You're Invited

by Jen Malone

  Okaaay. That was kind of uncomfortable.

  “It’s sort of complicated.” I push the pictures across to Linney. “It has to look like that plantation house in Gone with the Wind, with little trees and grass and stuff. And a tiny Scarlett and Rhett. Here’s a picture of them.”

  “I know what Scarlett and Rhett look like.” Linney writes something in the binder as I silently pull the pictures back and clutch them in front of me.

  Linney taps the cake part of the pen on the page. She gives me the same pitying look she did the day everyone turned in their twenty dollars for the class field trip to Raleigh. Everyone but me, that is. (At least until Becca insisted she’d “just happened to find” a twenty when she was sweeping in the Visitor’s Center.)

  “This isn’t going to be cheap, you know.”

  Okay. That’s low. And how much do I hate that I can feel my face going red? Dad and I haven’t lived in that trailer since April, but people like Linney will never forget it. I grit my teeth and don’t say anything. For Sadie.

  I look her straight in the eye. “This is for Molly Campbell’s ninth birthday party. You know, the Campbells who built those new condos down by the mini-golf place? I can pay for it. It should say ‘Happy Birthday, Molly,’ and the cake needs to be chocolate. We’d like it delivered to the Poinsettia Plantation House on Saturday morning by eleven. Just call me if your mom has any questions. I have to get back to the beach for the volleyball game now.”

  And with that, I do my best Becca-inspired flounce right out the door—and turn the wrong way down the sidewalk. But Linney’s either stunned into silence or not even looking, because she doesn’t say anything as I flounce back by the Marks Makes Cakes window to grab my bike.

  I unlock my bike from the rack and pedal fast through the square and toward the beach. Dealing with a monster like Linney totally earned me a detour by Beach Sports. I wish I knew how to stop letting her get under my skin. Dad says she’ll forget all about it once we get to high school, but that’s ages away. I roll past the souvenir T-shirt shop, and brake to a stop outside Beach Sports, where they’ve got all kinds of beachy sportiness displayed on the sidewalk to lure tourists to their cash registers.

  Right there, side by side, next to a row of boogie boards, sit Vi’s Most Wanted. Two kayaks in hunter green—Dad’s favorite color. I’d put up with a hundred Linney Markses to get my hands on those. I’ve been saving my babysitting money since March. If I keep landing sitting gigs, Dad and I could be cutting through the water in those green kayaks by September.

  Assuming I can get him away from work long enough, that is. Being in construction means you have to work a zillion hours a day, every day of the week. Unless it rains, then you don’t work at all. And there’s never enough money for things like kayaks or field trips or fancy ingredients from that ethnic grocery store that opened on the next island over. Dad always refuses to take the money Meemaw offers for stuff like that. Meemaw is my mom’s mother, which makes things weird between her and Dad. He only agreed to move into her house because she’ll be in Maine all summer and she didn’t want to rent the place out. She told Dad he’d be doing her a favor by us moving in.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s lilac and So Not Vi, but it’s a phone. Lauren’s parents gave her a new one for her birthday, so she passed this one on to me. Embarrassing, but like I said, it’s a phone. Which is better than no phone. And the lilac is maybe just a little bit cute.

  Balancing over my bike, I click it on.

  Hottie McH h8s me.

  Becca.

  I snort back a laugh. She has to mean that new guy she met at her parents’ Visitors’ Center thingy.

  ??? I type back.

  Kinda sorta crashed into him.

  Okay, now I laugh for real. Tourists give me funny looks as they wander by Beach Sports. Girl in wet clothes perched on a bike, laughing at her phone. I guess I do look a little crazy.

  Why did u do that?

  2 say hi.

  Becca. Becca, Becca, Becca. Seriously, with all her know-how about clothes and makeup and stuff, she’s completely clueless when it comes to actually talking to guys. Not that I really know a whole lot about boys either, but at least I know that running one over on your bike is probably not the best way to make friends.

  “Vi?” Speaking of guys, Lance Travis, king of Sandpiper Beach Middle School sports, skids to a stop next to me. “Why aren’t you at the beach? Major volleyball tournament, remember?”

