“There he is,” Kelsey Cooper said, spotting her boyfriend’s shaggy dark head above the crowd of people exiting the annual Joy to the World: Parker High Christmas Concert Extravaganza. “Over here!” she called, waving her program in the air. Her breath caught in her throat the same way it did every time she saw him.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and still tan from working outdoors at his grandparents’ apple orchard during the autumn harvest, Brenden Molloy had cheekbones to rival a Hollywood star’s and blue-green eyes that sparkled with wicked fun. He would be the cutest guy in school if it weren’t for tousled bangs that obscured half of his face. His hair was so long it curled underneath his ears and licked his shirt collar.
He shot her a quick grin as he walked over to Kelsey and her friend Gigi McClusky, taking graceful, loping strides, cradling his saxophone in its black case.
Instead of saying hello, Kelsey rushed up and pushed his hair back from his forehead.
“Hi to you, too,” he teased.
Kelsey sighed. Brenden had looked so nice earlier in his concert uniform—a black tuxedo—and part of her secretly wished that he could look like that all the time: not necessarily in black tie, but just a bit more polished and cleaned up than usual. He had already changed into his usual attire of holey concert T-shirt, battered jean jacket, weathered cotton Dickies, and thick-soled black combat boots. With his messy hair and collection of thick black armbands, he looked seriously grungy. Hot, but grungy.
In contrast, Kelsey was meticulously put together, as if she’d stepped off the pages of a glossy magazine, from her seashell-pink manicure to her tailored fur-trimmed red car coat. She was slim, with fair, clear, cornflower-blue eyes, burnished, honey-brown hair with strawberry-blonde highlights, and skin that tanned easily during the summer, sprinkling freckles across her nose and cheeks. Like Brenden, she was sixteen years old, and a junior at Parker.
“You were awesome!” Kelsey beamed. Brenden was first-chair saxophone—a big deal, since six kids who played the same instrument had vied for the same spot.
“Bravo!” their English teacher, Mrs. Townsend, interjected as she passed by, smiling warmly at Brenden. The Christmas recital was a town favorite—even the mayor never missed a performance.
“Yeah, cool solo,” Gigi drawled, although from her tone of voice it was obvious that she thought playing the interlude to “White Christmas” for the school orchestra was far from “cool.”
“Thanks,” Brenden mumbled, looking down at his boots.
Kelsey glanced from her boyfriend to her friend with a rising feeling of panic, wishing that they would miraculously find some way to get along. She should have known it had been a mistake to invite Gigi to the concert.
Gigi McClusky was the head of the Wade Hill crowd, a group of rich, snobby kids who all lived in the same ritzy part of town and had all attended the same small, private elementary school within the gated community. They were traditionally sent to boarding schools back east to prep for college, but recently a large, and growing, contingent were sent to Parker High. Until they’d arrived, Kelsey had never known there was anything wrong with her Target wardrobe, her dad’s ten-year-old Chrysler, or her trusty backpack. But the Wade Hill kids were dropped off in their parents’ BMW SUVs, shopped at Saks Fifth Avenue in the mall, and toted bags made of calfskin instead of canvas.
They had welcomed Kelsey into their ranks even though Kelsey wasn’t rich, snobby, or from Wade Hill. (Her fur-trimmed coat was a knockoff.) But she was prettier than the whole lot of them put together, and after all, they couldn’t call themselves the Beautiful People if they didn’t count the most beautiful girl in school among them.
Kelsey laced her arm through Brenden’s and gave it a squeeze. She would rather have kissed him but knew he was slightly embarrassed by PDA. He rarely even held her hand when they were out together. She wished he would be more demonstrative in public, although he more than made up for it when they were alone.
“Seriously, Bren, you guys rocked,” she said, a little too enthusiastically, hoping to smooth over Gigi’s passive-aggressive burn.
“Yep, we turned it all the way up to eleven,” Brenden deadpanned, making a reference to their favorite movie, This Is Spinal Tap. The image of the Parker High orchestra populated by aging British metalheads made Kelsey giggle, and soon she and Brenden were laughing at the shared joke while Gigi stood uncomfortably to the side.
“Well, I should go!” Gigi announced abruptly. “I told my dad I’d be home early tonight. There’s so much work we still need to do for the party!” She tossed her long, shiny, ebony-black hair over her shoulder. “Bye-yee,” she said, leaning over and affectedly kissing the air two inches away from each of Kelsey’s cheeks while Kelsey did the same to her. “Mwah! Mwah!”
Brenden tried not to roll his eyes. “Tell me again how you can stand her?” he grumbled, as they walked out of the auditorium through the revolving glass doors to the parking lot.
“She’s my friend,” Kelsey said tightly. “She’s nice to me.”
He shrugged, dropping the subject for once, and Kelsey was relieved. Brenden thought Gigi was a shallow airhead and typically didn’t hold back from telling Kelsey so, but it was too beautiful an evening for quarreling. Outside, a pristine blanket of snow covered everything from the old slate shingles on the building rooftops to the surrounding meadows and towering fir trees. The air smelled fresh and brisk, scented by the earthy, rich fragrance of pine.
“I love it here.” Kelsey sighed.
There was nothing special about Parker, Ohio—it was such a small town that its main drag consisted of a lone bank, beauty salon, and pizza parlor, as well as the three squat buildings that made up the entire public school system. An hour and a half away from Cleveland and forty-five minutes from the nearest mall, its most famous resident was a girl who’d tried out for a singing contest on TV last season but got cut on the first round. But every year during Christmas, Kelsey thought it was the best place in the world.
Across the street from the high school, the little wooden gazebo in the middle of the town square was decorated with evergreen garlands heavy with red holly berries and white mistletoe sprays. An enormous wreath festooned with silver pinecones hung over the entrance to the City Hall, and twinkling white lights wrapped around the candy-cane-colored barbershop poles added to the festive sight.
“It looks like a Hallmark card,” Kelsey said. “In a good way.”
“You say that every year.” Brenden smiled.
“I know, but it’s true.”
