He stabbed a fry into his mouth and shrugged. « You know what I mean. »
Dane had been my best friend since eighth grade. « I don’t even have a dress, » I told him.
« Find one, because we are going. »
« I mean it, Dane. I don’t want to go. »
His expression changed then. Softer. « I know. »
That night, I heard my mom in the attic, dragging boxes around. A few minutes later, Grandma called weakly from her room, and my mom came down carrying an old white storage box with a cracked lid.
Grandma was propped up against her pillows.
« Open it, » she told me.
Inside was tissue paper yellowed with age. Under that was the dress.
It was pale blue once, I think, though time had faded it into a soft grayish color that almost looked silver in the lamplight. The waist was tiny.
