by Jen Malone
“And your mom is . . .”
“Home. She was up all night at the hospital.” Wait. I see where she’s going with this, and I fell right into it.
“So how in the world are your parents going to see us riding around if we don’t go anywhere near your house or the marina?” Becca straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin, and gives me her best toothy grin.
“Ugh . . . you know I hate it when you do this.” I grip the steering wheel and try to figure out how to get Becca out of the golf cart.
“What? Letting your BFF finally ride in this seriously ah-mazing set of wheels? Giving all you’ve got to our business? Driving past cute guys with our hair flying in the wind?” Becca’s already scanning the square for boys.
“No, breaking the rules. And this thing only goes about twenty miles an hour, so not much is going to be flying in any wind.”
“I promise I’ll give you all the rides you want in my future cherry-red convertible. Now, let’s go.” Becca pulls a pair of big sunglasses and a filmy-looking white scarf from her purse. She ties the scarf around her head, puts on the sunglasses, and then sits there like some kind of black-and-white movie star.
“Right,” I say, as I shake my boring, non-scarfed, non-sunglassesed head and aim the golf cart around the square.
“Hi, Linney!” Becca gives Linney, who’s just coming out of Lava Java, a little finger wave, just like you see beauty queens do in parades.
“Becca! Shh!” I hit the gas pedal to try to move a little faster.
“What? You know we’re totally making Linney jealous. I can’t wait to tell Vi.”
And Linney might tell her mom, who might tell my mom. I just want to go to the library and get this over with.
“What exactly is Vi up to? I thought she was doing the collages and you were in charge of getting food from the deli,” I say as we roll down Live Oak Drive, past the little souvenir and fudge shops.
“Oh, that.” Becca giggles. Which is super annoying. I hate it when I don’t know what’s going on.
“What’s going on?” I demand.
“I thought that if Vi was in charge of food, she’d see how she could make something so much more yummy than anything she can get at the deli. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if she decided to make all the food at our next party. Hey, look, there’s Lance and his mom. Hey, can we stop? Hiiiii, Lance!” Becca gives him her movie-star wave as we slowly roll by Terrific Teeth, the only dentist’s office around.
“We can’t stop. Too much to do. And before you ask, no, we are not doing a Ryan drive-by either.”
Becca ducks her head to study her lap. Hmm. Strange.
“What’s up? Are you over Ryan or something?”
“Or something,” Becca says, and her voice sounds kind of funny.
“What did I miss?”
“Nothing, why?” Now she sounds a little defensive. “Everything’s fine. Seriously. Just yesterday he came into the Visitor’s Center looking for a place to buy paint for his aunt’s shed and I wrote him out directions to Whitemore’s. No biggie.”
“And then you offered to lend your incredible eye for design in helping him pick out paint colors, of course, right?”
Becca punches me in the arm. “Very funny.” She tilts her head. “Although I really do have an eye for color.” She shakes her head. “But nah.”
I take my eyes off the road for just a millisecond and glance sideways at her. “Where is my Becca and when can I see her again?”
Becca giggles. “Don’t be a dork. Okay, new subject. If we can’t stop and talk to anyone, can we at least find some tunes? Does this thing have a place to plug in my phone? I have a new playlist on it. You’ll lo-ove.”
“Becca, it’s a golf cart. I think you’re supposed to be quiet on a golf course. Hey, you know how you could be helpful? Quiz me with the flash cards in my backpack.”
Becca makes a face. “No way. This is called having fun, Lo. Enjoy it already.”
Right. Fun. I can do this.
• • •
But okay. I admit the parties are fun. Not the driving around to stores with an illegal (according to the Rules By Mom) passenger or going to bakeries owned by the mother of the snootiest girl in town, but the actual parties with my friends.
I’m completely worn out from running all over the place in the golf cart with Becca and then working the afternoon at the marina, so I’m ready to at least try to relax and have fun when I open the door to the party room at Sandpiper Active Senior Living that evening. Then I see Bubby.
“Becca!” I snag her sleeve as she’s arranging the photo collages she made on a table. “Can you talk some sense into Bubby? Did you see what she’s wearing?”
Becca shrugs. “I think she looks cute.”
That’s when I realize that Becca and Bubby are pretty much dressed the same: red plaid skirt that looks like a kilt, white button-down top, and a little hat with a pom-pom. The only difference is that Becca has her red hair in two braids sticking out from under her hat, and Bubby’s hat rests on overcurled white hair.
