by Jen Malone
“Me either,” I say. “She’s going to be so impressed. If we get everything set up in time. Not like I want to see her or anything, but just where is The Traitor? She’s supposed to be helping us.”
“Becca is—”
“Here I am!” The Traitor (formerly known as Becca) wafts through the Markses’ pristine white gate with an armload of dresses. “Sorry I’m late. The store was missing two of the sizes we ordered, so I had to wait until forever while they searched. Then I saw that it was three o’clock, so I had to send Lo a text telling her that Vi was totally going to mess up the money.” Bec—I mean The Traitor—drops the pile on the nearest chair and fans herself.
“What are you talking about? I’m not that bad at numbers.” I’m no Lauren, but I pull off solid Bs in math.
“Sorry, but desperate times call for desperate people. Or something. Anyway, OMG, Mama and I passed Ryan on the way over and wait until you see how super cute he looks in a tux. You. Will. DIE! I mean, but not too much, ’cause I saw him first!” She leans against the chair with all the dresses piled on it. The stack teeters for a second and then tumbles from the chair onto the ground. And into the little decorative pond and fountain.
“No! Bec-ca!” Sadie’s practically wailing.
I drop the box of shoes and race to help pull the dresses from the pond.
“Omigosh, I’m so so so sorry! Look, it’s only two of them that got uber-wet. And we still have a half hour before the party starts. Plennnnnty of time for them to dry!” She wrings out one of the dresses and then waves it through the air. “See, if I do this, it’ll air-dry.”
Sadie pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Vi, you take these inside and ask Mrs. Marks if you can put them in the dryer.”
“Um, they’re dry-clean only,” The Traitor says.
“All right. Then, Vi, see if you can borrow a hair dryer and dry them that way. Becs, can you help me get all the accessories and stuff for the dresses out?” Sadie tucks her hair behind her ears. “I really wish Lauren was here. We could use another person to finish the centerpieces and put out the favors and make sure all the guests know to post every picture they take to Linney’s—”
“Back up,” I say. “You actually want me to go into That Monster’s house?”
“Vi . . .” Sadie’s wrapping her hair into a ponytail, which for Sadie means she’s really getting down to business. “Please? Linney’s not even home. I’m going to text Lauren and beg her to come help.”
“Fine. And good luck,” I grumble as I toss the wet dresses over my arm.
Mrs. Marks is in the kitchen. Sadie said that when she first got here, Mrs. Marks tried to help her set up the tables and stuff, but Linney popped up and pretty much ordered her mom to stay out of our way. So typical for Linney. And get this, she wouldn’t even let her mom—the best baker in town—make a cake for the party. Instead, she ordered a bunch of fancy cupcakes from this new café on Main Street, and then she didn’t trust any of us to pick them up. Fine with me. Otherwise she’d be out back, making us all insane.
I show Mrs. Marks the dresses, and she waves me on to a bathroom upstairs. The second I step inside, I know it’s That Monster’s. It’s all done up in this cutesy Paris café theme—black-and-white-striped walls, a tiny little pink-cushioned chair with a metal curlicue back, pretty Eiffel Tower doodads all over the place.
So Not Vi. The whole thing makes me feel like an ogre prancing in a ballroom.
I plug in the pink hair dryer and spread the first dress over the countertop. That Monster picked these basic short dresses in a rainbow of colors. The blue is actually sort of pretty, almost like the ocean right before a storm. But the one I’m drying now is a blinding yellow. I aim the dryer with my left hand and pull out my So Not Vi (but still kind of cute) phone with my right to text Lauren. Sadie’s right—we definitely need her. Except I need her for more than just pulling off a great party.
Plz come. The Traitor is outside and I’m in That Monster’s house. Help.
I can’t believe B did that to you. Lauren always knows how to make me feel better. But is prob good for biz, right?
Or not. Seriously, I can’t believe how unsupportive my friends are being. They know how Linney makes my life miserable at school. So why do I have to put up with her during summer vacation too?
S & B won’t let her get away w/anything today. Hold on, S is texting me. Lauren’s right. Even if they agreed to this, there’s no way they’d let That Monster do anything horrible during the party.