Brenden nodded at the wisdom of that statement. “Hey, what’s over there?” he asked, putting his saxophone case on the ground and motioning toward the distance. Kelsey swiveled to look to where he was pointing, only to feel a shock of something cold and wet on the back of her neck.
“Oh, no, you didn’t!” she squealed, shaking the snowball off. She immediately scooped a handful of snow with her gloved hands and plastered him in the face with it. Brenden hopped away, but Kelsey had a good arm and had soon pelted him with a half-dozen snowballs.
“Truce! Truce!” Brenden yelled, laughing hysterically as a volley of snowballs struck his torso. “I know you love to win.”
“Remember in third grade when I put that walkie-talkie in your closet?” Kelsey said. “You thought your GI Joes were talking to you!”
“Remember in fifth grade when I hid that frog in your lunchbox?” he taunted, packing a snowball and aiming for her pitching arm. “You screamed for a week!”
“Did not!” she howled, momentarily rendered off-balance by his offensive strike. She scrambled onto the snowbanks to collect more ammunition.
They reached the far side of the school parking lot, still throwing snowballs at each other. Once they were alone, Brenden grabbed Kelsey by the waist and they fell down into the snow, the two of them tumbling on the ground and laughing.
“There,” he said, brushing the snow off her hair.
She laughed breathlessly as Brenden put his arms and legs on top of hers, and began to wave them up and down to make a snow angel.
“That tickles!” Kelsey said, feeling the cold start to seep through her coat and sweater. But for once she wasn’t worried about how her hair or her clothes looked. Brenden was the only guy she’d ever known who could make her laugh so hard her belly ached. “It’s cold out here!” she gasped as a light snow began to fall, and the glow from the streetlights turned each snowflake into a flickering beacon.
In answer, Brenden leaned over her so that their faces were so close to each other that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Still cold?” he whispered, his eyelashes fluttering on her forehead, his fingers intertwining with hers.
“No …” She lifted her lips up to him for a kiss, and their mouths met, and she could taste snowflakes on his tongue.
“You love me, Kelseygirl?” he asked, looking deep into her eyes.
“I love you, Brenden James Molloy,” she whispered, pulling him closer so he could hear.
“Good, because I love you, too.” He grinned, getting up and lifting her to her feet.
The very first time they’d kissed was one afternoon last summer when they were shooting hoops in Brenden’s backyard. After he’d made several over-the-shoulder shots to flatten her 16–4, he’d turned to her and said, ultracasually, as if he were perusing a menu and ordering a hamburger, “I really like you.” She’d blushed and said she didn’t know what he was talking about; of course they liked each other—they were friends. They’d spent their childhoods bickering and teasing each other. Brenden had seen her sick with the chicken pox when they were five, and a few years later she was the only one who knew Brenden had cried when his parents split. So she didn’t know what he was getting at until he put the basketball down and looked at her straight in the eye.
“No, I mean, I like you like you,” he’d explained. Then he’d kissed her while the sun set behind the ravine, and he smelled like gum and coffee and tasted like something infinitely more delicious—like chocolate and boy-sweat, salty and sweet. It was the first and best kiss of her life. They were like Jennifer Garner and Mark Ruffalo in 13 Going on 30, except they hadn’t needed any magic wishing dust or a New York City idyll complete with Michael Jackson “Thriller” dance moves to find each other.
Now Brenden tenderly brushed the snow off her back, and they walked over to where he’d parked his motorcycle. Kelsey watched patiently as he secured his saxophone case in the rear rack with two bungee cords before climbing on herself.
“It’s looking good. Did you get it detailed?” she asked, admiring his ride.
“Uh-huh, did it myself this afternoon.” He smiled, handing over her helmet.
Brenden’s bike was a vintage 1965 Hog, the one thing his dad had left him. It was his pride and joy—he kept it well oiled and in prime condition, the chrome polished to a reflective shine. Many people in town had offered him good money to take it off his hands but he always refused. Kelsey knew he would never trade that bike for anything. It was part of him; it made him who he was. Without the bike, he was just some poor kid in ripped jeans riding the yellow school bus. But with the bike he was Marlon Brando in The Wild One, Dennis Hopper in Easy Rider, an artist, a rebel, a hero.
He swung over to the front seat and rubbed his hands together for warmth as he shivered under his thin, tattered denim jacket. Kelsey felt a pang as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
She knew how much Brenden wished he could afford a proper leather motorcycle jacket, like the matte black one with the silver zippers they’d spied in the Harley-Davidson store in downtown Cleveland one afternoon. But the jacket cost more than four hundred dollars brand-new, and there was no way Brenden would ever have that kind of money. He worked part-time at a garage but all his paychecks went straight to the Stop & Shop to help his mom put food on the table. His father’s alimony and child support checks never arrived on time, if at all.
But none of that mattered as Brenden kicked the Harley into gear and it revved up with a satisfying roar. As they drove off in the dusting snowfall, Kelsey pressed tightly against the strong back of the boy she loved, glad she was there to keep him warm.
School was out for winter break, so Kelsey dragged Brenden to the Parker Mall the next day, ostensibly because she had a coupon for Bed Bath & Beyond that she wanted to use to buy her mom a little something. Christmas was just a handful of days away. Sadly, with her meager allowance and the pittance she made babysitting, “a little something” was all she could afford for everyone on her Christmas list that year. But Kelsey was really at the mall to shop for him—she had saved up the most for Brenden’s gift. Although she had no idea how she would be able to buy him a present that would show how much she loved him with only forty-five dollars—all she’d managed to scrape together and save.
Forty-five dollars! What could anyone buy for someone you loved with all your heart for only forty-five dollars? Kelsey wanted to buy him something truly wonderful, something that would show him how much he meant to her.
They walked past the roped-off Santa’s House section, where crying kids were being escorted to sit on the bearded guy’s lap. The mall was bursting with eager, last-minute shoppers who swarmed the stores, ignoring the Salvation Army bell-ringers and their red buckets. After a quick kiss good-bye, Brenden and Kelsey went their separate ways with the tacit knowledge that each was shopping for the other.
