The popular kids (like Elise and Corey and the head cheerleader) also rushed, not only because they were caught up in the excitement of the day, but also, I suspected, because they knew what a fine picture they would make as they opened up their invites in front of lesser beings.
I, however, hung back. I had a feeling in the back of my heart that there maybe was an invitation in my locker, that this would be the Big Move I had been waiting for from James. But I was scared to trust this feeling too much, because I wasn’t sure if it was my usual good intuition or just wishful thinking. As much as I had hoped and prayed over this matter since the Farrells had announced their party, there was still a chance that my locker would be empty when I got to it. And unlike all the other kids, I didn’t see any reason to rush toward possible disappointment.
A kind of numbness overtook me as I moved through the halls. I watched the other students jumping up and down with joy while waving their invitations in the air. Or staring with dejected faces into empty lockers and an even emptier Friday night. By the time I got to my locker, my used-to-be-good intuition had reversed its thinking, and I decided that the only reason I was opening my locker was to throw in the books I wouldn’t need to do my weekend homework.
Which was why I let out a gasp of surprise when I saw the manila invitation lying on top of the books in my locker.
SEVEN
My first thought was that James had finally come through. My second, crushing thought was that somebody else’s invitation might have been dropped into my locker by mistake.
So I put my books down on the floor and picked up the envelope . . .
. . . only to find the name “Davidia Jones” scrawled across the front.
Blood rushed to my head, and I could feel a sweat break out over my entire body—even though I felt extremely cold. I was like a block of ice unable to move for fear of cracking.
I made the connection for the very first time that this was what my books meant when they said that some character “broke into a cold sweat.”
My heart stopped, then lurched, and then soared as I tore open that envelope, my fingers forming a forever memory as they pulled out the simple note card. It read, “You are cordially invited to Farrell Manor for The Best Party Ever.” I smiled, because giving the party such a rah-rah title had to have been Tammy’s idea, and I could just imagine James having to facilitate the argument between her and Veronica over it.
Below the announcement was a time and the Farrell Manor address, which I didn’t need because I already knew how to get there by heart. And below that was a handwritten note:
Hope to see you there. James.
I read and reread that line about fifty times. I took note of the period behind “there,” and was impressed because it was so much more laid back than an exclamation point. I also like the large, confident way he signed his name with a huge “J.”
I loved him. I loved him so much that I didn’t know how to express it anymore. It was beyond words at that point. All I could do was let my love for him fill me up from head to toe, until it was glowing out of me from every pore.
I put the invitation in my backpack and took the money jar out of my locker. I had taped a piece of paper on the side of it, which had served as an accounting ledger as I put money into it.
Right now the ledger read: $1,017.30. At the beginning of fall, I had barely broken six hundred dollars, but the classroom floors had been especially kind, plus there was all of the money that Congressman Farrell had given me.
I had thought to use the money for Rider University after I graduated, but as I read the number on the side of the jar, I could see something else in my future:
A dress.
A dress that would transform me from bottom-of-the-totem-pole-ugly to deserving-of-the-most-popular-guy-in-school. A dress like the ones that had transformed Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink and Ally Sheedy in The Breakfast Club . . . and Cinderella at the ball.
. . .