If they see it coming, that is.
I just know she’s up to something. I tried to tell Becca and Sadie that, but they brushed it off. They’re so excited about booking this party that they’ve looked right past Linney’s awfulness. It’s like they’ve forgotten all about what she did with that cake at Molly Campbell’s party. She tried to sabotage us there, so what’s to keep her from trying again? Why else would she ask us to plan the party? It’s not like any of us are BFFs with her.
I move the dryer closer to the neckline of the yellow dress and type out a response to Lauren. Wld b better if u were here 2. More of us is safer.
Why are you all ganging up on me? Oh, right. Sadie’s probably bugging her to come over too. Not to mention Becca’s hourly texts.
Sry. We all want u here.
But I can’t. SATs, ’member? I can almost hear Lauren sighing all the way from her house. I still don’t get why she feels like she has to study for a test we won’t need to take for five or six years.
Will make u those baked pita chips u luv so much. Pllllzzzz????
Nothing. I set my phone down and check the dress. It’s dry in spots, but still mostly damp. I’m kind of running out of time, so I switch to drying the construction-zone-orange dress.
I rly can’t. Sorry. :(
Great.
“What are you doing in my bathroom?” Linney’s standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. “You’re supposed to be outside, helping set up.”
I’m so caught off guard, I whirl around with the hair dryer, blasting hot air right in Linney’s face.
“Turn it off!” she squeals, hands in front of her face as her highlighted hair flies up all over the place.
I switch off the dryer and gather up the two dresses and my phone with my free hand. No way am I sticking around here any longer than I have to. “Excuse me,” I say as I take a step forward. “I have to finish setting up.”
“Where are you going with my hair dryer, Violet?” She holds out one hand while furiously smoothing her hair with the other. And she gives me this look like she’s sure I’m trying to steal her stupid pink dryer.
I hand it back to her but my finger ever-so-accidentally hits the on switch. Hot air blasts out again, messing up all her smoothing work. “Oops,” I say as I slide out the door and down the stairs.
“Are they dry?” Sadie grabs the dresses from me the second I walk out the back door.
“Kinda.”
“They’re still damp! And they’ll never dry out here, it’s so humid.” Sadie’s voice is getting that high-pitched, almost-freaking-out tone again. She stops and takes a deep breath. “Okay, it’s just a minor setback. That’s all. We’ll put these two at the bottom of the stack, so maybe we won’t even need them. Next time, we’ll order at least ten extra dresses.” She’s making notes in her head, I can tell, even as she bats mosquitoes away from her face. “Lauren’s not coming, so we’re on our own. You’re in charge of the beads and feathers and stuff.”
“Really?” I ask, but Sadie doesn’t answer. She’s standing on her tiptoes, trying to see over the gate and down the driveway to the street.
She’s looking for her mom.
I push aside my feelings about That Monster and The Traitor (and the fact that I’m really super annoyed that Lauren isn’t coming) and reach out to squeeze Sadie’s hand. “Don’t worry. She’ll be here. There’s no way she’d miss two parties in a row.”
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Sadie gives me a nervous smile.
I take up my station behind a big table covered in baskets of feathers, beads, sequins, sparkly rhinestones, pieces of cloth, and just about anything else you could think of to put on a dress. If I was going to wear that blue dress, I’d want it to be really simple. No extra frou-frou things. The color is perfect just the way it is.
Not that I’d wear a dress, though. So Not Vi.
I swirl around a dish of beads with my finger as I check out the party. Only a few hours here, and then I can ride by Beach Sports on the way home. Buying those green kayaks later this summer will make this party—and Linney—worth it.
Almost all the party guests arrived while I was blow-drying dresses. It’s mostly girls from school, but there are a few guys here and there. I guess Linney wants them to be the judges or something. Maybe I should give them a heads-up that they’d better vote for her dress or suffer the consequences. Then again, two of them play on the other beach volleyball team, and I could use them off their game at our next match. I wave at Lance, who grins and rolls his eyes. Bet his mom made him come.
