But then Hope adds, “I really miss Ellie.”
And then Charity puts her arms around her sister and pats her half-dry, half-curled hair and says, “I know, me too. It’ll be next Saturday soon.”
WHAT?!? Have I entered an alternate dimension?
At first I’m confused. How is it possible that, even now, they still want Ellie over me? All she ever does is scribble in her journal, which cannot be interesting. I was helping them. I’m the popular, fun one. And Ellie is so . . . bookish. And goody-goody. And helpful. Only parents prefer goody-goody and helpful over fun and popular. Except not all parents. Even though my mom was supernice to Ellie tonight and not so much to me, she could never prefer Ellie over me.
Could she?
I snatch the couch pillow off the floor and flounce out the door (if only they’d shown the least little bit of appreciation, because I have an excellent life lesson on achieving the perfect flounce). I pivot and yell back into the room.
“Why wait for next Saturday? You want Ellie? Let’s go get her!”
I head for the steps, not pausing to see if they’re following me. But I know they will, and sure enough, by the time I reach the front hall closet they’re on my heels. I yank my peacoat off the hanger Mrs. Terzetti put it on and tap my foot as the girls grab their own far-less-stylish jackets (matching, of course) and hideous rain boots, for God knows what reason.
“Where are we going?” Charity asks.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” I snap.
It’s only fair that Ellie swap places with me at the dance because she’s had her fun by now and she needs to share the wealth. Mom never has to know—we can make the switch back at the end of the night, no problem.
Hmm. I don’t have a key to lock up the house (or, more important, unlock it when we get back), but I figure if we go out the garage we can leave the automatic door open just enough to roll underneath. See? I’m thinking of everything here. I should totally take up heist planning as my next hobby.
I lead us wordlessly to the breezeway off the kitchen, where the twins’ mom left the house earlier. As we enter the garage, I’m still plotting. As I see it, there’s only one possible flaw. The Terzetti house might be only a couple of minutes to the school by car, but that’s probably more like an hour on foot.
Unless . . .
I squint at a ride-on lawnmower in the back corner. Hmm. Taking the mower versus walking could earn me tons of bonus hangout time at the dance. This decision is easy-peasy lemon squeezy.
“Hop on, girls,” I order, pointing. Immediately, both open their mouths to protest, but after one look at my face, they close them and follow my instruction.
Good. Now, then.
Life lesson number whatever number we’re on: Never walk when you can ride. Which is closely related to life lesson number seven: Always make an entrance.
TESS { 7:59 P.M. }
Tess! Alex singing “Jingle Bells” for an hour. Come save me, pls. BTW, still can’t believe M is wearing your dress!!!!
Ugh, Carmen, worse than that.
What?!? Need detailssssss.
. . . Helloooo?
Tess?
Sry. Had to look for Leif. M thinks he’s here with her.
???!!!!
Whatev. Am gonna find him 1st & prove he wants to be here with me.
Of course he does. Just wait till he sees you onstage.
Wish I was there to help. & sing. & not wearing the UGLIEST dress in the WORLD.
Wish you were here too.
Enough about my awful night. Need to know. Did you find L yet?
He’s hiding behind a fern.
Go get him!
GENEVIEVE { 8:00 P.M. }
THE STAGE LOOKS SO MUCH higher than I expected. It’s probably not any taller than the one at the mall where we had the Battle of the Bands, but this one looks . . . more dangerous somehow. More exposed. Maybe it’s the giant banner hanging across the back, screaming HEART GRENADE in enormous pink letters. Or the guy bustling around the gym floor, tinkering with his super-professional-looking video equipment.
Or maybe it’s just that I have to stand in front when we perform this time, right at the edge, without Carmen’s flashy outfits and big personality to hide behind. Nothing between me and the crowd but empty air. Nothing to catch me if I fall.
