There was a delirious feeling of freedom in being outside of school without her parents. It would probably sound stupid to a lot of people, at least it surely would to Annie. With Annie she was always aware of how stupid she’d sound whenever she felt just about anything. But this was new to her. The city felt fresher, the air crisper and stinging. Even the hours of bullshit landscapes she’d watched when her friend fell asleep on the train were exciting. It was unusual that Cathy felt the universe was on her side, and it was an invigoratingly satisfying feeling.
Somehow everything had managed to go right enough to get her here. She’d waited until after Christmas to ask to see a friend in the hopes that it was no longer designated family time, but she still hadn’t expected much. Her mother didn’t know anything about Annie—not by name, anyway. Occasionally Cathy would mention some thing her “friend from school” did or liked or was allowed to do, usually in some sort of defense. But there wasn’t much she could, or
wanted to tell her parents about their friendship. She would have to give a location, though, and figure out what to say when her mother inevitably wanted to speak to Annie’s. If she personally found the Iron Witches and their matching outfits creepy and cultlike, then surely her mother would have some similar opinion.
But her parents had been Bostonians before she was born and they knew House Irons did good work, not to mention that to their knowledge, most of Cathy’s friends were good kids that she should try harder to emulate. Daisy knew very well otherwise. But from her armchair on the other side of the coffee table, she’d spoken up on Cathy’s behalf. That had infuriated her almost more than she’d been grateful for it. Daisy had so many opportunities to ruin her life and was too good a person to take them. Somehow that rubbed it in even worse.
She’d been dropped off by her father on his way to work, in her homemade flannel dress and rain cloak, and she’d changed in Annie and
@Carrie Marshall’s bedroom before they left. And now she was changing again, skirt and blouse hung on the dressing room peg. They’d been looking at party dresses. Cathy had been overwhelmed with the experience and picked up seven or eight, but had chosen to try on her
favorite first: red satin, deep neckline, not
too much but
enough. Just the feel of the fabric made her feel glamorous, despite her wind-ruffled hair and ruddy skin and childish figure. She ran her fingers over the ridge on her stomach where the waistband of her black tights showed through. This was a dress for bare legs. A dress to be taken off, probably. The thought was a little bit thrilling. But she let it go and slipped out of her room in stocking feet when Annie called.
When she arrived in the neighboring stall, however, Annie just stared at her. Cathy shifted awkwardly and turned to look in the mirror, waiting for her friend to refocus. Annie was just like that sometimes. It seemed strange, that such a sharp and determined person would be prone to spacing out. But at least it never lasted long.
Sure enough, Annie was asking her about the dress before she knew it. “She’d better fucking not,” muttered Cathy. “Maybe I won’t get it.” Narrowing her eyes at herself in the mirror, she readjusted her bust. She’d left her bra on just for convenience, but the straps showed, and the band all across the sides and back. Without it maybe she’d be sold. “I mean, I guess red
is a cliché,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “Maybe I should try the blue one.”
She glanced toward Annie in the mirror. Her friend didn’t need any adjustments. There was something about a leather dress that Cathy knew that
she would never be able to pull off. “Ugh,” she said affectionately. “You’re so hot, I hate you.”
“I don’t think you need boots,” she added. “You probably shouldn’t tempt me, at least. I don’t think I’ll have money for shoes if I get something here.” She reached back into her stall for her bag and riffled through her bills—she’d asked her dad to get her money exchanged, for if they wanted to go shopping in a no-maj part of town. “Town,” of course, had been implied to be Concord. But that wasn’t important.
“Where would we wear these, anyway?” she asked. “Do you know a place?”