Becca’s got poor Ryan cornered over by the gate to the dock. He’s twisting one of the tails of his tux jacket. Every time he takes a step sideways, Becca does the same. It’s like this hilarious little dance, except she’s the only one who’s into it. Finally Sadie arrives to save Ryan. She points Becca toward the accessories table, which is covered in shoes, purses, jackets, tights, and feather boas. I don’t know who’d want to put on a feather boa in this heat, not to mention tights or a jacket. If you ask me, I’d forget all this stuff—pretty blue dress or not—and just stick with a comfy pair of shorts and a tank top. Oh, wait. I did.
Becca’s trying on a pink feather boa when Linney peers around the runway and starts snapping her fingers to get Ryan’s attention.
“A-hem!” she says, in a not-at-all-quiet voice.
He leaps up onto the runway, holding a microphone.
A microphone? Seriously, where does Sades find this stuff?
“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the fashion event of the summer: Linney’s Sweet Thirteen! May I present your hostess and worldwide supermodel, Linney Marks!”
Three guesses who wrote his script. Hint: not any of us.
Everyone (except me and Sadie) breaks into applause. I give Becca the evil eye and she immediately stops clapping and starts rearranging purses. The feather boa around her neck drags across the table.
Linney sweeps up onto the runway and does this series of model poses. It’s so over-the-top and obnoxious, I can’t believe I’m the only one having to stuff my fist into my mouth to keep from laughing. Okay, maybe the guys aren’t buying it either. Lance has this confused look on his face, and I swear even Ryan cracks a quick smile.
“And now, if the ladies will direct their attention to the tables in back, we have a selection of lovely dresses for you to create your fashion masterpiece, which you’ll model for our judges”—Ryan gestures at the boys, who are all clustered together by the snack table—“on this here very stage, in a fierce competition to determine the winner of Linney’s Runway.” He cocks an eyebrow at the crowd. “You have one hour. Make it work!”
Every girl in the yard flies to the dresses. It’s like an exploding rainbow at the table next to me as they fling dresses all over the place.
“Ex-cuse me.” Linney pushes through her crowd of guests. “Birthday girl gets to choose first.” She snatches the orange dress from the very bottom of the pile. “Perfect,” she says, with a quick glance at me.
She is so up to something. She knows that one is still damp. But I don’t have time to think about it, because approximately twenty girls have descended upon the feathers and sequins and stuff on the table I’m manning.
“Do you have any more green feathers?” Anna Wright asks.
“Where are the pinking shears? Please tell me you have pinking shears!” McKenna Dubray waves around a pair of plain old scissors.
“There aren’t enough clear beads!” Ella Hernan shoves the basket under my nose. “I need more clear beads!”
I’m under the table, sweat dripping into my eyes, finding more beads, extra buttons, bottles of glue, peacock feathers—and what in the world are pinking shears anyway?—so I don’t even notice the creaking until it’s too late.
“Avalanche!” someone yells.
At that second the table bops me on the head. Clutching beads in one hand and lengths of sequins in the other, I can’t do anything except watch the legs on one end of the table collapse.
Screams and squeals sound from above. Baskets and beads and scissors rain down from the table into the yard. I can’t move. I’m stuck with the table resting on my head and handfuls of . . . stuff.
“Vi? Vi!” Becca’s voice is somewhere up there. “Hey, y’all! Boys with the muscles! Help us get this table up.”
The weight on my head lifts, and then both Becca and Sadie’s faces appear underneath.
“Omigosh, Vi, are you okay?” Becca’s putting the back of her hand against my forehead, like I have a fever or something.
Sadie’s dumping the beads and sequins from my hands into a basket, and then she and Becca pull me out from under the table.
“What hurts? Do you have a concussion? Blurry vision? How many fingers am I holding up?” Becca shoves two fingers, peace sign–style, right in front of my face.
“I’m fine, really.” I push her hand away. And that’s when I notice the mess.
Everything—and I mean everything—that was on the table is now in the sandy grass in Linney’s backyard. Itty-bitty beads and teeny-tiny rhinestones sparkle all over the ground. “Oh, no.” I put a hand over my mouth as if that’ll make the mess go away.
