Pretty in Punxsutawney Read online

  Dad and I look at each other and in unison call out, “Pink!”

  He says, “I know you’re excited that this thrift store sells furniture, sweetheart, but we can honestly afford to order something online and have it delivered. Anything you’d like.”

  “What’s the fun of that?” Mom says. “Shopping is about the thrill of the hunt.”

  “Maybe the next time you’re out on safari, you can target a sofa that’s a more neutral color,” Dad teases as he pulls her to her feet. Holding her hand, he spins her quickly, and they slide into an embrace. I look away until they disengage and Dad heads for the kitchen.

  It’s nice that my parents still love each other and all, but I could do with a little less PDA in my own living room. Especially since I’m so anxious about trying to make my very first kiss happen with Colton.

  Mom drops back into the pink leather abyss and asks me what time the bus comes in the morning. It’s as if she’s been reading my thoughts. I shyly confess that Colton is picking me up early in the morning and will be taking me on a tour of the school. Mom has pieced together the fact that I like him, since apparently I “light up” every time I say his name, but this is the first time I openly confess how deep my crush goes.

  “I’m really excited and nervous,” I admit, playing with the pink hem of my dress.

  “Oh, honey.” Mom’s pencil skirt threatens to rip as she jumps up and toddles over to the glass DVD cabinet. With a flourish, she pulls the key from the chain around her neck and bends down to open the door. Her fingers roll along the titles and delicately pluck one from the shelf. From her crouched position, she announces with a serious tone, “It’s time.”

  Spinning around and holding up the pink DVD case like it’s baby Simba from The Lion King, she announces, “You are about to get … Pretty in Pink.”

  The tulle on the pink polka-dot dress I’m wearing makes a crinkling sound as I cross my arms. If a dress could laugh, it almost seems like that’s what it’s doing. A chill runs up the zippered spine of the stiff pink material and tickles the hairs on the back of my neck. Which is strange, since the Pretty in Pink movie choice isn’t even a surprise to me.

  “This movie.” Mom taps the cover. “Oh, Andie, this movie! This is the movie your father and I fell in love to. As soon as we saw your red hair, we knew your name. Andie, this movie is about to change your life.”

  And there it is. Each time Mom’s opened her magical glass movie case and presented me with one of her movies from the 1980s, she has labeled it life-changing. While most of them have been largely entertaining, my world has yet to flip on its axis the way she keeps warning.

  Still, this film does sound really special. Could it offer some insight into my destiny? More importantly, my romantic destiny? I realize lots of people look to things like horoscopes and fortunetellers for guidance and direction, but movies have always held all the wisdom I need.

  With a crunch of pink crinoline, I drop onto our new leather sofa. Mom starts the movie and slides in beside me, and we are both instantly, utterly absorbed in Pretty in Pink.

  I must admit Molly Ringwald does put together some “volcanic ensembles,” as her best friend Duckie calls them. And while Duckie is hopelessly dorky and strange, he’s also hilarious and kind of adorable. Not to mention Blane (the character, not the appliance) who is every bit as blue-eyed and dreamy as Colton.

  The zany owner of the record store where Andie works is named Iona, and she acts as a sort of mentor-ish-type-person to Andie. Iona reminds me so much of my mom that I have to pause the movie and ask her, “Did John Hughes know you back then or something?”

  Mom points to the screen, where Iona is standing frozen, midsentence, with her bright red lips twisted. “Well, I did have a tight rubber dress like hers, but my hair was never spiked that aggressively.”

  “But you did spike your hair?”

  “Not aggressively.” She gives my arm a playful shove. “I’ll have you know, everyone dressed like that back in the eighties.”

  I look at her. “Sure, if by everyone, you mean mostly you and Cyndi Lauper.”

  She poses dramatically. “Me, Cyndi, and Iona as played by Annie Potts in Pretty in Pink.”

  We both laugh, and I hit play on the remote, enjoying every second of this cinematic time capsule.