Kelsey walked desperately from store to store, feeling more and more discouraged at the dismal offerings her budget would allow. At the Sharper Image, she contemplated a battery-powered razor; at the Apple store, a pair of fancy earbuds; and at Banana Republic, wool sweaters were marked down to thirty bucks. But nothing seemed right. Too cheap, too generic, too lame—and certainly not worthy of someone as special as Brenden.
The lack of money in her pocket made Kelsey feel pensive, and not quite in the Christmas spirit. After a fruitless hour, she met up with Brenden at their designated meeting place in front of the Starbucks and found he was similarly empty-handed.
“Get anything?” he asked.
She shook her head grimly. Her mood didn’t brighten when they walked by the food court and she noticed a bunch of Wade Hill girls—minus Gigi—holding court at a primo table. Brenden immediately began to study the fast-food menu overhead with focused concentration.
“Hey,” Kelsey greeted them, trying not to feel self-conscious in front of Gigi’s circle. She couldn’t help but wonder if they ever noticed that her jeans didn’t have the telltale wavy line stitched on the back pockets like theirs did.
“Hiiii, Kelsey,” they cooed. “Hey, Brenden.” The group of popular girls all looked alike, from their shiny straightened hair and whitened teeth, to their cozy cashmere sweaters, and their matching football-playing, clean-cut boyfriends in their varsity letter jackets and faded button-downs.
“Where’s Gigi?” Kelsey asked, glancing around.
“I think she’s out with her mom, getting her dress fitted,” a girl named Sarah answered excitedly. “Did you know? She’s getting her hair and makeup done for the party by some guy from Chicago! He has a salon in Paris, too! Her parents are flying him in! She’s so lucky!” Sarah sighed, her eyes wide with envy.
Gigi’s upcoming Christmas Eve Party/Sweet Sixteen Bash at the sprawling McClusky mansion was all anyone ever wanted to talk about ever since the invitations—embossed on creamy card stock as thick as cardboard—had landed in their mailboxes. The party was to be the biggest event the town had ever seen. The McCluskys had even hired a catering company and booked a DJ from Cleveland. To Kelsey, it sounded nothing short of magical, like one of those parties where the celebrant arrived at the event in a Cinderella carriage or hidden among a group of undulating belly dancers like she’d seen on MTV.
“Ehmagad, it’ll be so pimped out!” another girl enthused. “She told me they’re tenting the backyard!”
“They’ve invited everyone in town,” said a third.
“Well, everyone who matters!” a fourth corrected.
They all looked at Kelsey with anticipation. “You are coming, right?”
“I—I guess so, I mean, of course,” she replied, looking at Brenden meaningfully. But her boyfriend was acting as if memorizing all the ingredients of a giant burrito was the most important thing in the world just then.
“Why don’t you guys sit down?” a girl named Daphne asked, although her tone indicated she wasn’t too enthusiastic about the prospect. Kelsey always noticed that the girls weren’t as friendly to her when Gigi wasn’t around.
“Yeah, sit down,” Daphne’s boyfriend agreed, a little too readily, and Kelsey noticed Daphne’s mouth twitch in annoyance.
“Thanks, but we’ve still got a lot of shopping to do,” Kelsey said, trying not to feel too insulted when she noticed the palpable relief on the girls’ faces.
Brenden coughed and pulled on Kelsey’s sleeve.
“Well, uh, good seeing you guys …” She smiled apologetically as they inched their way past the clique’s brazen up-and-down stares.
When they were out of earshot and seated in a quiet corner with their food trays (a Diet Coke and a grilled cheese sandwich for her, a milkshake and gravy fries for him), Kelsey reached for Brenden’s hands underneath the table. “Sorry about that, but if I didn’t say hi they’d think I was rude.”
Brenden released his hands from hers. “I just don’t know why you care so much about what they think of you,” he said.
Kelsey’s father worked in a machine shop and her family was closer to the poorer side of things than the richer. They lived in a tidy little house off the main road with a front porch and a backyard that faced the woods. It was a decent neighborhood, a little run-down maybe, a little more lower-middle class than middle-middle class. And Brenden lived next door. Their block was certainly nothing like Wade Hill, which was a mile away, up near the mountains, where large, stone, colonial-style manors boasted views of the lake and looked imperiously over the town.
Gigi’s father was a successful oncologist at the Cleveland Clinic. It was rumored Gigi had enrolled at Parker only to have a greater chance at getting into Yale because of the geographical quota and the fact that she had no rivals for valedictorian. Her friends who’d prepped at Andover, Exeter, and St. Paul’s would face stiff competition.
“They’re just a bunch of dumb rich people,” Brenden complained, punctuating his sentence by pointing his straw in the air.
“You’re wrong, I don’t care what they think!” Kelsey protested, stealing a fry from his plate and dipping it in the pool of ketchup. “But I do want to be there for Gigi’s birthday.”
Gigi could be a bratty pain in the ass sometimes, but she was basically kindhearted. Their freshman year, she had even started a community outreach group to help the town’s “less fortunate.” Kelsey had joined the after-school club only to die of embarrassment when she found out Gigi had organized a charity food drive to help families in Kelsey’s own neighborhood. Kelsey never explained to her parents why there was a basket of canned goods on their porch one afternoon. They ended up donating it to a homeless shelter.
To her credit, Gigi never brought it up, for which Kelsey was glad, and the two girls had forged a real friendship. Kelsey was the only one who knew Gigi’s mom had battled alcoholism, and Gigi was always someone fun for Kelsey to gossip with. Most of the time, Gigi bit her tongue about Brenden, who certainly didn’t fit into her version of what an “ideal” boyfriend for Kelsey would look like—i.e., preferably one who didn’t have grease-stained fingers all the time. Gigi had even innocently inquired once why his parents had spelled his name incorrectly—the proper Irish way was “Brendan.” Kelsey had briskly pointed out that their town was full of phonetically spelled first names, like “Kitelynn” (Caitlin) and “Antwone” (Antoine)—not that it had helped her point much.