I turn my back on the whole setup, and I have an easier time breathing once I can’t see it. I don’t have to think about it yet—Heart Grenade doesn’t go on for two hours. Until then, maybe I can just hang out with Sydney and pretend this is a regular dance like the ones I’ve seen in a thousand movies. We’ll get some punch, jump around to the music, take tons of selfies, and make fun of the girls who freak out over dancing with boys they see literally every single day.
“Do you want to go to the . . .” I start to say to Syd, but she’s not next to me anymore. I spot her a little ways away, huddled in a tight group with Abby, Shanti, and Ilana. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the way the four of them keep popping their heads up and ducking them back down reminds me of the prairie dogs I saw at the zoo.
I make my way over just in time to hear Syd say, “Do you think he’ll ask me?”
“You could just ask him,” Abby says. She rolls her eyes like they’ve had this conversation a million times already.
“Yeah, but I really want him to ask me. Like, he might say yes if I ask, but I don’t want to make him dance if he doesn’t want to, you know? If it’s his idea, I’ll know I’m not forcing him.”
“He’s totally going to ask you,” Shanti says. “Omigod, what if he kisses you?”
All four of them squeal, and Syd covers her face. “Do you think he will? I might die if he does.”
“In a good way or a bad way?” asks Abby.
“Good. I think. Maybe both? Is that a thing?”
“Who are you talking about?” I ask.
I’ve been standing right next to her for at least fifteen seconds, but Syd looks at me like she’s only just noticing I’m here. “Oh,” she says, and her cheeks go pink. “Um. Kevin.”
“You like Kevin? Since when?”
All four of them giggle and shush me, even though the music is superloud and there’s no possible way anyone could overhear us. “Since, like, February,” says Shanti. “Where have you been?”
Where have I been? Syd never mentioned to me that she liked Kevin. Or . . . what if she did? What if I’ve been so wrapped up in my band stuff that I don’t even remember having this conversation? There’s no way I could forget something this important, right? Or am I the worst friend ever?
But then Syd gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Gen. I wasn’t trying to hide it from you or anything. It’s just . . . you never seem interested in talking about boys and stuff, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
My guilt evaporates instantly, and hurt flows in to fill the empty space. I thought Syd and I told each other everything; we have since second grade, when I confided to her that I’d stolen quarters from my dad’s dresser to buy candy. As far as I know, Syd has never liked a real boy before, just actors and singers. Maybe I would’ve felt a tiny bit weird that she was going through stuff I’d never felt myself, but that’s no reason to hold back something this big and important. Couldn’t she have tried to talk to me about it instead of just assuming I wouldn’t be able to handle it and finding new friends?
Earlier, when she gave me her necklace, I felt so much better knowing she believed in me. But if she doesn’t even think I can handle a conversation about a crush, what else does she secretly believe I can’t do?
Ilana gasps before I can say anything. “You guys! He’s coming over here!”
Shanti whips around. “Really?”
“OMG, don’t look at him!”
Syd’s eyes get big and scared, and her hands fly up to smooth her hair. “How do I look? Is my makeup okay?”
“You look great,” I say. But I guess it doesn’t come out enthusiastically
enough, because her gaze skates right past me and lands on Abby, who gushes, “You look so gorgeous! He’s gonna freak out.”
And then there he is, right next to us, and the other girls part to let him into our circle like it’s a choreographed dance. I scoot out of the way at the last minute and almost trip over my own feet, but nobody seems to notice. Syd is staring straight at Kevin, and everyone else is staring at Syd, waiting to see what she’ll do.
“Hey,” Kevin says.
“Hey,” Syd replies, and she sounds so weirdly grown-up, like she suddenly knows how to make “hey” mean forty different things at the same time. When did she learn how to do that, and how did I miss it?
Kevin clears his throat like he’s nervous. He’s basically the most popular boy in our class, and I’ve never seen him look hesitant before. “Do you . . . maybe want to dance or something?”
