An hour and a half later, Lisbeth came crashing into the house, armed with a bag full of curling irons and hot rollers and wicked-looking bobby pins. Panting, she dumped them onto Claire's bed.
"Please tell me you have makeup," she begged Claire.
"Yep," said Claire. "All lined up and waiting." She pointed to the cosmetics on her vanity.
"Oh, thank God. Well, let me get this stuff plugged in, and you can start with your makeup while it heats up. When are Emily and Amy getting here?"
Claire shrugged. "Any time. And the guys are picking us up at five thirty."
Lisbeth's jaw dropped. "Three heads of hair need to be done by five thirty? Yikes. I'm not exactly a pro at this, Claire. More like a well-equipped amateur. Interested bystander, even."
Claire picked up an eyeliner pencil. "Yeah, but Emily's hair's short, so it won't take long, and Amy's hair will probably look perfect when she gets here, anyway." Claire knew she sounded pathetic, but she didn't care.
Lisbeth froze, a curling iron in each hand. "Whoa. I thought you two were friends."
Claire focused on tracing the edge of her eyelid in the mirror. "She wants to be friends. She's friends with Emily, but it's just . . . complicated."
Lisbeth came up behind her and squeezed Claire's shoul der. "I'd love to tell you that it gets less complicated as you get older"—she wrinkled her nose—"but it really doesn't. Whatever happens, though, however it works out, I'm always on your side."
Downstairs, the front door banged open.
"Claire? Helloooo! We're here!" Emily's voice climbed the stairs ahead of her. She came into the room, even more loaded down with bags and boxes than Lisbeth had been. Amy trundled in behind her, half-hidden behind an enormous garment bag. Emily dropped her stuff and practically fluttered over to Claire.
"I'm so excited—can you believe it's finally today and we're actually going to a dance together? I could barely sleep last night. Oooh—is that the eyeshadow you're wearing? I love it!"
Lisbeth laughed, shaking her head at Emily's usual no-onegets-a-word-in-edgewise entrance. Still, Emily's excitement was contagious, and Claire felt her own anticipation rising.
"Hi, Claire," Amy said. There was a sort of thrilled hesitation in her voice, like she was reaching for something hot— like she was afraid she might get burned. "Thanks for having us over to get ready."
"No problem," Claire said, toying with her mascara. "We'd better get started, though, or we'll still be half-done when the guys get here."
"Amen," said Lisbeth, swooping over to Emily with a handful of rhinestone-studded hairpins.
After nearly an hour, Lisbeth escaped downstairs, claiming she'd earned a tea break, though Claire could tell that she was just trying to give the three of them a little time alone.
"So, is everything ready for the party?" Claire asked Emily.
A pleased and proud look swept across Emily's face. Claire felt herself shrivel just a little bit. Even if she managed to get Emily to believe her fictional illness, she would still be missing the most wild and exciting thing Emily had ever done. No matter how amazing the naming ended up being, it was going to cost Claire to be there. It was going to take something from her human life.
"Oh, it's ready all right. The breakables and valuables are stashed in the back of my mom's closet, the kitchen's full of plastic cups, and the freezer is full of ice." She dropped her voice. "I got a couple of the football players to agree to bring the keg—I mean, I am woman, hear me roar and all that, but those things are freaking heavy."
Amy laughed, her tumble of blond curls shaking around her shoulders. She'd asked Lisbeth to keep her hair down, and it looked gorgeous—Lisbeth hadn't done much more than smooth her curls and put some shiny stuff on the ends. But it was still amazing. Jealousy dropped a mean-eyed veil over Claire as she stared at the gleaming ringlets.
"Well," she said, wrenching her attention back to Emily, "I'm sure it's going to be amazing."
"It better, because if—" Emily raised a warning finger, and in the process she bumped her makeup bag on Claire's nightstand, sending tubes and brushes everywhere. "Oh, damn!" She scooped up the ones that were still on the nightstand and then disappeared, rustling the bedskirt as she dug around for whatever might have rolled under the bed.
"Hey, Claire, did you get a dog that you haven't told me about?" Emily's voice was muffled.