Her head popped up. “I haven’t!” Zoe raised her hand out flat, as if she was taking an oath.
“Really, I haven’t. I swear. All we’ve done so far is just . . . fool around a little.” She paused, her cheeks flaming anew. “I let him touch my boobs.”
I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. My head was pounding. What was I going to do with this girl?
“I just want him to like me,” Zoe said, her voice a whimper.
“Oh, Zoe . . .”
The irritation of a moment before drained away instantly, replaced by pity.
“Honey, I know. We all want that. But that’s not the way to do it.” I held the phone up again. “This isn’t just fooling around, or it won’t be for very long. Ryan knows exactly where he’s trying to lead you.”
For a moment, it felt like I was getting through to her, but then her eyes glazed over again. I wanted Zoe to like me, to make her understand that I was acting in her best interests. But if I couldn’t do that . . .
“Zoe, you are thirteen years old,” I said. “If Ryan gets what he wants, the state of Oregon calls that second-degree rape and I will absolutely press charges.”
Zoe’s jaw dropped. “But he never made me—”
“Your consent means nothing here,” I said. “I know you don’t like hearing this, Zoe, but you’re still a child. The law is there to protect you. And whether you like it or not, so am I. That’s why I’m keeping your phone.”
“Monica!” she cried, tears spilling over. “You can’t! What if there’s an emergency? How will I talk to my friends? What am I supposed to do all day?”
“Since you’re going to be either at school, at home, or with me, there will be someone to help if you have an emergency. You’ll see your friends at school. If you want to talk to them after school, then you can call them on the house phone. As far as ways for you to keep busy . . . we’ll think of something. Now, come on.”
I put Zoe’s phone in my purse and started walking toward Grace, who was standing at the far end of the store, looking through bolts of sateen. Zoe trailed along, dragging her feet and weeping.
“I hate you, Monica,” she said, sniffling and gulping air.
“I know.”
“Why are you trying to ruin my life?”
“I’m not,” I said, keeping my eyes straight ahead. “I’m trying to save it.”
Chapter 35
Grace
“You’re sure this time?” Monica asked. “Because you’ve put that same blue silk in the cart and then taken it out again three times now.”
“Yes, absolutely. The green satin was too heavy. And blue is a good color on me. Plus, it’s on sale,” I said. “Yup, blue. Final answer.”
Zoe, whose face was a study in boredom, sighed dramatically. “About time. Can we go now?”
“No,” Monica answered. “I still need to pick out fabric for my costume. You’ll help me sew it, won’t you, Grace? I just need some kind of gingham jumper or pinafore. Nothing fancy.”
Though my decision to postpone my return to the Saturday Market until after the ball had taken off some of the pressure, I was still very busy. But so was Monica.
The Dogmother’s Ball was nearly sold out. There was no way she could run the restaurant, cater a dinner for 125 people, and make a costume for the event. I doubted she’d be able to leave the kitchen long enough for anybody to see her costume, but still. She deserved to get in on the fun.
“Sure,” I said. “A pinafore won’t be hard. What are you going as?”
“Little Miss Muffet. I found a hilarious spider outfit for Desmond online, so he’s all set. I planned to buy mine online, too, but all I could find was ‘Sexy Miss Muffet.’ ” She stuck a finger into her mouth, pretending to gag. “Really? Sexy nursery rhyme characters? Since when did Halloween and costume parties get to be one more excuse to objectify women and cater to bizarre male fetishes?”
“You’re going as Miss Muffet?” Zoe made a face. “That’s so lame.”
“ ‘That’s so lame,’ ” Monica parroted, making her voice a whine. “Fine, Miss Fashionista. What do you think I should go as?”
“A Kardashian.”
The set of Zoe’s mouth and rapid-fire response told me she’d prepared her answer in advance specifically to annoy Monica. Surprisingly, Monica didn’t take the bait.
“I’m serious, Zoe. If you were going to a ball and could have any costume you wanted—any costume that won’t get you arrested, I mean—what would it be?”
Zoe, who seemed surprised to be asked for her opinion, took a moment to think.
“Pirates,” she said finally. “From France. But girl pirates with a big hat with feathers, and strings of pearls, and a ruffled blouse, and a big, swooshy skirt. You’d need to tuck the skirt up into your belt so you could fight, and a sword on the belt, too, a gold one. And black boots.”
“Wow,” I said. “That seems pretty specific.”
“I was reading this book about pirates,” Zoe said. “Turns out a bunch of them were girls, from all over the world. I thought it was pretty cool. Usually in the adventure stories the guys are the only ones having fun. The girls either stay home and wait for them to come back, or get kidnapped and wait to be rescued. Boring.
“But these girl pirates? They were in charge of whole ships and crews, and they sailed all over the place, and robbed treasure, and fought in battles. And they were real. Sometimes, they got captured or killed. So that kind of sucked. But at least they had adventures. And I bet the French pirates had really cool clothes. Because, you know,” she said, and shrugged, “France.”
“Right,” Monica said. “Because that’s where all the cool clothes come from. Okay. You’ve convinced me. We’re going to the ball as French girl pirates.”
“We?”
“I’m going to need