  Halfway through the movie Mom yawns and stretches, announcing she’s heading to bed early. This is a plot twist, since we’re both night owls and she usually stays through till the ending credits with me. It is fairly late, but I’m completely engrossed in the film. Without taking my eyes off the television screen, I accept her light kiss goodnight on my cheek and relax beneath the fuzzy blanket that she tucks under my chin.

  “Don’t stay up too late,” Mom warns from the stairs. “You want to be fresh for your first day.”

  I keep my attention on the movie, but snap my hand into a formal salute. “Good job mothering there, lady.” She chuckles as she heads up to bed.

  Onscreen, my Pretty in Pink namesake is agonizing over whether or not to go to her prom. Of course, Iona responds in the most eccentric way possible; by changing into a tight pink formal dress, donning a beehive hairdo, and forcing Andie to slow dance with her as she reminisces about her own prom. It’s basically what my mom would probably do if the subject of prom came up.

  I realize the dress I’m still wearing is very similar to the one Iona gives to Andie, and I feel my face pull into a smile. I wonder if Colton and I will go to the Punxsutawney High School prom together.

  As I imagine the flowers he’ll bring me, and the tux he’ll wear, I feel my eye blinks getting slower and lasting longer. The movie continues humming on in the background, and the next thing I know I’m in a beautiful ballroom wearing a pale prom dress and slow dancing with Colton.

  It’s a dream I wish would never end.

  chapter 3

  When I drag my eyes open, the living room has been cast in a rosy sheen. I peel my face off the leather arm of the sofa and rub my cheek. I’m still wearing the pink polka-dot dress from last night. It’s early morning, and I’ve spent the night underneath the fuzzy blanket here on the giant pink couch. A glance toward the windows tells me it’s going to be an overcast day.

  A fragment of music is playing over and over, and I see the main menu for the Pretty in Pink DVD looping on the television screen in front of me. Overnight, the music’s cheesy drumbeats have ingrained themselves fully into the folds of my brain. Reaching for the remote, I click mute and wonder why they didn’t use a better song from the soundtrack for the menu theme. The portion of the film I saw before drifting off had some fairly stellar music.

  I haven’t fallen asleep to a movie since I was a kid, and now I’m dying to find out what happened between Andie, my favorite character, Duckie, and my newest movie-crush, Blane. It’s also the first time I’ve slept in this living room, and I wonder if I should go upstairs to bed and try to get another hour of sleep or if I should just put the movie back on.

  Then I remember: Colton is picking me up for school today! An involuntary grin presses my cheeks up so high, I can see them.

  I hear happy whistling sounds floating from above. The whistling gets louder as it gets closer, and I look up to see Dad coming down the stairs. “Good morning, sweetheart. You up for pancakes?”

  “Isn’t it a little early for pancakes?”

  He shrugs and resumes whistling as he heads for the kitchen. I call out after him, “Okay, maybe just one pancake. Or, like, four, tops.” There’s something irresistible about pancakes that have been whistled over. Like the joy of the tune works its way into the batter and makes them taste better.

  Mom bustles in and spreads her arms wide. “Happy first day at your new school, Andie!”

  I pull the blanket up to my chin and mumble, “Thanks, Mom. Wake me when the pancakes are ready.”

  Mom yanks the fuzzy material off me, but I close my eyes and feign being asleep. “The pink dress was my favorite!” she says excitedly
. “Is this the outfit you decided on for today?”

  “Nope. This is the outfit I slept in.” I keep my eyes closed. “Going to school in jeans and a T-shirt.”

  “Jeans and a T-shirt?” I can hear her pout without looking. “Are you sure?”

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  “You guess?” Mom’s voice has just enough of a screechy edge to get me to open my eyes.

  “It’s just the first day of school, Mom. I’ve never dressed up for it before.”

  “Back at home, you never had a handsome young man escorting you. This is basically a first date.”

  “Mom. I assure you, this is not a date.”

  Ignoring me, she pulls a white dress off the top of the pile from last night’s try-on montage. “What did you think of this one? It’s positively angelic.”

  “The zipper sticks a little—and, also, I’d rather not show up for my first day at a new school dressed as a teenaged bride.”

  Mom gives the dress a closer look and shrugs before tossing it behind the couch. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you something.”