“It’s ruined! You’ve messed up my whole party, you—you—” Linney appears out of nowhere, sputtering, with the partially sequined orange dress draped over her shoulder.
Sadie’s blinking really fast. She’s either trying not to cry or one of those beads got in her eye. Finally she puts her hands on her hips.
“Nothing’s ruined,” she says in a voice that sounds just like her mother’s. “Everyone go on to the accessories table, where Becca will help you get whatever else you need. By the time you’re done there, we’ll have this cleaned up and ready to go.”
“Ooh, feather boas!” one of the girls says, and just like that, they’re crowding around Becca and the accessories table.
Linney narrows her eyes at us before joining her guests.
“Okay, got that taken care of. Now how in the world are we going to deal with a bedazzled lawn?” Sadie’s biting her lip as she studies the ground.
“A vacuum! We could vacuum it up,” I say, all triumphantly, as I rub the top of my head where the table whacked it.
“I think we’d get more sand than beads and stuff.”
We’re quiet for a moment as the shouts and laughter go on at Becca’s table. “Try this one! Pink and brown are perfect together,” Becca’s saying to someone.
“If Lauren was here, she’d probably have some amazing idea about how to clean this all up. With magnets or something we’d never think of,” Sadie says.
I twist the ends of my ponytail. I really wish Lauren was here too. “I don’t think magnets will work.”
Sadie gives me this look, like Obviously, Vi. “The wet dresses were bad, but this is awful,” Sadie finally says. “I don’t know how to fix this. We’re going to have to refund Linney’s mom all the money.”
“No way,” I say, and I’m surprised at how forceful my voice is. “Nuh-uh. Lauren or no Lauren, we’ll figure this out, and we’re not giving back a cent. You’re Sadie Pleffer, organizer extraordinaire. You do not give up this easily!”
“But . . .”
“What is it your mom always says?”
Sadie wrinkles her eyebrows. “Go big or go home?”
“Not that one. The other one. Something about funeral homes or inheritances or . . . wills, I think.”
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“Where there’s a will, there’s a way?” Sadie says.
“That’s it! Doesn’t that mean if you really, really want something to happen, you have to make it happen?” I kind of feel like I’m coaching a one-girl volleyball team. “And what if your mom showed up right this very second? Wouldn’t you want her to see you taking charge and owning this party? Not moaning over a bunch of spilled beads.” We both turn toward the gate, but, of course, no one’s there.
Sadie stops chewing on her lip. “You’re right. But how . . .” Her eyes land on the single basket sitting on the table—the one with the beads and sequins I had in my hands when the table fell. “Wait! We have lots of extra supplies under the table. We’ll set those out for now, and while they’re working with that, we’ll pick up as much of the stuff on the ground as we can.”
Sadie tightens her ponytail and we swing into action. Just as we finish putting out all the non-sandy feathers and doodads, the girls start trickling back from Becca’s accessories table. While I try to keep Table Avalanche Part Two from happening, Sadie plucks sequins and beads and bottles of glue from the ground.
“Five minutes, fashionistas,” Ryan says into the microphone.
“Thank God,” Lance says really loudly from across the yard. I peek past the bent heads of the girls at my table to where the guys have pretty much demolished all the food we’d set out earlier. Some of them are huddled around another’s phone, probably playing a game. The rest are just sitting in chairs, looking boreder than bored. I think one of them’s even fallen asleep.
The girls cut and glue and sew like crazy. Linney pushes aside baskets full of decorations and grains of sand and the occasional pine needle to lay out her dress on the table.
“Perfect, don’t you think, Violet?” She twists her lips up into an approving smirk. “I think the Spanish moss really adds something, don’t you?”
Why in the world she picked the damp dress, I have no idea. But the thing is hideous (one benefit of hanging out with Lauren is picking up words like “hideous,” which is the perfect way to describe Linney’s creation). She’s cut the hem in a ragged zigzag pattern, so that it kind of looks like the bottom of the witch’s costume I wore for Halloween a few years ago. Then she glued long strips of white cloth around the entire dress, so it definitely looks like a traffic cone now. The remaining orange parts are blinged out with so many sequins I can barely stand to look at it.
