Best. Night. Ever.

by Rachele Alpine

  “Yes.” I smile.

  “Did you all hear that?” Abby turns to the kids bunched up behind her. “Kevin is Ellie’s date tonight.”

  All the girls laugh, except for Genevieve. She’s still looking at her shoes.

  A few of Kevin’s friends, including the ones who were at the library with him when he asked me to the dance, walk over.

  “What’s so funny?” Charlie, one of Kevin’s best friends, asks.

  “Ellie here was just telling us that Kevin is her date tonight.”

  Charlie’s eyes get huge, and then he doubles over laughing. I’m still not sure what’s so funny.

  “Oh yeah, he’s looking all over for you.” Charlie grins.

  “I thought he might be.” My whole body relaxes. “Do you know where he is?”

  Charlie looks over his shoulder at the dancing couple, and I follow his gaze.

  And there he is.

  Dancing. With Sydney.

  And he’s not just dancing. He’s practically hugging her to the beat of the music. Her arms are on his shoulders, and they’re swaying back and forth, smiling at each other.

  I squeeze my eyes shut for about thirty seconds in an effort to stop the tears from falling. Just as I open them, Kevin is standing right in front of me.

  “Oh, hey, Ellie.” A chuckle escapes his lips, like he’s trying to stifle a laugh. “Were you looking for me?”

  My breathing starts to even out. Maybe this was all a misunderstanding after all. Maybe he was just dancing with someone else while he was waiting for me.

  “Yes,” I say, barely croaking the word out.

  “I didn’t think you’d really come.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Now everyone is laughing.

  “You didn’t think I was serious, did you?”

  “Serious?” I’m not sure what he means by that.

  “Yeah,” Kevin says. “Serious about asking you to the dance.”

  My vision starts to dim as my brain finally catches up to the conversation. He wasn’t serious about asking me to the dance? This was some sort of joke?

  The circle of kids surrounding us is growing, and whispers and giggles are spreading like wildfire. My mind is screaming at me to run, but my feet are glued to the floor. The whole room gets cloudy, and the people around me morph into one big blur.

  Genevieve reaches out and touches my arm. She’s the only one who isn’t laughing. “Ellie, are you okay?”

  But I can’t answer her. If I talk, the sob that’s choking my throat will come out of my mouth, and I can’t let that happen. Not here.

  “Smile for the yearbook!” Suddenly a flash goes off in my face, and the tears that I was holding in pour out as it occurs to me that this moment—and the reminder of what a loser I am—will be memorialized forever.

  The laughing gets louder, and even though I still can’t feel the floor beneath me, somehow I manage to turn away from Kevin and all the kids surrounding us and stumble toward the locker room.

  CARMEN { 8:12 P.M. }

  “COCKTAIL HOUR” AT THIS WEDDING is quickly turning into “cocktail hour plus another forty-five minutes” to make sure everyone is good and hungry. The doors to the main reception area are closed and guarded by a woman holding a clipboard. She keeps talking into a small walkie-talkie, and I wonder if she’s conspiring with someone to make sure we starve.

  I’m so hungry that at this point I could pretty much eat anything, but there is no way I’m going to hit up the appetizers that are set out. My brothers have found a group of equally obnoxious boys around their age, and they’re crowded around the end of the table. A table that is loaded with gelatina, flan, cheese, fruit, and a giant melting ice sculpture that I think was a dolphin but might also be a heart. At the moment, the boys are trying to see how many black olives they can stuff into their mouths, and let’s just say that one of them doesn’t have very good luck and his olives shoot out and roll all over the table. Lucas is trying to put a shrimp down Alex’s shirt, and I have a feeling that if I come too close, I’ll be his next target. So yeah, I’m not about to eat anything here, which means I’m getting a serious case of the hangries (hungry + angry, which is not a pretty combination).

  I pull my phone out of my purse (black satin with silver studs—at last I have something cool at this wedding) to check if Tess has gotten back to me, but there’s only one bar at the top of the screen. Are you kidding me? Haven’t I already been through enough hardships today?

