Charlotte and Helena's Prospects

Ep. 8 of The Belles of St. Anthony's

(To catch up, check out Augusta’s Date and Charlotte’s Playlist.)

The ring of chrysanthemums was still hanging at the top of St. Lucy's Tree when we got out at the end of the day on Thursday. So far no one had bothered to take it down—they would need a cherry picker for that, and that probably wasn't in St. Anthony's budget. Rustin had only gotten a lunch detention, and could still go to the dance.

Helena and I went to take a look. At the base of the trunk was a shrine to the Virgin Mary, and the tree leaned over her statue like a protective hand. You would obviously have to climb from the other side to avoid stepping on her. To think, all that, just for our friend Augusta.

"I have to admit," Helena said. "I'm jealous." Bending her head back pulled her silky, meter-long hair from her face. She'd never cut it in her life.

"Yeah, I don't have a date, either," I said. "Honestly, I thought it'd be you out of any of us. You've got that kind of spooky allure, like an Addams Family cousin."

"Well, I don't mind not having one. I was actually going to see if I could meet somebody at the dance."

"Like who?"

"Oh, I don't know. Not like we're the only ones going stag, right?"

"No kidding. You hear Barry's asked five girls, and they all turned him down?"

"Six. Valleigh got him last period."

"Whoo! Aiming high. So if he asked you..."

"I'd turn him down." Helena was looking at the shrine now, and her hair veiled each side of her face. "But if he asked at the dance, I'd give him a shot. What about you?"

"If he asked me? I dunno, I'd be flattered." I mean, I'm not exactly short or skinny, but I'm hardly ugly. I've seen plenty of girls way bigger than me bag a cute guy. It'll be my turn at some point, and it'll be nice to be appreciated. "But it's Barry. The guy's never not biting his nails."

"I swear he’s pulled it off once."

"Besides, I don't really have time for romance right now. Not with the talent show coming up."

"Yeah? How's your piece coming along?"

"Slowly. Slo-o-o-o-owly. I only got six hours of sleep last night. But I want to go to the dance. I want to have some fun. I want to help everybody else have fun. Even if I do have to compromise my artistic vision."

"For what it's worth," Helena said, "I wouldn't have minded some Yes."

"Thank you." I took one more look at the chrysanthemums. A petal had come off. That petal fluttered down, and landed on the Virgin. A new tiara. "Well, good for Augusta. I wonder if they'll stay toge--"

I turned, and there was Barry right behind me, his hands behind his back, his jaws clenched, a pimple on his chin.

"Uh, hey, Barry," I said. How long had he been there? Crap, did he hear me a minute ago?

"Good, um, afternoon," Helena said.

He coughed. "Good afternoon." He shot his eyes up toward the flower ring. "Rustin's pretty cool, isn't he?"

"Yeah, I'd say so," I said. "May we help you?"

"No, I'm good." He refused to move his eyes. "Just wanted a better look. See you at the dance, I guess."

And he rushed off and slipped through the door before it was even a foot open.

"You don't think he heard me, do you?"

"I was afraid he heard me," Helena said. "I guess that brings him up to eight now."