I make a brief detour to the dining room, adding my present to the pile on the table. There’s crêpe paper and streamers everywhere, and a big banner that spells out SWEET SIXTEEN stretched across the enormous window.
An Eiffel Tower cake rises from the center of the table, in honor of Megan’s upcoming trip to France with Gigi. Surrounding it are tiered plates piled high with macarons, petit fours, and other assorted goodies, including pink M&M’s with the number 16 on them. I’d heard you could special order them that way, but I’ve never known anybody who did it. It looks like the Wongs pulled out all the stops for the party.
I try not to be jealous, but it’s not always easy being friends with Megan. She’s totally not some stuck-up rich girl, but her parents have more money than the bank, as my father likes to say, and it’s probably true. What’s also true is that they’re down-to-earth and incredibly generous. Mrs. Wong is on the board of practically every charity in town.
But still, I can’t help comparing my life with Megan’s sometimes.
My parents probably won’t be able to do much for my birthday, unless my father gets a job soon. Maybe it’s just as well that I’ll be out of town for it this year. I’ll be in Minnesota, since my birthday falls during spring break and my grandmother is taking me to Mankato. That’s the town where the Betsy-Tacy books are set.
My gaze lingers on the Eiffel Tower cake. One more thing for me to add to the list of things I should try not to get jealous about. When it comes right down to it, Mankato, Minnesota, just isn’t in the same spring-break-trip league as Paris, France.
I jog back across the living room and down the hallway past Megan’s room and her parents’ room and the sewing room and the guest room where Sophie is staying, finally catching up with Megan and Emma as they’re starting downstairs.
The lower level of Megan’s house has a huge family room, where we’ll be having the dance party tonight, a laundry room, Mr. Wong’s office, and my favorite part, the guest quarters. That’s what Mrs. Wong calls it anyway, or used to, before Megan’s grandmother came to live with them. Now everybody just calls it Gigi’s place.
It’s like a little apartment, with a bedroom, a bathroom, and a tiny sitting room and kitchen. We used to come down here a lot back in middle school to watch movies and hang out with Gigi, but now that she has the tea shop, she’s not home as much as she used to be. I miss spending time here.
The door is open, and I hear Sophie before I see her. She has a low, musical voice, and she’s chattering away in a language that must be French. Since I take Spanish, I have no clue what she’s saying. I look over at Megan, and she shrugs, too. She switched to French this year, but she isn’t very good at it yet. She’ll get lots of practice over spring break, lucky girl.
The three of us poke our heads in the door. Gigi and Sophie are sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping tea and looking at a scrapbook of some kind. I recognize it as one of Gigi’s photo albums from Fashion Week. Sophie has her back to us, and she’s animated and laughing, obviously having a great time.
“Bonjour, girls!” chirps Gigi when she sees us. “Come on in. Tea?”
Sophie turns around, and Megan sucks in her breath sharply. At first I don’t understand, but then I spot the French girl’s earrings. Diamonds the size of peanuts—they’ve got to be Gigi’s. The ones she sometimes lends to Megan for special occasions.
“No thanks,” says Megan stiffly, and Emma and I shake our heads, too.
Sophie’s smile fades.
Gigi hops down from the stool where she’s perched. “Sophie, je vous présente Emma Hawthorne et Rebecca Chadwick,” she rattles off in French. Hearing our names, I figure she’s probably introducing us.
Sophie slides off her stool as well. She’s petite, like Jess, with the same lustrous dark hair as her cousin Annabelle. Hers is curly, though, framing a heart-shaped face and eyes that aren’t blue like Annabelle’s, but greenish and thickly fringed with lashes. She’s very pretty. Especially with the diamond earrings.
“Nice to meet you, Emma,” she says politely, shaking her hand. Her English is flawless, with just the right amount of French accent. She turns to me. “You too, Becca.”
Uh-oh, I think. She already knows my nickname. This is not a good sign. She’s probably been talking with Annabelle. Or am I making too much of it? Gigi could have told her, right?
Megan looks like she’s about to cry. I can only imagine how she feels. I mean, the earrings are Gigi’s, of course, and she’s free to lend them to whomever she wants—she even let me wear them one evening when I was here for a sleepover. But a total stranger? When it’s Megan’s birthday? It’s so not fair.