“The party will be fun, c’mon,” Kelsey cajoled in the food court. “I really want to go.”
She knew Brenden’s reluctance to attend the party stemmed from an incident the past summer. They’d been invited to a Wade Hill picnic by the lake, and Brenden had shown up in a pair of baggy denim cutoffs instead of surfer shorts like the rest of the guys. He was also the only one with two tattoos on his back—a leaping tiger and shamrock. But unlike the Wade Hill preppies, who were baby-soft and pink, regardless of their letterman jackets, Brenden was all tanned sinewy muscle, with a six-pack stomach and protruding hip bones.
“All right.” Brenden sighed. “If you want to go, I’ll take you.”
“You’re sure?” she asked keenly. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to.”
“Do I have a choice?” he joked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not really,” she admitted, feeling giddy.
“When have I ever said no to you?” he asked, blushing as she leaned over to kiss him smack on the lips in front of everyone in the food court.
“You won’t regret it, I promise,” she said. “Especially not when I’m wearing you-know-what.”
Now that Brenden had agreed to be her date for the evening—and her mind raced as she wondered how she could convince him to wear something more formal to the event—Kelsey finally allowed herself to be properly excited about Gigi’s party. Because for once in her life, she actually had the perfect outfit to wear for the occasion.
In the far reaches of her closet hung a dress carefully concealed in a plastic garment bag, stuffed with tissues and worn only once before. A real Cristóbal Balenciaga gown from the 1960s, made from the finest Parisian silk taffeta, given to her grandmother by the designer himself. A long, long time ago, Kelsey’s grandmother had been a model in New York, and had even walked the runways of Paris and Milan.
Kelsey’s mom still told stories about how her mother had been discovered by a visiting modeling scout at the bus station, and how she’d left the Midwest for a life of impossible glamour, dating wealthy men twice her age in the big city. Unfortunately, she had gotten pregnant by one of them—a married man, who promptly dumped her and disowned the child she carried. She returned heartbroken to Ohio and died shortly after giving birth to Kelsey’s mom.
The year before, Kelsey and her mom were cleaning out the attic when Kelsey came across a dusty old trunk. Inside she found the remaining tokens from her grandmother’s short life in the beau monde—yellowing magazine clippings of a slim, beautiful blonde whom Kelsey greatly resembled, Stork Club matchbooks, a Pan Am plane ticket to St. Moritz that had never been used. In the bottom of the trunk was a gray plastic garment bag.
“What’s this?” she’d asked her mother.
“Oh, I forgot all about it,” her mom said wistfully. “It was my mother’s and I’ve been meaning to give it to you one day. Open it.”
Inside was a silver silk Balenciaga dress, cut with a dramatic scooped neckline, fitted through the waist, so small and fragile that at first Kelsey was worried it wouldn’t fit—but it did, perfectly skimming her figure. The silk was as soft as rose petals. It was almost fifty years old, but the style was clean and classic, there was nothing dowdy or even faintly old-fashioned about it—it was modern, elegant, drop-dead gorgeous. It was her only real heirloom, the one reminder of a grandmother she had never even met.
The Balenciaga dress was the greatest treasure in her closet, and she’d been saving it for a very, very special occasion. She’d modeled it for Brenden in her room several times but had restrained from pulling it out to wear to any of the school dances. Somehow, slow-dancing across the foul lines on the gym’s basketball court just didn’t seem to do the dress justice.
Gigi McClusky’s swanky party, however, felt like the most opportune time to wear it. Everyone in town was breaking their bank accounts to be able to show up in their finest garments, and Kelsey was determined to look just as good.
They finished their meal and Kelsey, still feeling happy about the combined prospect of finally wearing her dress and having Brenden agree to be her date, excused herself to go to the ladies’ room.
She was just about to exit her stall when she heard the door open and the clicking of heels on the tile floor. Daphne’s and Sarah’s voices carried over the sound of the running water and hand-dryers, and Kelsey’s ears burned when she realized the Wade Hill girls were talking about … her.
“Did you check out the coat? The fur is so fake!”
“She’s not fooling anyone with that Kmart special.”
Hello, it’s from Old Navy, Kelsey thought indignantly.
“I can’t WAIT to see what she wears on Saturday!” Sarah whooped, as if Christmas had come early.
“What are you talking about?” a new voice asked, and Kelsey recognized Gigi’s level tones.
“Gi!” the girls screamed, as if they’d happened upon a celebrity. “What are you doing here?”
“My mom and I are picking out stuff for the gift bags,” Gigi said. “I bumped into the crew at the food court and the guys said you were all in here, as usual. So what’s up? What are we discussing?”
“What Kelsey Cooper’s going to wear to your party,” Sarah informed her.
“Probably that tired black sack she trotted out for Homecoming and Fall formals,” Daphne snipped. “Don’t you think?”
There was an expectant silence. The girls knew Gigi considered Kelsey a friend, and they wondered how she would react to such a nasty breach of etiquette.
Kelsey pressed her ear against the door, just as riveted to hear what her friend would say.
But the silence continued, and for a moment there was no sound but that of Gigi removing the cap from her lip gloss. “I guess,” she replied, applying a wand to her practiced pout.
I guess …
The words were like a blow … even Gigi thought she was a little pathetic for not having new clothes to wear … Gigi hadn’t even had the heart to defend her …
Trapped in the stall, Kelsey’s face burned crimson. I’ll show them. I’ll show them all. If they only knew what a prize she had hidden in her closet! The thought of her grandmother’s Balenciaga dress was a balm on her wounded pride, but it couldn’t take away the hurt she felt at Gigi’s betrayal. How could she?
“I really hope she wears those pleather heels again, they’re priceless. You know she actually told me they were ‘vintage’ designer?” Daphne chortled.
“Yeah, I hear that’s what they’re calling things from the Goodwill these days!”
“Oooh, snap!” Kelsey heard the sound of giggling and of palms slapping high fives.
“Okay, cut it out!” Gigi chastised with a sigh. “Get your claws back in, why don’t you? Give the girl a break.”