  Reception here is awful. Now I can’t even talk to you.

  I pray I’ll hear from Tess soon.

  “Ugh!” I say a bit too loud. Two women whispering near me pause for a moment and glance my way before they begin to talk again. I bet they’re discussing my dress. Because how can you not? I curse my awful luck. When I envisioned everyone looking at me tonight, it was up onstage while I rocked out, not because of what I’m wearing here.

  A series of sharp, shrill noises fills the room. The woman at the door holds a glass and is hitting it with a knife. I cringe until I realize it’s a signal that we can go into the reception area. Food, my brain says. Food, my stomach rumbles back.

  It is pretty much a stampede. I walk through the doors and freeze.

  Wowsers.

  I thought my dress was awful, but it’s nothing compared to this room. I stifle a giggle because the decorations are so not my style. Not that I’m surprised. My cousin Marlena’s quinceañera theme was “Under the Sea,” and I’m pretty sure she used every seashell in the world to decorate.

  But tonight, everything is pink.

  And glittery.

  And shiny.

  And full of balloons.

  Hundreds of balloons in all shades of pink. I can’t imagine what my cousin’s new husband thinks of this. I mean, people say real men wear pink, but do they also smother their weddings in it?

  I walk under a giant balloon arch and find myself at a table with place cards. And surprise, surprise, each card is tied to a helium balloon, which hovers above the table.

  “Table number twenty-two,” I say as I find my card. Maybe this is a sign that the night will get better. Twenty-two has always been my number. After all, I was born on February 22, which is a whole lot of twos.

  I head over to the table and instantly want to turn around and walk right out of this place. Because there is nothing lucky right now about twenty-two. Seated at the table are my brothers and their olive-stuffing friends. It appears that my cousin decided it was a good idea to put me at the kiddie table.

  The kiddie table!

  Hello, even though I’m only twelve, people tell me that I’m very mature for my age. Once when my parents and Alex went to Lucas’s hockey game, I stayed home alone and made myself dinner. I also babysit my neighbor’s kids at least twice a month and took a CPR class at our rec center.

  In other words, I don’t belong at the kiddie table.

  This is the worst ever.

  “No way, no how.” I stomp my way over to where my parents sit.

  “There’s a problem,” I tell Mom when I reach her. “A very big problem.”

  “What’s that, mi pajarita? What’s wrong?”

  I shove the card with my table number at her. The balloon bobs violently in the air.

  “This! There’s been a mistake with the seating chart. I’m sitting at the wrong table. I’m way too old to be with a bunch of little obnoxious kids who think it’s fun to have burping contests and food fights. This is horrible!”

  “Relajate. You’re with your brothers; it’ll be fine,” Mom says as if that’s supposed to be a good thing.

  “Everyone is a million years younger than me,” I tell her and stomp my foot. I admit it’s a little dramatic, but I’m trying to make a point here.

  “Really, Carmen? By the childish way you’re acting, it seems as if your cousin put you at exactly the right table.”

  “Fine. Whatever. You obviously don’t care about your daughter’s well-being, because I�
��m pretty sure I’m going to go nuts sitting with all of those kids.”

  “We’ll still love you even if you’re a bit nutty,” Mom says.

  I throw my hands up in the air in frustration. I storm away from her without saying anything else, and I don’t even care if it looks childish.

  There are three seats left at the table, so I throw myself into the middle one and hope the other two will remain empty so I can be left alone.

  “Once I ate a whole stick of butter,” says the boy who spat out all his olives on the appetizer table.

  The other boys lean in toward him as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. I, on the other hand, am totally grossed out.

  “You did not,” Alex says.

  “I sure did. Want me to show you? I’ll do it again.” He picks up the bowl full of tiny pats of butter and begins to unwrap them. When he’s got a good-sized pile in front of him, he begins to pop one in after another.

  “Anyone can do that,” Lucas says. He grabs a bunch of butter pats for himself. He shoves three into his mouth, and the rest of the boys settle in for what promises to be the grossest showdown in the world.

  “That’s disgusting,” I say, because yuck.