  I push off on my bike, down Coastline Drive, making sure to cut right in front of him when he starts pedaling again. He wobbles a bit and then rolls up next to me.

  “Loser,” he says, with his Lance-like half-smile that makes Becca sigh every time she walks by him.

  “Butt breath,” I say. “Did you find us a sixth person for our team?”

  He rubs a hand through his short brown hair as he pedals. “Yeah, this Irish dude who showed up at the basketball courts in the park yesterday. Cruddy basketball player, but he swears he’s good at volleyball.”

  “Great. Guess it’s better than being down a player.” My phone buzzes again. I glance at it, expecting Becca, but it’s Sadie. “Hold up,” I say to Lance.

  He brakes and looks back at me. “You’re stopping to text? Really? You’re such a girl.”

  I punch him hard on the arm for that. “This is important. Just a sec.”

  Cake status? Sadie wants to know. She’s probably sitting at her kitchen table, surrounded by charts and Post-it notes and whatever else super-organized people use to stay super organized.

  Cake ordered, I type back.

  Did they have mini S & R?

  Whoops. In all my flouncing and dripping, I kind of forgot to make sure they had a little Scarlett and Rhett to stick on the cake. Linney said she knew what they looked like . . . so she would’ve told me if they didn’t, right?

  I hope so, anyway.

  I know I should pedal back and find out for sure, but Lance is already giving me the evil eye for texting when I should be headed for the game. Okay, I’ll just call later.

  Yup. Don’t worry! I type to Sadie.

  “Vi! Volleyball, now! I’m leaving without you,” Lance calls over his shoulder.

  I shove the phone into the waistband of my shorts and take off after him. I’ll call the cake shop after the game. No big deal.

  YOU’RE INVITED

  I do declare! Miss Molly Campbell, daughter of Jeremy and Christina Campbell, cordially invites you to her ninth birthday tea party—with a killer surprise twist!

  The festivities shall take place at two o’clock on Saturday, June 27, at the Poinsettia Plantation House, 10370 Poinsettia Road, Sandpiper Beach (mainland).

  Refreshments shall be provided. Formal dress encouraged.

  Kindly RSVP to Sadie Pleffer at (910) 555-0110 or sadie@rsvpmail.com

  Sadie

  TODAY’S TO-DO LIST

  ■ leave Mom reminder to come to Poinsettia Plantation House in her day planner

  ■ finish taping paper fans

  ■ pack fake blood

  Becs, are you kidding me with that dress right now?”

  I love the girl to death, but who arrives to set up an event in petticoats? Even if it is at an old Southern plantation.

  “But I swish when I walk.” Becca’s lower lip juts out in a perfectly lip-glossed pout, making it impossible to be mad. I puff my bangs out of my eyes.

  “You look and sound fantastic, Swishy Girl. But I need you sweating, not swishing right now. There’s a change of clothes in the emergency kit in the first upstairs bedroom. Top of the stairs, turn left,” I tell her, pointing the way.

  She gives me a grin and heads for the elaborate staircase. Halfway up she pauses and sweeps a hand across her forehead.

  “Oh, Rhett, darling. Don’t leave me.”

  “BECCA!” I place one hand on my hip and use my other to point more forcefully at the top of the stairs. I hope she’s half as convincing later, when she has to be
in character as a belle. I’m counting on her to help me make today extra perfect. I told Mrs. Campbell she’d be able to kick back and put her feet up because we’d handle everything and she’d seemed pretty into that. More importantly, I need Mom to witness the amazingness that is Party Planner Sadie so she’ll realize she can’t function without me, and that particular feat is going to take all our combined efforts. It has to be perfect by the time she arrives for her “surprise.”

  “Sadie, where do these go?” Vi is at my side, holding a stack of tablecloths.

  At least I don’t have to worry about Vi showing up in a hoop skirt. It’s going to take a ton of coaxing to get her to change out of her flip-flops and board shorts into a Southern gentleman bachelor outfit as it is. She claims she’s just happy she doesn’t have to wear the cotton-candy dress, but we’ll see when the time comes to get changed.

  “The two rectangular ones are for the setups inside, then the round ones go on the tables on the porch,” I answer, checking my clipboard.

