We get out of the car. Across the street, two little girls dressed exactly alike are perched on matching bicycles, pedaling around their driveway. The grosgrain ribbons in their pigtails are perfectly coordinated to the piping on their bicycle baskets, and their sandals are the exact same shade of bubble gum pink. Laurel and I used to dress like that, back when we were friends and had less control over our wardrobe. A wave of guilt washes over me as I consider how far apart we’ve grown, and what I may do tonight. Steal Thayer from her. If I can.
But I need to keep up the front for a little while longer, because if Thayer doesn’t like me … I hold back a shudder.
“You guys, you should have been there last night, in the kitchen,” I say to my friends as we head down the sidewalk. “I’m telling you, Thayer’s, like, in love with me, big-time. I’m going to ask him on a picnic for tomorrow night. I’ll seal the deal there.”
“Sweet,” Charlotte chirps.
“He deserves it,” Mads adds.
I throw back my shoulders confidently as we stride up Nisha’s driveway. Bass pounds from the backyard. Kids stand on the front lawn, too, and, not surprisingly, every boy we pass stares at us. As I turn around to lock Floyd, I even see a curtain flutter next door. If I’m not mistaken, it’s Ethan Landry’s house. Why doesn’t he just come tonight? It’s not like he’s bad-looking—he could totally hang out at a party if he acted normal.
Suddenly, I’m bombarded by voices: “Sutton! You look ah-mazing!” “Is that top Thakoon?” Then I hear the distinctive, electronic click of an iPhone camera and look up. Gabby and Lili beam at me, phones in hand.
I extend my palm. “Girls, no pictures of me in Twitter-land without my permission.”
Gabby peers at the screen, then presents the photo to me for approval. I take in the image of myself on the sidewalk. My smile is wide and surprised. But I look a little nervous, too. A little, dare I say, in love.
Lili is already tapping away furiously. “Thank God you guys are here. Making a grand entrance, as usual.” Then she glances at Charlotte. “Oh. Garrett was looking for you.”
Charlotte smiles coolly. “Whatev. It never hurts to keep a guy waiting.” But even as she says it, she’s rising on her tiptoes to pick him out of the crowd. I want to make fun of her, but then I remember Garrett showing up on my porch the other day with that weird story about the phone. I’d forgotten to mention it to her—or maybe I didn’t want to. I only hope Garrett doesn’t say anything, either. Char might think I was deliberately hiding it or something.
We enter the living room, which is spacious and decorated in stylish neutrals. A cluster of tiny tea lights twinkle from a marble console table, and the smell of gardenia mixed with beer envelops me. Almost all of my classmates are here—at least, the ones who should be here, chatting eagerly and enjoying the very last gasp of summer. Starling Russe, who’s on the tennis team, spots me and waves broadly, brandishing a giant plastic red cup. The florid hue of her pert nose tells me that whatever she’s drinking, it’s not her first. There are discarded red plastic cups on the floor, a bunch of chips spilled on the table, and a splash of something suspicious on one of the walls. The music is so loud it’s making everything vibrate.
“Did we miss anything good?” Madeline asks Gabby loudly, craning her neck to take in everything at once.
Gabby rolls her eyes. “Not really. Nisha’s freaking, though. I guess she assumed we were going to keep this place spotless or something.”
I snort. “She’s wound so tight.”
Then I spy Nisha at the foot of the stairs, holding court among a cluster of other girls from the team. But she doesn’t look stressed to me. She’s gesticulating lavishly and tossing her glossy dark ponytail over one shoulder. Several of the tennis girls glance my way and wave, but Nisha just gives me a snottily arched eyebrow. Whatever. My presence here makes the party, and she knows it.
I continue surveying the room. There’s Jeff Katz from the football team, and Greg Richter, the actually cool class president. A couple of senior girls dressed in BCBG frocks stand impassively by the sliding-glass doors, glancing at their phones. My gaze sweeps across the faces again and again, but then I realize: Thayer isn’t anywhere. Is it possible he didn’t come?
I lean over to Madeline. “It’s too hot in here. I’m gonna get a drink and head to the backyard.”
She nods. “Good luck finding my brother.”
I freeze, wondering if I’ve somehow given myself away. Does she know how I feel? Does she realize that for me, it’s not a prank anymore? But Madeline is smiling at me excitedly without a trace of guile in her expression. I breathe out, feeling drunk even though I haven’t had a sip of anything yet. Suddenly, I really do need to get outside to cool down.