Kelsey’s hands were still shaking when she returned to the food court. It was just as she’d suspected—they all saw through her—saw through her discount clothes, the creative thrift-store outfits—they knew she wasn’t one of them, and she never would be. They were privileged and pampered, not so much mean but spoiled rotten. They would never understand what it was like to not have everything they ever wanted.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Brenden asked when he saw the look on Kelsey’s face.
“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head, her eyes blinking rapidly. Damn if she would let those stuck-up bitches make her cry! The dress, the dress—think about the dress. Think of how no one else at the party will be wearing a real haute couture gown.
Brenden decided not to push it and they left the food court. Kelsey walked around in a daze until they reached the opposite side of the mall and found themselves in front of Saks Fifth Avenue.
“Let’s go in,” she said, her eyes lighting up at the elegant display of sumptuous shearling coats and jewel-colored gowns on the mannequins. Saks Fifth was by far the nicest store in the mall, and although Kelsey knew she couldn’t afford to buy anything they sold, she loved to browse anyway, getting a contact high from all the fabulous designer merchandise. Maybe it would make her feel better.
Brenden made a face but he followed her inside, slouching in his thin jacket.
Kelsey walked purposefully through the maze of glittering cosmetic counters, ignoring the black-clad salesgirls wielding perfume bottles like spray guns, straight to the shoe salon. Goodwill indeed! She browsed through the tempting array of magnificent Italian footwear, her heart beating quickly at the sight of such fashionable abundance. Luxurious crocodile pumps, sexy velvet stilettos, rhinestone-encrusted sandals with dizzying price tags …
And then she saw them.
Metallic silver leather strappy sandals, with a spindly wooden heel and skating-rink-size crystals in a vertical pattern from ankle to toe.
Oh, what shoes!
“Look at these!” Kelsey cried, her hands trembling as she picked up the pair and showed them to Brenden.
“What’s so great about those shoes?” Brenden asked, hands jammed into his pockets, looking out of place in his gas-station shirt and Levi’s among the white leather couches. Brenden claimed that he never really understood her whole obsession with fashion, which he thought was kind of silly since Kelsey looked great in anything. He found fashion intimidating and elitist, a part of Kelsey’s life and aspirations that excluded him.
“They’re perfect,” Kelsey breathed, stroking the sandals with reverence. “They’ll match my grandmother’s dress perfectly. The silver is the same exact shade.” No one would ever laugh at her in those shoes—those shoes kicked serious ass—those shoes said, I am stylish, hear me stomp! They were a pair of man-killers, defiantly sexy, enviable to the extreme. With these shoes on her feet, the Wade Hill girls would surely shut up. Even Gigi would be impressed.
“Care to try them on, miss?” a salesman asked, appearing quietly by her side.
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head—try them on? Did she dare? She snuck a peek at the sole for the price tag—nine hundred and fifty dollars. Ouch! Was she even worthy of such decadence? But what could it hurt?
“You look about a six and a half?” the salesman purred. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” Kelsey said, feeling faint. She couldn’t believe she was actually going to try them on—that they would be hers if only for a little while.
“Huh,” Brenden said, gingerly taking a seat at the edge of the nearest chair and looking as if he would leap up as soon as anyone so much as looked at him the wrong way.
Kelsey sat down beside him, feeling like an impostor. Who was she to try on shoes of such craftsmanship and caliber? She couldn’t even afford the tax on those things. Part of her was ready to flee, but before she could, the salesman returned bearing an oversized, elegant shoebox, and knelt in front of her feet. He removed the lid and unwrapped the shoes from the crinkly tissue. The crystals refracted the light in a rainbow of brilliant colors.
Hypnotized, Kelsey removed her worn cowboy boots (bought for five bucks at the Value City thrift store) and peeled off her socks. She folded the hems of her jeans up to the knee and only then did she finally slide her feet onto the soles, wiggling her toes through the soft kidskin leather. She bent down to buckle the tiny little straps.
“What do you think?” she asked, looking up at Brenden, her eyes wide and shining. She straightened up and began walking, the high four-inch heels forcing her to walk with a seductive sway.
She smiled at Brenden—a dazzling, heartbreaking smile that lit up her entire face. There was nothing she wanted so much right then as the jeweled sandals on her feet, and yet at the same time she was fully resigned to the fact that they would never be hers to call her own.
Brenden studied her thoughtfully, and after a long time in which she thought he would never say anything, he clasped his hands tightly together. “I think you look absolutely gorgeous,” he said at last. Then he broke his gaze and looked down at the carpet intently, as if the answer to the meaning of life could be found in its plush pile.
Kelsey examined herself in the mirror. What a star-studded entrance to Gigi’s party she would make in her Balenciaga dress and these Jimmy Choo shoes! She could picture the jealous looks on her so-called friends’ faces. Their jaws would drop with their vape pens. But alas, she might as well have asked for the moon. The shoes were impossible to obtain—a glittering, adored prize that would forever be out of her reach.
“You think so?” she asked, shaking her head. “I’m not so sure.”
“Miss?” the salesman queried. “Shall we wrap these up?”
“No, thank you,” Kelsey said politely, sitting back on the chair. “They’re not for me.”
She unbuckled the straps with deliberate, reluctant grace, trying to keep her chin up, but all the while knowing that on Saturday night she would have to pair her grandmother’s fabulous dress with her mother’s old black pumps, which were too big for her and worn at the heel. Worse, those girls were right—they were made of pleather—“plastic leather.”
“Ready?” she asked Brenden, when she could trust herself to speak.
A few days later Kelsey was beginning to seriously freak out about Brenden’s present. The clock was ticking; tomorrow night was Christmas Eve. She caught a bus back to the mall by herself, determined to pick out something. Her budget hadn’t changed—she still had no money of her own to speak of aside from the measly two twenties and a crumpled five. But she couldn’t let Christmas come and go without giving him something.