  “I’ll do the outside ones,” Lauren says. She probably wants to be alone out there so she can work math problems in her head as she sets up. I notice both of her feet are planted in the doorway.

  “What are you, a vampire? Do you need an invitation to enter?” Vi grins as she teases Lauren.

  “I’m not setting foot inside this . . . unearthly house if I can help it.” Lauren gives an all-over body shudder.

  Vi rolls her eyes and passes the tablecloths to Lauren, who pivots and strides across the deep porch. Lauren might find this house creepy, but I think it’s pretty amazing. The ceilings in the entryway have to be like twenty feet tall. I bet I could stack all three of my friends on my shoulders and they still wouldn’t touch the ceiling. Actually, though, it would probably need to be Vi on the bottom. She plays enough beach volleyball to have awesome shoulder muscles.

  A staircase, wide enough for two girls wearing hoop skirts to go up side by side, curves around as it reaches the second floor. The whole place is decorated super fancy, with enormous crystal chandeliers and green-and-gold magnolia-flower wallpaper covering every wall. There are more paintings of old-fashioned-looking people than I bet even Hogwarts has.

  I guess if you stare at the portraits long enough, it does sort of look like the eyes are following you. Well, whatever. Most of the action will take place on the porch anyway. And that’s completely amazing too. It wraps around the whole house and is big enough to ride bikes on.

  Speaking of bikes . . .

  I catch movement out the window and step closer to see a boy pedaling furiously up the tree-lined driveway. I’m just reaching the porch steps when he skids to a halt in front of them.

  “Am I late?” He’s gasping for breath. Although . . . nice accent. I’m wondering if he rode all the way from the island. It’s kind of a long bike ride. Lauren somehow guilted Zach into driving us and all our stuff out here, and Becca had her dad drop her off.

  “Late for what?” I ask, but just then Vi appears behind me.

  “Hey, Ryan, you made it! Sadie, this is Ryan.”

  Ooooo-kay. Am I missing something? I have every second of today mapped out in my event binder and I don’t remember anything about any Ryan.

  “Ryan just joined my beach volleyball team. I hired him to play the bachelor.” Vi looks oh-so-proud of herself. “He’s an actor, and I thought this would be the perfect gig for him.”

  Ryan bows at the waist, grinning. “I’m keen to put my skills to use. It’s not quite drama camp, but it is an actual paid job, and a struggling actor never turns down a role.”

  Paid? I mouth to Vi, careful to angle myself so Ryan can’t see my lips moving.

  Just ten bucks, she mouths back, with a shrug. To Ryan she says, “We’re really excited to have you here. I was supposed to play the bachelor, but I think it will be much more believable if he’s actually, well, a he. You know, I sure hope you’re better at acting than you are at volleyball.” She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at him. “If you lied about that, I’ll make your life miserable.”

  Ryan smiles again and swings a leg over his bike so he’s now standing next to it. “I promise I’m better at acting than I am at any sport.”

  I give Vi an uneasy look. “You know, Becca’s been rehearsing that role with you like crazy. I hope she isn’t too—”

  “Well now, I do declare. Is that a real live gentleman I see?” Becca’s green eyes are twinkling like a Christmas tree as she crosses the porch, still wearing, I might add, her swishy dress.

  “—disappointed,” I mumble. What was I thinking? Becca would never mind any change of plans, as long as a boy is involved.

  “I daren’t believe I caught your name the other day, fine sir,” Becca says to Ryan, still using her over-the-top Southern drawl. Of course, on her it sounds adorable.

  Too bad Ryan doesn’t seem to think so. His grin fades a little as he mumbles, “Ryan.”

  Poor Becca. Looks like this guy isn’t falling for her charms.

  Although, what am I doing? I don’t have time to worry about Becca’s love life, or lack of one, because I have a party to prepare for. And it has to be the best, the most over-the-top, without-a-hitch Murder-Mystery/Southern-Tea-Party Birthday that’s ever been thrown. Especially because Mom will be here to witness it.

  I clap my hands. “We have thirty minutes before the guests arrive. Everyone back to work!”