  “That’s disgusting,” Alex repeats, making fun of me.

  “Stop it!” I snap at my brothers.

  “Stop it!” all of the boys repeat back, and I swear, I’m about to get up and walk home even if it takes me a week.

  But before I can do anything rash, a hand taps me on the shoulder.

  “Oh my gosh! You were in the wedding!” says a girl who looks even younger than my brothers. She sits down in one of the empty seats and stares at me as if I’m some kind of celebrity.

  I nod and her smile grows even bigger.

  “This is amazing! I can’t believe I get to sit next to one of the bridesmaids! My friend Addison is going to flip when I tell her!”

  So maybe this isn’t Heart Grenade’s big concert, but I have to admit, it is kind of nice to be looked at as a big deal, so I smile back.

  “I’m Victoria,” she says and reaches out and touches the skirt of my dress. “This is so pretty. You’re so lucky.”

  I study her to see if she’s joking, but she only smiles at me.

  “Thanks,” I say, not that it makes me feel much better. She is wearing a poufy dress with tiny hearts all over it, white socks with ruffles, and a purse that is a stuffed animal dog. It has a strap and a zipper across the back to put things into it.

  She unzips it and takes out some lip gloss. She holds it out to me. “Want some? It has glitter in it.”

  “Um, no, I’m okay.”

  She shrugs and starts to put it all over her lips. I pull out my phone and pretend to be busy.

  I have a text, but it’s not from Tess. It’s from Genevieve. Figures. When I finally get reception, I hear from the one person I don’t want to hear from.

  You start “Hear Us Roar” really quietly, right? And then you get louder toward the end? Just making sure.

  Uh, yeah, that’s how I sing it. That’s why people love the song so much, because my singing gets more and more powerful until I get to the refrain. As if I’m really starting to roar. It’s kind of my thing.

  Not Genevieve’s thing.

  I delete her text and type out a bunch to Tess, one right after the other, and cross my fingers that they send.

  You haven’t forgotten about me, right?

  Tess?????? Miss you so much.

  You = Best Night Ever

  Me = Worst Night Ever

  “Is this seat empty?” a voice asks.

  Great. The last of the little kids has arrived.

  “Nope,” I answer, and keep my eyes on my phone.

  “Hi, Jackson!” the girl next to me says, and he mumbles something back to her. It doesn’t seem to bother her, because she keeps on talking.

  “I know Mom said I have to sit next to you, but is it okay if I sit here instead? Because guess what?” She pauses for what I can only imagine is dramatic effect and then points to me. “She’s part of the wedding! How cool is that?”

  But if she is looking for someone to share in her excitement, the person next to me is not the one to do it. Instead, he lets out something between a snort and a laugh.

  “Wow, real cool. Maybe the coolest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says in that way that lets you know he thinks it’s anything but cool.

  “Mom said you needed to get rid of your bad mood or you’ll be grounded,” Victoria shoots back.

  Okay, this is getting juicy.

  I sneak a peek at this Jackson person, who I discover is not only one of the cutest boys I’ve ever seen but is also my own age! His brown hair curls slightly around his head and gives him that awesome bedhead look that no boy at Lynnfield Middle could ever dream of pulling off. And I bet if he weren’t scowling, he’d have an amazing smile.

  “Mom said—” Victoria starts again, but Jackson cuts her off.

  “I don’t care what she says. She can ground me until eternity. It doesn’t matter, since I’m missing the most important moment of my life for this stupid wedding.”

  Did he say he was missing his most important moment?

  The kiddie table just got a lot more interesting.

  I put my phone down and stick out my hand to introduce myself. “Hi, I’m Carmen Bernal, and this is the worst night of my life too. Maybe we can drown in our misery together?”

  When he doesn’t react at first, I pretty much want to die of embarrassment. But then his scowl slowly begins to soften as he shakes my hand, and yep, I’m right—he does have a great smile!

  I pick up my phone again and send Tess one more quick text.

  Me = Maybe Not the Worst Night Ever!!!!