She stood longingly in front of his favorite guitar store, twisting the ends of her sweater nervously, the shrill forced merriment of the piped-in carols making her antsy. She knew Christmas shopping wasn’t about how much money you spent. It was about watching the face of someone you loved light up in happiness upon receiving a carefully picked-out present. Gifts didn’t have to be expensive to be meaningful. But nevertheless she wished forty-five dollars bought something more substantial than a gift certificate at Radio Shack.
“Kelsey!”
She turned around. Gigi was bearing down on her, holding aloft her signature venti cup of soy-milk mochaccino and a dozen overstuffed shopping bags from a variety of expensive boutiques.
“Oh, hi,” Kelsey said, trying to muster the usual enthusiasm. She still hadn’t quite forgiven her friend for what she’d overheard the other afternoon. Although technically, Gigi hadn’t done anything wrong—she had asked the girls to quit it—albeit after they had already raked Kelsey over the fashion coals. Gigi’s lukewarm “I guess” wasn’t exactly a stab in the back, but Kelsey felt like asking “Et tu, Brute?” just the same.
“You okay?” Gigi asked, smiling nervously, picking up on Kelsey’s aloof manner.
Kelsey shrugged. “I can’t seem to find anything for Brenden for Christmas,” she admitted, although she would rather drink a gallon of her dad’s gross eggnog before she ever confessed she was looking for a gift in the under-forty-five-dollar range.
“Totally! Boys are so hard to shop for,” Gigi sympathized, smiling broadly. “I can’t find anything for Jared either. I’ve been so bad! All I’m doing is buying stuff for myself. They have the cutest things at J. Crew—wanna go see? Maybe you’ll find something for Brenden there.”
Kelsey had no choice. She had to hang out with Gigi now, and give up the perfect-gift quest momentarily. Her friend dragged her from store to store, from Topshop to Zara, and with a sinking heart, Kelsey found herself inside the shoe salon at Saks Fifth Avenue once again.
Gigi tossed her bags on the ground and began barking orders to the scurrying salesmen, who hurried to keep up with her.
Kelsey walked over to the familiar display and found her beloved sandals on a Lucite pedestal. They were just as beautiful as she remembered.
“Those are cute!” Gigi said, suddenly appearing by her side and scooping up the pair. “Can I get these in a six and a half?” she called to the nearest salesman. “For my party?” she asked Kelsey. “Don’t you think?”
Kelsey’s stomach dropped. Gigi probably wouldn’t even wear them. She’d already told Kelsey how she’d picked out a sweet pair of the latest platform heels to wear with her dress when her family was in Chicago the other month. The thought of her precious shoes ending up in the bottom of Gigi’s closet was almost too much for Kelsey to bear.
But the owl-faced salesman came back with a frown. “We’re out of the six and a half, ma’am. I believe I sold the last pair this morning. I’m sorry.”
Gigi grimaced. “Oh, well. I’ll just take these Pradas then,” she said, thrusting several pairs of shoeboxes at the guy.
Kelsey exhaled.
That evening, Brenden came over, and they took a walk through the woods behind their houses to look over the ravine. The jagged edge of the sloping cliff opened up to a true wilderness. Growing up, they had chased each other through the forest of trees, falling over logs, collecting frogs, catching poison ivy. Every winter since Kelsey could remember they went sledding down the hill that ran by the frozen creek and afterward her mom would make them hot chocolate with puffy marshmallows on top.
“You’ve been quiet lately. What’s up?” Brenden asked. He himself appeared jumpy and excited, on the verge of telling her something, but then he would bite his lip and look away.
Kelsey shook her head and inhaled deeply. The air was tinged with just a slight edge of burning firewood—a pleasant, smoky aroma that she always associated with Christmas. The moon shone above them, barely a crescent, before disappearing into the clouds.
“C’mon, babe, talk to me,” Brenden said, putting his arms around her and leaning his head on her shoulder. Usually it was Kelsey who tried to draw Brenden out of his shell, but not this time.
“I was just thinking …” She sighed. Thinking of Gigi’s upcoming party, and all the anxieties that it had wrought—the dress, the shoes, the myriad disappointments before she had even stepped one foot inside the heated tents. Part of her wanted to be done with it.
Brenden rubbed his hands up and down the back of her coat, and she ran her fingers through his thick dark hair. He would be so handsome if he just wore it back, so that everyone could see his face—his sculpted, aquiline nose, and his deep, chameleon blue-green eyes. Eyes that were looking at her intently, as if trying to guess the secret behind her sorrowful mood.
They stood silently for a long time, just holding each other.
“Whatever it is that’s bothering you, I’m sure everything’s going to turn out all right,” Brenden said gently. “It’s Christmas after all.”
“You’re right, it’s not important.” She pressed against him, and they started with just baby kisses, a kiss on the forehead, the nose, the chin, and then she opened her mouth to his, and they kissed, with a growing passion, until his hands were no longer on top of her coat but underneath it, and up the back of her shirt. His palms rested flat against the small of her back, and she had dug her own hands underneath his denim jacket, inside his flannel shirt, and still they were kissing, and then he was kissing her neck, her clavicles, so softly that each kiss felt like a dance of butterflies against her skin.
Brenden buried his face in her neck and she hugged him tightly, suddenly noticing how much he was shaking from the cold underneath his thin denim jacket.
And that’s when she knew.
She knew exactly what she was going to get him for Christmas, but more important, she knew exactly how she would be able to afford it.
Her hands suddenly felt clammy and cold, knowing the sacrifice she would soon have to make.
Christmas Eve morning shone clear and bright, and in her bedroom Kelsey was standing in front of her closet, contemplating a gray plastic garment bag.
Last night she’d made her decision.
The black leather motorcycle jacket. It was perfect—Brenden would look so kickass in it, riding on his Harley. It was tough, authentic, and well made. Kelsey was sure he would love it as much as his bike. She’d seen the way he’d looked at it at the store when he’d come in to buy replacement grips for his handlebars. It would keep him warm, and it was just his style. She couldn’t imagine him wearing anything else on the back of his bike. He would keep it forever, and would think about her every time he wore it, which would be every day, she was sure.