As if to add insult to injury, Coco starts squirming in Megan’s arms and manages to wriggle free. Megan sets her down on the floor, and she runs right over to Sophie.
“Oh, c’est adorable! Le chaton t’adore vraiment!” says Gigi as Sophie bends over and scoops up the kitten.
“No it’s not,” mutters Megan under her breath.
“What did she say?” I whisper.
“That it’s cute the way Coco loves her.”
The intercom crackles just then. “Megan, your guests are arriving,” says Mrs. Wong. “You may want to come back upstairs and greet them.”
Megan spins on her heel and stalks out of the room. Emma and I follow her, leaving Gigi looking puzzled.
“This just gets worse every second!” Megan sputters when we’re out of earshot. “I was going to ask Gigi if I could borrow those earrings for the party! They’d be perfect with my outfit.” She gestures at the dress that we found at Sweet Repeats. It’s lavender, with a short, tiered skirt and puffed sleeves like the ones on my blouse.
“Yeah, they really would,” says Emma, who’s gone for more of a Flashdance look, with an off-the-shoulder sweater and enough dark eyeliner to qualify her as a raccoon. “Maybe you should say something to her.”
“Sophie?”
“No, dork—Gigi.”
Megan shakes her head. “Too late now.”
Upstairs, the living room is crowded with our friends from Alcott High. I laugh out loud when I see Ashley’s outfit. “I can’t believe you picked that one!” I tell her. “I thought you were joking!”
“Ha!” she replies triumphantly, striking a pose. “I told you that you’d crack up.” She’s dressed in a complete ’80s exercise outfit—long-sleeved leotard, tights, leg warmers, little belt at the waist. A sweatband around her forehead peeks out beneath her poufed-up bangs. Mrs. Wong frowns when she sees her.
“Aren’t you going to be cold, honey?”
“Don’t worry,” Ashley tells her, pointing to a sweatshirt draped over the white leather sofa. “I brought that for the car ride, and I’ll put it on in if I get chilly.”
“Hey Becca,” says a voice behind us. I turn around to see Third standing there. He’s wearing jeans, like me, along with a polo shirt with an upturned collar.
“Hey,” I reply, without enthusiasm.
“Did you hear that Mr. Wong rented a limo to take us to the restaurant for dinner? Cool, huh?”
I nod. Another thing my family definitely won’t be doing this year for my birthday.
The three of us talk for a while, and then Ashley nudges me. “Who invited him?” she asks, jerking her chin at Kevin Mullins, who’s dangling nervously in the vicinity of Jess and Darcy. He finally got rid of his enormous glasses, but he still looks like an owl because he’s not used to his contacts yet and he blinks all the time.
“I did,” says Gigi, who has a soft spot for Kevin. “That boy could use some fattening up.”
It’s true. My dad says that Kevin has to stand up twice to cast a shadow. He used to be practically a midget, but he shot up last summer and now he’s the same height as Cassidy Sloane, only about a hundred times skinnier.
Gigi pulls me aside. “Is everything okay with Megan?”
“Uh . . .” I hesitate, feeling trapped.
“She seems a little, I don’t k
now, upset.”
I figure I might as well be the one to spill the beans. “It’s the earrings,” I tell her. “I think she was going to ask to borrow them for the party.”
A frown creases Gigi’s face. “Oh dear,” she says. “I didn’t even stop to—it never occurred to me that—oh dear,” she says again, and sighs. “Sophie was feeling badly about what’s going on back at home, and because she didn’t know about the ’80s theme, and I just thought the earrings would spark up that black turtleneck. It gives her an Audrey Hepburn flair, don’t you think?”
I look across the room to where Megan’s mother is introducing Sophie to the rest of our friends. Gigi is right, of course. Sophie looks dazzling. But then, who wouldn’t in diamond earrings like those?
Cassidy Sloane and Zach Norton are the last ones to arrive. They come in just as Mrs. Wong finishes the introductions. Cassidy shakes Sophie’s hand, looking like a giantess next to the petite French girl. At six feet tall, though, Cassidy looks like a giantess next to just about everybody.
