“Patrick? Wait, you ordered my dress?” I stopped in the middle of the hall and looked over at Mickey. On what planet was this normal?
“No,” Bridgette said. “I commissioned it. And you won’t be disappointed—Stuart’s the best. Speaking of which.” Bridgette turned to Mickey. “Stuart says to tell you to bring Kella by the store as soon as possible. He wants to get a better idea of her coloring.”
Mickey was rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger again.
“Bridgette,” he said, as if he was really searching for patience, “girls usually pick out their own dresses for Homecoming. From a rack of clothes. That aren’t made-to-order.”
Bridgette wrapped a lock of blonde hair around her finger and shrugged, staring up at the ceiling. “Oh. Well, I guess Stew can arrange that, too. So how many dresses do I need to tell Stuart to make for the rack?”
Mickey briefly closed his eyes. “Bridgette, you don’t understand. Pre-made. As in, not custom-made. As in, what Stuart already has available in the store.”
Bridgette’s eyes widened in horror as that information sunk in. “That’s a horrible idea. As Homecoming Princess, she needs to dress the part.”
“Yeah, and what’s up with that?” I asked. “Did you nominate me?”
“Maaaybe,” Bridgette said.
I stared at her. Un-be-lievable. “Why? It’s not like anyone is going to vote for me.”
Bridgette shrugged. “You never know. And in any case, you really do need to pick a date. Whoever you choose will need to get ready, too.”
“You make it sound like I just crook my finger and whatever guy I want will come. It’s not that simple. I don’t know who’s dating who, what guys are creeps. I don’t even know which guys are already taken.”
“Well, if you want to keep it simple, Mickey could give Patrick your number. The guy has really, really good reflexes. He’d be a decent choice.”
Bridgette pulled me away from Mickey as we got to our class. “Don’t forget about Patrick, Mickey!” she called as she pushed me through the doorway.
It took until we sat down for Bridgette’s words to register. I twisted around to stare at her. “You didn’t—Mickey wouldn’t do that, right? Not without asking me first?”
Bridgette shrugged her shoulders, the picture of innocence, but I didn’t believe it for one second. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”
“What?” I said a little too loudly. People were looking at us.
I lowered my voice to a whisper-shout. “I didn’t say that was okay. When did I say that was okay?”
She shrugged. “You didn’t. But you weren’t making a decision, so I figured I’d help things along.”
“That’s totally against girl code.”
Bridgette paused and looked at me with a trace of alarm in her eyes. “Girl code?”
“Yes, girl code. You do not, under any circumstances, give a guy my number without asking me first.”
“Oh!” Bridgette laughed. “I thought it was something serious.”
“It is.”
“Oh.” Bridgette pulled her physics book from her backpack. “Well, I guess I’ll need to read up on it, then.”
My eyes narrowed in irritation. “Read up on what?”
“The Girl Code.”
I thumped my head on my desk. “You don’t read the girl code. It’s just common sense.”
“Obviously not, since I don’t see a problem with facilitating contact between you and Patrick. But since it bothers you so much, I could ask him for you instead.”
“I give up,” I mumbled into my desk.
Chapter 11
After school, Maeve drove me and Mickey to the mall so we could meet up with whoever this Stuart guy was. We drove past our castle school into what seemed to pass for suburbia here. Quaint stone-faced houses that looked like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting lined the streets, each perched on its own grassy lot. But the further into town we went, the more modern the houses became until we finally reached…another castle.
“This is the mall?” It was a huge, white-stoned edifice—sans turrets, at least—that sat atop an actual knoll. It even had those spaces at the top where archers used to shoot out of in the old medieval castles.
“The developers were the same ones who donated to the school,” Mickey said, as if that explained everything. Which I guess it did.
Maeve handed Mickey a white envelope full of cash with instructions for me to I buy a few more clothes. I eyed the thickness, convinced that it had to be a bunch of ones and fives.
“Six o’clock, sharp,” Maeve said, as we slid out of the car. We were just about to head out when she rolled down the passenger-side window.
“Remember,” she said, taking turns looking us in the eye—particularly Mickey. “Covered midriffs, sleeves, finger-length or longer skirts, nothing low-cut, and nothing see-through.” It was as if she had memorized the school dress code. I pressed my lips together. I was seventeen. I didn’t need to be told how to dress myself.
She was waiting for something. I gave her a stiff nod, and she nodded back, rolling up the window. We turned toward the mall as she drove away.
The three-story mall looked spectacular on the outside, but, just like the school, looked completely normal on the inside, escalators and all. I darted to the mall map, scouring it for the usual stores. While I wasn’t a big shopper, I had window-shopped enough to recognize all the big-name stores, but there wasn’t a single one listed.
“Pix Fix, Glamour, Faeshionista…Sealie Locks?”
I shot an incredulous look at Mickey just in time to catch the flash of irritation that darted across his face.
“It’s a themed mall,” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“Themed mall?” I turned back toward the mall map, but he quickly grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me along. “What’s the theme?”
“Ancient Irish mythology.”
“Seriously? Those developers were something else.”
“You’re telling me,” he muttered. His eyes darted around and snagged on something right before he practically dragged me in the opposite direction—right into