But the jacket cost four hundred dollars, when she only had forty-five.
Kelsey unzipped the garment bag slowly, taking out her grandmother’s Balenciaga dress so she could see it shine in the light.
She caressed the whisper-soft fabric, the handmade label signed by the master himself. She was too practical a girl to regret never having worn it now. It was the only way. There were a bunch of vintage stores in downtown Cleveland, the city was famous for them—stylists from Hollywood and New York routinely made the rounds to cull the racks for the most fabulous vintage finds. She’d heard of vintage Pucci dresses selling for thousands of dollars, of Oscar starlets wearing 1950s Ossie Clark jersey dresses bought in Cleveland. What would they pay for a real, vintage Cristóbal Balenciaga?
Well, she would just have to find out.
She quickly stowed the dress back in the bag, zipped it up, and walked out of her bedroom before she could change her mind. Downstairs, her mother was standing in the kitchen, making Christmas cookies with Kelsey’s younger sister, Haley, who was eight.
“Hi, sweetheart. Want to help us make thumbprints?” her mother asked, her cheeks white with flour.
“Maybe later. Does Dad need the car?”
“No, he’s sleeping. He worked late last night and he’s off today, for once. It is Christmas Eve, after all.”
“Cool, can I borrow it?” Kelsey asked, trembling slightly. If her mom said no, or if the car was out of gas or something, she wasn’t sure if she could go through with it. She wasn’t that brave.
“Sure, honey.” Her mother nodded.
“I’ll be out for a while, but I’ll be back before dinner,” Kelsey said, taking the keys from the basket by the door.
“Aren’t you going to Gigi’s party tonight?”
“Uh-huh,” Kelsey called over her shoulder. “Brenden’s taking me.”
She drove quickly on newly plowed roads—there had been a snowstorm the night before, and the highway was slick and wet from salting. Her heart beat fast in her chest. There was an elegant vintage resale shop in the Coventry district, a neighborhood dotted with cool record stores and cute French bistros. She’d been there several times before, and she knew the proprietress had an eye for designer dresses.
Kelsey parked the car by a snowbank and entered the cozy warmth of the shop, the garment bag draped over one shoulder.
“Hi,” she said shyly to the stern-looking woman behind the glass counter. “Do you, uh, buy vintage clothes here?”
“Only if they are worthwhile,” the owner said in a frosty voice. She looked at Kelsey, taking in the bargain coat, the jeans, the scuffed cowboy boots.
“Well, I have something of my grandmother’s. I don’t know, but I think it could be worth something.” She laid the garment bag on the counter and unzipped it, removing the dress from its tissued environment. “It’s a Balenciaga, from the sixties. It’s only been worn once, I think. She got it in Paris.”
The shopkeeper put on a pair of half-moon spectacles, and regarded the dress silently. Her wrinkled hands caressed the soft fabric. “My goodness.”
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“How much do you want for it?” the owner asked sharply.
Kelsey was at a loss. She had never considered naming a price. She’d just thought it would be worth something—but what? She shrugged. “How much would you give me for it?”
“Three hundred.”
Kelsey tried not to look too excited. Three hundred dollars! But then she remembered: The motorcycle jacket was four hundred. She noticed a few gowns hanging by the rack. One of them read HALSTON, 1975, $565.
“Six hundred,” she countered, looking the woman in the eye.
“Four,” the owner said.
“Five.”
“Four-fifty, and that’s my final offer.”
Then the deal was done, and Kelsey walked out of the shop, clutching in her hand four one-hundred dollar bills, two twenties, and a ten. She’d done it.
She got into her car, shut the door, and blinked back tears. This was stupid, she thought. She’d wanted to sell it. She was doing it for Brenden. Her heart leaped when she thought of how he would smile when she saw his brand-new leather jacket! She drove straight to the Harley-Davidson store; she had to get there soon since it would probably close early for Christmas Eve.
A few hours later, inside her bedroom, Kelsey looked at herself in the mirror that hung over the door. The Wade Hill girls were certainly going to have a field day. She was wearing the same black dress she’d worn several times already. It was a simple, serviceable, average, black wool crepe with a square neckline, spaghetti straps. She’d purchased it on sale at the Gap for a fraction of its original price. She brushed her hair back until it shone, and carefully applied her makeup.
She took a step back from the mirror, assessing her reflection. She knew Brenden would be looking forward to seeing her in the silver Balenciaga. Would he be disappointed if he saw her in the same old dress? Would he still think she was the prettiest girl in the room? Next to the Wade Hill peacocks and all their new and expensive finery?
Kelsey clipped on her earrings—gold-tone hoops—and attempted a smile. So what if she was wearing the same old thing? There would be no grand entrance at the party, no star-making turn. She would just be one of the girls in the background. She chided herself for her girlish vanity; it was Gigi’s birthday party, after all, not hers. Why had she been so obsessed with making a splash?
“Sweetheart, Brenden’s here,” her mother singsonged from downstairs.
She took a final pirouette, pulled up on the bustline to make sure it stayed in place, and then walked downstairs. The Coopers’ living room had been richly decorated for Christmas—pine needles were scattered on the mantel, and the tree shone with multicolored lights, decorated with the handmade ornaments she and her sister had made in a succession of art classes—a wooden carved teddy bear with her name on it, Haley’s handprint from kindergarten.
The fireplace was crackling, throwing off red sparks, and the house was warm and inviting. Brenden was waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase.
For a moment, Kelsey wasn’t sure what she was seeing. “Bren—you’re in a tie!” she exclaimed. “And your hair!” She almost tripped on the final step in her excitement.
She couldn’t believe it. Brenden was wearing a proper sport coat and a dark tie. Gone were his dirty, grease-stained jeans and his ragged T-shirts. There wasn’t a black armband in sight. He had even combed his long hair back, just like she’d always wanted him to, and she was right—without the hair in his eyes, he was even more incredibly handsome. Now everyone would notice, not just her. But why was he looking at her with that peculiar expression on his face?
“What’s up?” he asked, holding a corsage in a plastic container and another package under his arm. “Where’s your grandmother’s dress?”