  As she holds up dress after dress, I continue rejecting them. She insists the dress I’m wearing looks amazing, but I explain what she should already know; this dress is just not me. It may be impeccably made and voguish, and okay, yes, very flattering on me, but this vintage pink polka-dot dress is decidedly not me. With a sigh, Mom asks me what I thought of the movie last night.

  “It was really cool up to the point where I fell asleep.”

  She freezes and stares at me as if I’ve just pulled out a lit cigarette. “You fell asleep? To Pretty in Pink?”

  At my sheepish nod, she mutters under her breath and rushes to turn on the television. “I knew I never should’ve gone to bed early.” Scrolling through the scene selection screen, she asks me, “Did you see this? Did you see this?” over and over, until I finally grab the remote from her and hit play.

  As the movie’s soundtrack thumps around us, Mom sets up snack trays in front of the TV for us so we can eat our delicious whistle-cooked pancakes as we watch. I genuinely love the rest of the movie, but I can’t help noticing something seems off about the ending.

  To start, there is this tremendous build-up as we watch Andie working to assemble her custom-designed pink prom dress. Based on Andie’s funky vintage style throughout the movie, this dress promises to be the most epic wearable creation of all time. Anticipation grows as we wait to see her looking ever so pretty in pink, and then we finally get to the big reveal and . . . the thing is a hot mess.

  Onscreen, Andie holds her head high as she enters the prom in a shapeless pink sack. I realize Andie made this prom outfit all by herself, and she was combining two very different styles, but the dress Iona gave her looked sort of cool on its own. This thing looks like it was sewn together by an ape. And not one of those clever Planet of the Apes sort of apes either. I’m saying an actual ape could’ve designed this dress.

  I smooth the skirt on the pink polka-dotted number I’m still wearing and think maybe my dress is not quite as eye-bleedingly awful as I thought.

  The other issue I have with the movie is that the ending feels a bit tacked on. Like, I saw things heading in a very different direction. I’m happy for Andie (spoiler alert) winning Blane, and there is no denying the movie-magic moment of them kissing while silhouetted by his car’s headlights, but I say to Mom, “Something feels a little off about the ending.” I turn to see she’s wiping sappy tears from her eyes and add, “Uh, never mind.”

  “I’m telling you, Andie, that movie really holds up.” Mom blows her nose. “It’s every bit as romantic as it was that first night when I saw it with your father.”

  “I don’t know.” I stand and begin clearing our sticky pancake dishes. “I thought Blane was super cute and all, and he and Andie definitely had some chemistry, but by the end I was kind of rooting for Duckie to get the girl. He’s the one who truly loved her and understood her.”

  Mom tilts her head at me. “Duckie is a funny character and, okay, I admit that dance he performs in the record store is pure genius. But trust me, sweetie, Andie and Blane are the ones who belong together.”

  “But didn’t it seem odd to you that they didn’t have much to talk about any time they weren’t kissing?”

  She laughs and waves her hand as if dismissing the air that holds my very valid question. “You’ll understand once you’ve shared a kiss with your one true love,” she says. She takes my face in her hands and looks me in the eye. “My wish is that your first real kiss will be with your true love.”

  We smile at each other for a beat, and I make my own small wish for the same thing.

  There’s a knock at the door, and I glance at the digital clock on the front of the DVD player. “No, no, no!” I panic-whisper. “That must be Colton!” My heart starts thumping in time with the drums on the Pretty in Pink movie menu that’s playing once again.

  I look down at my dress. “I can’t wear this!” Despite Molly Ringwald’s ability to pull off the color, pink is a wide-awake nightmare for most redheads. Particularly hot pink. And especially on already-goofy-enough-without-calling-even-moreattention-to-myself me.

  I give my armpit a quick sniff. “Oh God! I should’ve showered! What was I thinking?” I curse Pretty in Pink for distracting me for so long.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” Mom commands. “This dress looks amazing on you, and it is fate that you are wearing it today. You are pretty in pink. Just go upstairs and rub a dryer sheet over the material. I’ll let your date in, and you can make your grand entrance down the stairs when you’re ready.”