  JADE { 8:27 P.M. }

  EVERYTHING IS ALL SET FOR the live feed, so Uncle Garrett is off taking a break and searching for his much-needed coffee. Although where he’s going to find that at a middle school dance, I’m not quite sure. I sneak away from the camera equipment to send a very important text.

  The eagles have landed.

  Within a minute, I get one back from my accomplice.

  Isn’t that a ’70s rock band?

  All I can do is shake my head as I answer, What? It’s code, genius.

  Oh, right. Um, little problem.

  What kind of problem?

  Couldn’t hide items as planned.

  Why not?! I write, but I don’t bother waiting for an answer. Forget it, meet me in the locker room at 9:00 and bring the supplies.

  I’m pretty sure this kid needs constant reminders, so I add, And get ready for phase 2.

  What’s phase 2 again?

  I text back one word.

  SABOTAGE.

  ASHLYN { 8:28 P.M. }

  IT’S OFFICIAL: I ABSOLUTELY REFUSE to be a farmer or a landscaper when I grow up. Or mow my own lawn. Not that any of those things were up for serious consideration before this, but still.

  I thought it would be totally fun to drive this ride-on mower since it’s practically the next-closest thing to a car and I have a countdown clock on my phone tracking the number of days until I can get my driver’s license. (For the record, it’s 1,245.)

  But, yeah, no. Lawn mower does not equal convertible. At all.

  We’ve been motoring forever—okay, so more like twenty-five minutes—and we’re still not at my school. Partly because we got off to literally the bumpiest start when I couldn’t figure out how to make the grass-cutty blade thingies lift up. When we rolled down the driveway they were trying to slice the top inch off the pavement, and it sounded worse than that screechy cat video on YouTube. And the Brats were no help at all because they just covered their ears and yelled at me to make the noise stop. I’m not being paid enough to get yelled at. Seriously.

  It was better on the grass, even though that’s still all brown and short since winter is barely over. So we pretty much left a path of dirt behind us on all the lawns we drove through, but whatever. Eventu
ally I worked out how to get the blades up, and now we’re riding down the sidewalks all regular, except not nearly fast enough by my standards. Even with the pedal pushed all the way to the floor. Ugh.

  Plus, every time a car drives by, I’m convinced it’s going to be someone I know. Even though it’s dark out now, the streetlights are megabright. And with the way no one goes anywhere these days without their phones, every minivan that passes represents a potential video of Yee Haw Ashlyn poised to go viral. Not. Gonna. Happen.

  A few blocks back I took the silk scarf from my neck and tied it ’50s-movie-star-style around my head, but what if that’s not enough of a disguise?

  Time to ditch Yee Haw Ashlyn for Master Schemer Ashlyn.

  “Is that the same golf course that backs up to the middle school?” I call over my shoulder to the Brats, pointing at the rolling hills behind the houses on our left. Shortcut + privacy = genius plan.

  “I dunno,” one of them answers. “But my butt hurts. Are we almost there?”

  Complain, complain, complain. Obviously the lawn mower seat isn’t designed for three of us crammed one behind the other like this, but honestly, isn’t an adventure better than the snoozefest of a Monopoly game they suggested? And I’m pretty sure adventures aren’t meant to be cozy and comfortable.

  I make up my mind and take a hard left when we reach a strip of grass between two driveways. Both girls yelp as they slide to the right, and Hope, who’s just behind me, digs her claws—er, fingers—into my side. I huff out a breath and charge on, heading for the fairways beyond the backyards. Luckily the tree line is the only fence between us and all that green open space. Bring it!

  “Just hang on,” I order. “We have a couple of hills to get over on the course and then we’ll be rolling up behind the school, I’m mostly positive.”

  Neither girl says anything, so I assume this is cool with them. We bump through the row of pine trees and then we’re on the edge of the golf course. Away from the street it’s way darker, but I can see well enough to aim us up the center of the grass toward the tee box at the top of the first tall hill. For a sec I wonder if it’s gonna be too steep for the mower, but even though we’re not exactly cruising, we eventually putt, putt, putt our way up it.