  Becca drops one hand onto the handlebar of Ryan’s bike. “Let me show you where you can store this, Ryan.” She swishes off with Ryan trailing her.

  Vi giggles. “I’d hate to be that poor guy right now. Too bad he’s not playing the corpse.”

  I glance at her and lift my eyebrows.

  She smiles. “I have a feeling by the time we get to the murder part, he’ll be begging for someone to shoot him.”

  • • •

  “Psst, Sadie! You can’t tell, can you?” Vi motions at her long skirt, which she’s pulled up just slightly to reveal blue plastic flip-flops.

  Oh, Vi. And she’s still wearing the ponytail too, which I really doubt was a popular hairstyle in eighteen-hundred-whatever. Thing is, though, when she drops the skirt again, you really can’t tell what’s on her feet, and besides, how can I be annoyed when my friends are crazy awesome to be here helping me? Obviously, Vi would be way happier at the beach and Lauren probably has flash cards to fill out, and Becca . . . well, actually I’m sure Becca’s perfectly content right here. But still. I should be grateful to have friends who will sacrifice their day just so I can fix everything with my mom and get things back to normal.

  I smile at Vi and give her a “whatever” shrug, then go back to filling a glass with pink lemonade for one of the guests on the porch. Tires crunch up the gravel drive and I jerk my head up to see if it’s Mom’s Volvo. It’s not.

  “Hey!” squeaks the girl I’m pouring a drink for, and I snap my attention back just before I overfill her cup.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  Get your head in the game, Sadie. She’ll be here. Besides, Mom showing up to see me dumping sugary beverages all over my guests won’t exactly inspire her confidence in my ability to handle any party task she could throw at me. Which is what I have to prove today.

  Lauren leans over my shoulder. “That’s the last of the guests, by my head count. Any time you’re ready.”

  As much as I want to wait for Mom to get here to begin, that wouldn’t be fair to the birthday girl. I set the pitcher down gently and clap my hands together.

  “Girls, if I could have everyone’s attention.”

  Unfortunately, the group of nine-year-olds are so busy squealing over how fancy they all look in their dresses that no one pays me the slightest bit of attention. I try clapping again, but not one person looks my way.

  The loudest whistle I’ve ever heard pierces the air. I swing my head towards Vi in time to see her remove two fingers from her mouth.

  “Hi, y’all. This girl over here needs your att
ention for a few seconds before we can get back to the fun.”

  She points to me, and I barely manage to stop gaping at her and face the guests before they all turn their heads toward me.

  “Um, hi. Hi, everyone. So, uh, we have a really fun afternoon planned for you, but, um, first we’re going to start with some refreshments on the porch. So if the rest of you will please have a seat, we’ll begin our tea service.”

  I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I guess because when I help Mom my job is to mainly blend into the background as much as possible, but now I have to run the whole show. Talk about pressure. And just WHERE is my mother?

  Forty-five minutes later, there’s still no sign of her. But at least everything else is going smoothly. The tiny crustless finger sandwiches were a giant success (especially since I skipped traditional cucumber and made them peanut butter and jelly instead), and so was the sweet tea. The girls are fanning themselves with the folded paper fans Becca, Lauren, Vi, and I made the other night, and Molly and her mom both seem to be into the whole tea-on-the-porch thing.

  I hate to admit it, but the biggest hit so far has been Ryan. He’s completely owning his role as the gentleman of the house, welcoming each guest by name (the place cards I did totally come in handy) and pretty much charming the socks off of them. Looks like Becca is now gonna have to fight her way through a swarm of nine-year-olds if she wants a shot at him herself.

  So far so good. But if there’s one thing I learned from Mom’s weddings it’s this: Keep the action moving along. It’s only a matter of minutes before these girls start sword fighting with their fans or using them to scoop up the dip. I had really, really wanted to wait for Mom to witness this part, but I have no idea what’s keeping her or how much longer it will take. I wink once with each eye to signal Lauren and she beelines around the corner. I wait for it.

  And wait for it.

  And wait for it.

  Finally, I gather my long skirt in my hands and slide past the partygoers and around the corner. I spot the problem immediately.

  Lauren is standing in the doorway, whisper-yelling Becca’s name into the house.