Kelsey pretended not to hear him. “I thought ties made you claustrophobic,” she said flirtatiously, walking toward him, her fingers reaching out to brush his lapel.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant about his makeover. “But what’s going on? Why aren’t you wearing you-know-what?”
“Oh, that old thing.” Kelsey tried to affect a careless laugh. “Forget about it. It’s so old-fashioned, really, don’t you think?” She kept talking, babbling, to cover up for her distress. He was disappointed. He kept looking at her with that strange, curious, blank expression on his face.
“What’s wrong with this dress?” she asked a bit fiercely. “Don’t you like how I look?”
“No—no. You look beautiful in whatever you wear, you know that, it’s just …” Brenden shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“Wait! I want to give you something. Hold on.” Kelsey took the stairs two at a time and returned bearing a large white box with the Harley-Davidson symbol on it.
“Merry Christmas!” she said cheerfully. “C’mon, open it. Don’t just stand there looking at it.” She pulled him over to the couch and balanced the box carefully on his knees. Brenden put aside the corsage and his present for now.
He was speechless and stared at the box with trepidation, as if willing for the black-and-orange logo to transform into something else. Finally, he lifted the lid.
“It’s the jacket you wanted!” Kelsey exclaimed. “See? Put it on! Let’s see how it looks.” She helped him take off his sport coat. “Now you can ride your Harley in style! And it’s sooo warm. The guy at the shop said it’s lined in sheepskin.” Brenden nodded, putting on the motorcycle jacket.
“It looks fantastic!” Kelsey declared. She was right—he looked just like James Dean in it—or was it Marlon Brando? One of those old movie stars in those 1950s films that her mom sometimes watched. She bubbled over with happiness at how good her boyfriend looked in her gift. It was worth the sacrifice. Although she still couldn’t get over how incredibly stunned he seemed—almost as if he were blindsided by her gift. Not quite the reaction she had expected.
“Don’t you like it, Bren?” she asked, her voice quavering.
He finally spoke, and his features relaxed into his quick smile. “Of course I love it. It’s from you,” he said as he began to take off the jacket. He placed it gently on the couch next to him. “But here, I got this for you. So you could wear it to the party tonight.” He handed her a silver box, wrapped in the signature Saks Fifth Avenue holiday paper—silver with red ribbon. “Merry Christmas, Kelsey.”
“Oh, my God,” Kelsey said, sinking back on the couch, not quite sure if she had the right to hope what she was hoping. “You didn’t!”
Brenden smiled, leaning back on the couch and making himself comfortable.
“No way, no way!” she exclaimed as she ripped open the paper and opened the lid. But yes. There they were. She put her hands to her mouth, and tears sprang to her eyes, threatening to smudge her mascara. Brenden had bought them for her. She felt dizzy with shock. How had he been able to afford them? The cherished metallic silver sandals—the crystal disks glowing in the box like diamonds. Gorgeous, and finally hers. The last pair in size six and a half. Her heart quickened to a frantic pulse. This was unbelievable, this was the best Christmas ever. Nothing had prepared her for this …
“Oh, my god, Brenden. How … ?” she whispered, placing the lid back on the box and stroking it affectionately.
“Go on now, go change into that Balen-whatever dress and put ’em on,” he urged, his eyes shining with delight. “Let’s see how they look together.”
Her grandmother’s dress! The Balenciaga! In the excitement of the moment she had completely forgotten that it was no longer hers to wear with the silvery shoes. Utterly miserable and devastated, Kelsey was afraid to meet her boyfriend’s eye. In the smallest voice she could muster, she finally confessed. “I sold the dress to buy you the jacket.”
“You …” Brenden said, trying not to look too alarmed.
“But don’t worry, Bren—I can get it back, I can get on a payment plan with the boutique—once I have enough babysitting money …” Her voice trailed off hopelessly. The dress was gone forever—they both knew that.
He nodded slowly in comprehension, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“But see, they look good with this dress, too!” Kelsey said, slipping off her mom’s old heels and sliding into the precious stilettos. All right, so it didn’t quite have the same effect as it would have had with the Balenciaga dress, but the shoes were still stunning.
She jumped off the couch and pulled him up. “I know it’s cold, but it’s not a long ride up to the party. Do you have my helmet? Let’s get on the Harley and go. I don’t want to miss Gigi’s grand entrance!” she added gaily. “Put on your new jacket now, c’mon!”
Brenden let her help him back into his new black leather jacket and they made their way to the front door. Kelsey flung it open and was flummoxed to find the street empty. Brenden usually parked his Harley right in front of his driveway next door.
“Where’s the Hog?” she asked, looking around wildly. Slowly, she began to understand what he had done. No. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve him …
“Babe,” Brenden said, pulling her close and kissing her cheek, so she could feel his stubble. “I sold the bike to buy you the shoes.”
He smiled at her, pushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. “We’ve got to take my mom’s Dodge Shadow,” he said, motioning to the rusty clunker hunkered on the street with the 1980s-style pastel brush marks on the side.
Brenden, still wearing his tough biker jacket, wrenched open the passenger door to the decades-old compact car and Kelsey climbed inside.
Whatever would people say once they arrived at the party?
Then Kelsey realized with a laugh that she couldn’t care less what anyone thought—of her dress, her shoes, or her boyfriend. Especially what they thought of her boyfriend.
That Christmas, she had received a gift more precious than anything a designer could ever offer or sell. A gift that was truly priceless. A gift akin to those that the magi gave on Christmas Eve. She had received the gift of Brenden’s heart. And even better yet, she had given her heart openly to him—and for that, she felt such an immense swell of happiness it seemed as if her heart would burst from joy.
Brenden turned the key and winked at Kelsey as the engine sputtered to life. “What do you think?” he asked, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “We’re a pair of crazy kids, huh?”
The Dodge Shadow inched its way forward in the snow, the tire chains scrunching on the gravelly road. It was freezing outside, and the car’s heater hadn’t worked since 1989, but neither of them were cold.