“Sure,” Syd says, totally cool. And then she walks off with him toward the middle of the floor, where a bunch of girls are already jumping around and screaming along to a Katy Perry song. For a minute, Kevin’s the only boy dancing, but soon a bunch of the other guys peel away from the sidelines and join in, like he’s single-handedly made dancing cool. Syd tosses a bright omigod, can you even believe this? smile over her shoulder, and I grin back to show I’m excited for her. But my stomach suddenly starts to hurt, like someone has wrapped their fingers around my organs and twisted hard.
As soon as I let my fake smile falter, a flash goes off right in my face, and I turn to see a boy with an enormous camera. “Photos for yearbook!” he calls, and then he snaps one more for good measure before he turns and speed-walks away.
Not exactly the moment I would’ve chosen to remember forever.
The song that’s playing is fast, and nobody’s really touching, even if they’re dancing “together.” But as I watch, Kevin takes Syd’s hand and twirls her around, and then he uses that hand to pull her closer to him. She kind of rests her arms on his shoulders, not exactly hugging him, and moves her hips back and forth. I know I would look incredibly awkward if I tried to do that, but she looks like she’s been practicing.
“They are so cute together,” Abby gushes.
“Seriously,” agrees Shanti. Ilana starts snapping photos of Syd and Kevin for Instagram, even though we’re too far away to get a good shot.
I force my eyes away from my best friend and pull my own phone out of the pocket of my jacket—maybe Carmen has texted back with some performance advice. But I don’t have any new messages, and my background picture—Syd and me eating ice cream at her grandparents’ lake house—makes me feel worse. I put the phone away and watch the other people on the dance floor instead, but every single girl is wearing a shiny, satiny dress, and looking at them makes me self-conscious about my outfit again. Although Tess did say she liked my shoes, and she never pretends to like anything she doesn’t actually think is cool.
“So, are you supernervous about tonight?” asks Abby, and it takes me a second to realize she’s talking to me.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess. Pretty nervous.”
“I would be freaking out. I mean, you’ve never even done this before, right? And you’re going to be on TV, where everyone can see!”
The few bites of dinner I’d managed to choke down start playing musical chairs in my stomach, but I try to look calm. “I rehearsed a lot. It’ll probably be fine.”
“When my older sister was in the talent show a couple of years ago, she got up onstage and totally forgot all the words to her song,” Shanti says. “I’d heard her sing it a million times, and then bam, gone! It was like someone erased her brain. She looked like she was going to throw up right there on the stage.”
“My little brother did throw up onstage during his school play,” Ilana says. “He didn’t even have any lines. I don’t think it was because he was nervous, though. I think he had the stomach flu.”
Shanti wrinkles her nose. “Eww. Did it get on the audience?”
“No, he was near the back. But it got on the kid in front of him.”
“My mom always gets really dizzy when she’s nervous,” Abby says. “One time she was giving a speech at my great-grandma’s funeral, and she had to sit down in the middle of it and put her head between her knees. It was so embarrassing.”
“For her or for you?” asks Ilana.
“For me,” Abby says. “Well, I guess probably for her, too.”
What if I throw up onstage tonight? What if I faint and tumble off the edge and break both my arms, and everyone in town sees it live on TV? There’s no way I’d ever be able to sing a choir solo after that. I wouldn’t even be able to leave my house. Dad and Papa would have to homeschool me.
Ilana’s telling another story about fainting now, and I wish I could yell at her to stop talking, that this is the worst possible thing she could be doing. But she and Abby and Shanti barely know me, and I don’t want them to think I’m some sort of fragile flower who freaks out over every little thing. So I just stay quiet and try to keep a smile on my face. If Syd were here, I know she would tell them to cut it out. But apparently Kevin is more important to her than I am right now.
Then again, it’s not performance time yet. Maybe Syd just has so much faith in me that she assumes I’m fine, that I don’t really need her yet. Because there’s no way she would abandon her best friend for some boy if she knew how much I was relying on her, right?
I fold my fingers around her music-note necklace and hope against hope that when it’s time to get up on that stage, she’ll be right there, front and center, cheering me on like she promised.
