs. Silver. My parents trust me to do my own thing.”
“Twelve thirty,” my mom said.
“Do I smell chili?” Roux asked.
Thirty minutes, three near-burns with the flatiron (Roux’s mistakes, my scars), two stubbed toes (mine after walking into the bathroom wall), and a bowl of chili (Roux’s) later, I was ready to go meet Jesse.
“Okay, I’m just gonna say it,” Roux told me. “You look beautiful. Why do our parents send us to private school when we both have all these amazing clothes?”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy looking at my reflection in the mirror. Roux had put me in dark jeans, that pink-not-salmon sweater, and leopard-print ballet flats. She even did my makeup, and although she almost blinded me with the mascara wand, the efforts paid off. I looked, for the first time in my life, like myself.
Roux grinned at our reflection in the mirror. “Jesse is going to flip his shit.”
“That sounds terrible. Let’s hope not.”
“And why are you so tall? I feel like a garden gnome next to you.” She looked really happy, though, and I knew she was in her element.
“Oh, c’mon,” I told her. “You don’t look like a garden gnome. You’d never wear that little hat they all wear.”
“Yes, but the pants look comfy.”
When my parents saw me for the first time, I swear that I saw my mom’s lip tremble, but all she said was, “You look very pretty, sweetie.” Then she hugged me, so I knew all was forgiven with the not telling about the date thing.