  “I don’t need a grand entrance,” I say as I sprint up the steps. “And this isn’t a date.”

  “Whatever you say.” When I glance back, Mom gives me a super cheesy double-thumbs-up signal and calls to the door, “Be right there!”

  I rush to the bathroom, where I get to work on a quick sink shower, careful not to drip on the material of my dress. This dress that is apparently my fate.

  I hear Mom introduce herself to Colton as “Andie’s mom” and offer him a seat. “Annn-diiiie,” she calls casually. “Your ride is here.”

  “Be there in a sec!” I’m beyond grateful she didn’t say my “date” is here.

  “Who’s this?” Dad’s voice rises from the living room.

  “Andie’s date,” Mom announces. She must hear my horrified squeal because she quickly corrects, “I mean, Colton is showing our daughter around her new high school this morning.”

  I drag on a pair of fishnets too fast, and all of my toes burst through the stockings. On both sides. Sliding black ballet flats over the holes, I scrape my hair into a classic “didn’t wash my hair” high ponytail and take a few swipes at my lashes with a nearby mascara wand.

  Pausing for a beat, I consider myself in the mirror over the sink. My face looks flushed but not bad, except that I’m already regretting this whole pretty-in-pink dress. I should’ve just ignored Mom’s romantic notions and thrown on a pair of comfortable jeans with a basic T-shirt. No time to change now; I need to get Colton away from my parents.

  I’m startled by an impatient knock on the bathroom door. My dad calls, “You okay in there, Andie?”

  “I’ll be right out.” As we pass each other in the hallway, I give him a quick, “Thanks for the pancakes, Pops,” before rushing down the steps.

  My heart starts drumming as soon as Colton comes into view. He’s sitting on the pink leather sofa with his head down, elbows resting on his knees as he types something into his phone. He’s completely absorbed and I slow down, panic rising. I know I wasn’t really going for a big, grand entrance, but now that it’s set up to happen, I think it would be a nice way to mark this beginning of our future together.

  I look to Mom, who gives a knowing smile. “Oh, Andie, that dress is a little too low-cut for school, don’t you think?”

  Colton’s attention darts up from his phone, and thankfully he catches the fin
al few steps of my gliding descent. His reaction to my dress is to laugh and say, “What’re you wearing?” I just stare at him with my knees buckled until he adds, “I mean, it’s fine, Andie. You look nice. Lots of people dress up for the first day of school.”

  I take in his worn jeans and tight T-shirt, showing off his muscles, and wonder if I was drunk on pancake syrup when I let Mom talk me into this dress. She insists on taking a photo of Colton and me together before letting us go, which isn’t helping our current mother/daughter dynamic one bit.

  I glare at her through the camera lens, but she still takes five more rapid-fire shots before saying, “Okay, you two go on and have a great day.”

  I step across the threshold with Colton, ready to greet my very first day in my brand-new life. As we make our way down the walk toward the curb where Colton’s car is parked, I imagine my pink polka-dot dress is giggling with every swish of its skirt. The idea fills me with a ping of unexpected hope.

  chapter 4

  When we arrive at school, I decide I’ll be staying in Colton’s boxy blue Honda Element for the rest of the day to avoid letting anyone see me in this dress. Why was my brain too busy to be bothered with thinking this morning? Amidst the ocean of normally dressed teenagers, I’m clearly the only one who mindlessly decided to select my first day of school outfit from a random pile of my mom’s thrift store scores.

  Obviously, my dress’s swishing skirt has been laughing at me.

  Colton is walking away before he realizes I haven’t left the car. Coming back, he opens my door and offers me his hand. With a tight smile, I allow him to lead me toward the school. Embarrassment washes over my body as the river of staring students flows around me like I’m a rock. A weird, redheaded rock in polka-dotted pink. I smooth my skirt and feel another spike in my normally mild level of resentment toward my mother.

  The oversized doors to the school are held open by a pretty blonde girl. “Hi, Colton,” she says in a milkshake voice, thick with flirtation. His casual nod as we move inside is deeply satisfying, and I lift my chin as high as I can.