“Awesome!” breathes Ashley, gaping at her cotton-candy pink prom dress. For once, Cassidy really got into the spirit of things, fashionwise. Her mother must have helped her with her hair, which is just as gravity defying as Ashley’s and mine. Cassidy’s notoriously bad at doing it herself, and no way is she responsible for getting it to look like that.
She looks kind of ridiculous next to Sophie, though. Gigi was right about the Audrey Hepburn thing—Sophie looks sleek and sophisticated in her jeans and black turtleneck. Even if she didn’t get the memo about the ’80s theme, it seems to me she could have tried a little harder.
Cassidy and Emma and Jess drift over to where Megan and Ashley and I are standing, leaving the French girl surrounded by a knot of boys.
“Like flies to honey,” says Emma ruefully, her gaze lingering on my brother, who’s also part of the pack.
“It’s the accent,” I tell her. “I mean, look at us.” I gesture at our flounces and frills and big hair. “Who could resist all this beauty?”
We stare at one another, then burst out laughing. We look ridiculous.
“How did you get your bangs to do that?” Megan asks Jess, whose thick blond fringe has been teased into a sky-high pouf.
“About a gallon of hair spray.” She tosses her high side-ponytail back and forth. “My mother helped me. She said she used to wear her hair like this all the time.”
“Love the tutu skirt and cropped leggings, but those shoulder pads on your jean jacket look like they need their own zip code,” I tell her, prodding at one of them.
“Careful there—I found this in the back of my mom’s closet,” she replies, laughing again. She turns to Cassidy. “I can’t believe you actually wore pink! Voluntarily, I mean.”
Cassidy grins. “It’s my birthday present to Megan.”
“Gee, thanks,” says Megan.
A few minutes later Mr. Wong emerges from whatever he was doing down in the family room and claps his hands. “The limo is here!”
“Just one?” asks Emma. “Are we all going to fit?”
We grab our coats and go outside, where we all stop dead in our tracks. At the foot of the driveway is the longest limo I’ve ever seen in my life. And not just any limo—a Hummer. A pink Hummer.
“Sweet ride!” crows Third.
“Jerry, you didn’t!” cries Mrs. Wong. “I thought we agreed on the hybrid.” Megan’s mother is a die-hard environmentalist.
“Last-minute executive decision,” says Mr. Wong, ignoring her disapproval. “This is safer in the snow.”
“Whoa, that thing is huge!” says Zach Norton. “I didn’t know they came that big.”
“Oh yeah, baby,” says Cassidy, picking up the hem of her dress and jogging toward it. I hadn’t noticed that she’s got pink high-top sneakers on. “I am wearing the right color tonight!”
She opens the door and climbs in, and we pile in behind her, leaving the guys outside with Mr. Wong to ooh and aah over the Hummer’s exterior. We’re checking out the DVD player and refrigerator filled with soda and snacks when Sophie slips in. She looks around a little uncertainly, then settles into a seat by the nearest window.
“Maybe we should go talk to her,” Jess murmurs to me.
I shrug, helping myself to a handful of pink monogrammed M&M’s. “Go ahead.”
Before Jess can do anything, the door opens again and the boys scramble in. The diamond earrings must have magnetic properties, because most of the guys except Darcy and Zach cluster around Sophie, vying for a seat. Even Third, which is annoying, despite the fact that I don’t like him. I mean, I like him, but I don’t like him.
It’s the same thing at the restaurant, where Sophie ends up between Ethan MacDonald and my brother. Emma’s on the other side of Stewart, looking a little irritated. More than a little irritated, in fact.
Megan can’t hide her annoyance, either, especially when Sophie and Mrs. Wong decide to split a vegetarian entrée.
“I should just wrap her up and put a bow on her and give her to my mother when her birthday comes around,” she mutters to me. “Sophie is like the perfect daughter she always wanted.”
I squeeze her hand under the table, and she gives me a quick smile. “Thanks, Becca. Glad someone’s in my court.”
This sweet sixteen party isn’t exactly turning out the way I thought it would, and I can only imagine how Megan feels. I don’t care if Sophie’s got troubles at home; she has no right to sabotage Megan’s big day. And no amount of fancy food or presents or even a dance club DJ can make up for the fact that Mrs. Wong and Gigi are falling all over themselves to make Sophie Fairfax happy, and practically ignoring Megan in the process.