ELLIE { 8:05 P.M. }
“TICKET, PLEASE.” ONE OF THE eighth graders is set up at a table with a roll of tickets and a silver cash box.
“Oh.” I look around. “I don’t have a ticket.”
“You can buy one here,” he says. “Five dollars.”
“My date has mine,” I tell him.
“Where’s your date?” He’s tapping the cash box with a pencil.
“I . . .” I peer over his shoulder, trying to see inside the gym. “I’m not sure. We had a misunderstanding. He may be inside—”
“Sorry,” he says. “No ticket, no entrance.”
“Maybe I can peek in there to see if he’s already arrived?” I take off my gloves and rub the back of my neck, which is starting to feel a little sweaty.
“Sorry,” he says again. “No ticket, no entrance.”
I open my purse and rummage around inside. “I don’t think I brought any money.”
“Well, there’s nothing I can—” he says.
“I know,” I interrupt. “No ticket, no entrance.”
“That’s right,” he says. “Those are the rules. I didn’t make them. I just enforce them.”
I sigh and lean against the wall next to the ticket table. Kevin’s got to show up sometime. Even if he is inside looking for me, he’ll come out when he realizes I’m not there.
I’ve been waiting for a couple of minutes when Mr. Thomas, my math teacher, spots me.
“Ellie!” He smiles. “Don’t you look pretty. But what are you doing out here?”
“Hi, Mr. Thomas. My date is inside with my ticket. I’m just waiting for him to come out.”
“No need for that,” he says. “Go ahead in.”
“But he said . . .” I shift my attention to the boy at the table.
“It’s okay, Brad,” Mr. Thomas says. “I can vouch for Ellie.”
Brad shrugs. “Your rules,” he says.
“Thank you, Mr. Thomas,” I say, and I head inside.
The first thing I notice are the streamers. They’re a glorious mix of swirling colors, and I’m sure someone put quite a bit of thought into arranging them just so. They’re perfect. Just like this night will be.
The next thing I notice is the noise.
The commotion is even louder than it sounded from the hallway. The music is blaring, and I’m certain that all the kids in this gym (all 152 seventh graders)
are talking at once.
I push my glasses up and scan the room. Finding Kevin is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack, but hopefully he’s looking for me too. I take a deep breath in and smile. Tonight will be everything I dreamed it would be.
Most of the kids are crammed in the front of the gym, toward the stage, so I figure I’ll start in the back, where it’s a little less crowded. I weave my way in and out of the sea of familiar faces, but not one of them is Kevin’s.
I pass a group of girls I recognize from gym class. One of the girls, Genevieve, has always been nice to me. Maybe I’ll ask her if she’s seen Kevin. She gives me a friendly smile as I approach. Just over her shoulder, the other girls are staring at a couple on the dance floor. They’re pointing and giggling and taking tons of pictures of the couple, who are the only ones slow-dancing to a fast song.
“Hi,” Genevieve says.
“Hi,” I answer. “I love your hair.”
“Oh, thanks.” Genevieve touches her braid.
There’s an awkward few seconds where neither of us speaks. I don’t know Genevieve very well, and it’s not like we’ve ever had an actual conversation, other than to say hi to each other during gym class.
“Ummm,” I say, mostly to break the silence. “I was wondering if you’ve seen Kevin?”
“I’m sorry?” Genevieve cups her hand around her ear and moves closer to me.
“Have you seen Kevin?” I say it a little louder.
At the sound of Kevin’s name, the circle of girls that were staring at the dancing couple moves closer to us.
“You’re looking for Kevin?” a tall girl, Abby, asks.
“Yes.” I nod.
Abby crosses her arms and gives me a smirk. “Why?”
Genevieve opens her mouth to say something, but instead looks down at her shoes, which are green high-tops.
I’m not sure how to answer that question, but I decide it’s okay to tell them the truth. They’re going to find out soon enough anyway.
“Kevin is my date.”
“Kevin is your date?” Abby raises an eyebrow.
Best. Night. Ever. Page 7