Page 104 of Gave Proof Through the Night

“I’m actually shopping for a really fancy banquet,” I say. “I’ll let you know if I need your… help.”

Grrrr, these ladies irk me. Mostly because they remind me of high school mean girls. I’ve had to deal with more than a few of those back in the day. When I’d walk to school with holes in the soles of my shoes, and the same four outfits on rotation.

Both women snort at the word ‘banquet’ like I’m just shopping for a backwater prom.

“Miss, I’m going to need you to either check your bag at the front or leave.”

“Check it where, exactly? I don’t see a coat check. I see a blouse with florals straight out of the ’80s, one deeply regrettable haircut, and eyebrows drawn on with what looks like a Sharpie.”

Bitsy’s smile goes thin and brittle. “There’s no need to be difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult. You’re being—” I feel my back hit the rack behind me, the two of them somehow having closed the distance without either of them technically moving toward me, “snobby and rude.”

“Security can escort you out, if that would be easier.”

They have no security. I’m trained to notice these things. But I genuinely consider just leaving when a voice behind me cuts through the whole standoff.

“Excuse me. What is going on here?”

Five women with small shopping bags dangling from manicured fingers stand like a wall just past the rack I’m pressed into. They’re well-dressed, their shopping bags have logos on them from high-end stores like Tiffany & Co., Prada, and Kate Spade. They are all very well put together and not one of them has a raggedy old army-green backpack.

But every single one of them is staring down Bitsy and her backup singer like they’ve just watched someone kick a puppy on live television.

"This is unacceptable." The one with the bob at her shoulders steps directly between me and the rack, voice pitched to carry. The tone of someone used to being listened to. “Do you two do this to everyone who walks in, or did you just decide today was a good day to be awful?”

“Ma’am, store policy⁠—”

"Policy doesn't require you to loom over someone like she's about to steal the register." The blonde in the ponytail cuts in, arms crossed, looking like she's enjoying this a little too much. "I've been standing here two minutes and I've already watched you insult this customer five times. I'm counting."

“We were simply⁠—”

"Simply enjoying yourselves, it looked like." This from the quiet one with hair long enough to brush her waistband.

Bitsy and her backup singer go from smug to scrambling in about four seconds flat, and none of the five slow down long enough to let them recover.

“Come on, sweetie.” The short one links her arm through mine like we've known each other for years. On my other side, another arm slides through, then I’m boxed in by women I’ve never met, all moving for the door in one unbroken line. “Let’s go somewhere that treats people like humans.”

We walk out six-wide, arms linked, and I don’t look back to see what’s left of Bitsy’s face.

Outside, blinking in the sunlight, I get my first real look at them, and something clicks into place.

Sparkly jacket ladies. The ones from the friends and family room after the hockey games.

“Wait.” She's studying my face now, head tilted, ponytail swinging with it. “I’ve seen you. You were there for game five.”

"Guilty," I say, since apparently I've been made.

“I’m Taylor.” She smiles, warm and immediate, and gestures at the others in turn. “Hadley. Paige. Penny. Lauren.”

“I’m uh… Erica.”

"Are you shopping for the gala?" This from Penny. Probably. The introductions were super quick, but I think I got that right. “Because that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But I should probably just order something online.”

Taylor waves her hand. “Oh, sweetie, you don’t have time for that.”

“Girl, we gotchu.” Paige grabs my other arm. “We all got our dresses at the same place on the first try. You gotta come. It’s like magic.”