La Belle Époque is Concord’s fanciest restaurant, and dinner is so amazingly delicious that we manage to enjoy ourselves in spite of Sophie and her perfections. Back at the house the fun continues as we stuff ourselves on Eiffel Tower cake (it’s pink inside, a strawberry layer cake—Megan’s favorite flavor) and watch Megan open her presents. In addition to the kitten, she gets a fancy new smartphone from her parents, complete with a little telephoto lens that clips on it, “for taking pictures on your trip to Paris,” Mr. Wong explains.
“Coco was the main present,” her mother tells her, dangling a piece of ribbon above the kitten, who is sitting on her lap. Coco takes the bait and stands up on her hind legs to swat at it.
“You are just so cute I can hardly stand it!” says Emma.
“Why, thank you, Emma,” says Mrs. Wong brightly.
Emma blinks. “Um, I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”
Mrs. Wong laughs. “I know what you meant,” she tells her, handing Coco over. “Here you go.”
“Hey! Emma has enough pets—she’s mine,” Megan protests.
“Open your presents,” Emma says, nuzzling the kitten and passing Megan a box with her free hand. “This one’s from me and Jess and Cassidy.”
The three of them chipped in on this really cool coffee-table book about the history of fashion, which Megan goes nuts over. From the boys she gets the usual assortment of DVDs, movie passes, and gift cards.
“Just two left,” says Emma, “a big one and a little one. Which one do you want first?”
“Little one,” Megan replies.
Emma hands it to her. “It’s from Simon.”
“Um, I’m not sure I want to open it here in front of everybody,” Megan murmurs.
“Megan and Simon, sitting in a tree!” sings Kevin. His voice cracks and he turns as pink as Megan’s birthday cake when everybody looks over at him. “Sorry,” he whispers.
Then Sophie laughs, and all the guys laugh, and he looks pleased.
“C’mon, Megs,” I coax. “At least take a peek. If it’s embarrassing, you don’t have to open it all the way.”
She peels the wrapping paper off the box slowly, then lifts a corner of the lid. “Oh, how adorable!” she says, lifting it off all the way. There’s a necklace inside—a small glittering ice cream c
one on a silver chain.
“There’s something else in there too,” her mother says, peering over her shoulder to see.
“Mom!” Megan protests, whisking the box away. She looks inside again. “You’re right,” she admits. “Two somethings, actually.” She pulls out what looks like a scrap of newspaper and squints at it. “It’s in French. I can’t read it.”
Mrs. Wong frowns. “Aren’t they teaching you anything at school?”
“Mom!” Megan says again.
“I’m kidding! Mostly.” Megan’s mother takes the newspaper clipping from her and hands it to Sophie. “Would you do the honors?”
Sophie shrugs and scans it. “World Ice Dancing Grand Prix to be held at the Palais Omnisports in Paris in April.” She looks up. “C’est tout—that’s all it says.”
“Why would Simon send me that?” Megan looks puzzled.
“Duh,” says Cassidy. “His brother is an ice dancer, remember?”
“You mean—” Megan snatches the clipping back and looks at the dates, then jumps up and shrieks. Startled, Coco gives a tiny hiss and shoots off Emma’s lap onto the floor. “That’s the same time I’ll be in Paris!”
I gasp. “You’re going to see Simon!”
“Megan and Si—” Kevin starts to sing again, before Ashley kicks him.
“I thought you said there were two somethings in the box, Megan,” her father says.
She reaches in and pulls out an envelope this time. Inside is a tourist brochure. “Um, it’s for someplace called ‘Glacier Berthillon.’”
“Ahhhh,” sighs her grandmother. “The correct pronunciation is Gla-see-yay Bear-tea-yawn.” She looks over at Sophie and smiles. “C’est magnifique, n’est-ce pas, Sophie?”
Sophie lifts a shoulder, but she can’t help smiling back.
“It’s an ice cream parlor,” Gigi tells us. “But not just any ice cream parlor—the best one in all of Paris, and possibly in all the world. It’s on the Île Saint-Louis, not far from Notre Dame Cathedral.”
Wish You Were Eyre Page 4