“Okay. All right.” Just breathe, Lauren. Who cares what they’re wearing? It’s a Scotland-themed party, after all. And then I see Sadie, who’s got on a green plaid skirt and matching pom-pom hat.
Sadie spies me and zooms over. “Lauren, why aren’t you dressed up?”
“I didn’t realize we had to do the kilt thing too. I thought that was just for the guests.”
Sadie shakes her head and sighs, like I’m completely and utterly hopeless at throwing parties with silly themes.
“Look.” I hold up the bags I’m carrying. “I brought a cake with the Loch Ness monster on it, bagpipe-shaped cutouts to hang up, and some movie with Mel Gibson called Braveheart. I had to make these cutouts, you know. It’s not like anyplace in Sandpiper Beach sells bagpipe cutouts.” Skull-and-crossbones cutouts, yes. Lighthouse cutouts, definitely. But bagpipes? No way.
“Perfect. Now let me just put this on you so you don’t look like you wandered into the wrong party.” Sadie wraps a plaid sash diagonally over my shoulder and ties it at my waist. Becca’s face turns a little green when she sees how awful the plaid goes with my pink shirt.
Sadie steps back, squints at me, and then pulls a pom-pom hat from a bag behind her. “You need a tam,” she says.
“No, I—”
Becca takes the bags from my hands as Sadie slaps the tam on my head. I adjust the thing so it’s not falling over my eyes. “Hey, do you think your mom will finally be able to make it today?” I ask.
“Nope.” Sadie makes a face. “This one’s my fault, though. Since I’m not working for her anymore, I keep forgetting to look at her wedding calendar. She’s actually had a wedding on the books for today since last fall.”
“Bummer,” Becca says, her arms full of the stuff I brought.
“Sorry, Sades,” I add.
“Yeah, well. It’s still gonna be a great event, right?” Sadie takes the movie and starts setting up the video equipment we borrowed from the Visitor’s Center. Usually the TV shows a loop of The Best of Sandpiper Beach and Surrounding Scenic Sandpiper County. Becca makes an appearance in the background about halfway through, leading a tour as the Dread Pirate. She swears it’s Pete, not her, but everyone can see her hair sticking out from under the pirate bandanna.
I’m standing there, wondering if I can talk Bubby into some normal clothes and whether I can get away with hiding my pom-pom hat behind the boxes of bingo cards on the nearest shelf, when I hear my name.
“Psst! Lauren!” Vi’s calling me from the back door (aka the Great Dog Escape Door).
I push my hair forward to cover at least part of the plaid sash and go to help Vi. Who is also wearing a plaid skirt. Really. “Am I the only one who didn’t get the message?” I ask.
“What?” She’s only half paying attention to me, and then I see why. She’s got the handle of a little red wagon in her hand, and the wagon is full of aluminum-foil-wrapped dishes.
; And I’m completely stunned. Vi is such an amazing cook, but is totally shy about it. “Vi! Did you make all of this? What’s in there? I can’t wait to try it!”
“No! Geez, will everyone just lay off the cooking thing? This is from the deli.” She bites her lip. “Okay, fine. I might’ve made some crab dip. It’s in the cooler. But don’t make a big deal out of it, all right?”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “So you need help getting it in? I could’ve brought it in the golf cart, you know, so you didn’t have to walk with it.” I seriously cannot wait to try that dip. Maybe I can sneak some as we’re setting up the food table. I’ll have to grab some for Zach too. Crab dip is his absolute favorite. I can hold it hostage till he agrees to return the movie to the library for me.
“I only walked from the deli. Ms. Sanders next door let me borrow her kids’ wagon and gave me a ride there on her way to pick up her son.” Vi pulls the wagon in as I hold the door open.
As I help her unload and uncover the food, Vi keeps making comments like “Why didn’t they offer a vegetarian stew?” and “Where’s the haggis? How can you have a moving-to-Scotland party without serving haggis?” I want to tell her there’d be plenty of vegetarian stew and haggis (yuck) if she had made the rest of the food, but I stay quiet. Making crab dip for a big group of people is a huge step for Vi.
When everything’s set up (and after I sneak a taste of the dip), I plop onto a chair in the corner to memorize vocab words while we wait for the guests to show up.
“What are Anna and McKenna doing here?” Sadie asks as I’m committing to memory the definition of “collaborate” (to cooperate or work together).
I shrug. “Maybe they’re visiting their grandparents and got lost.” I wave at Anna, who’s on the It’s All Academic team with me at school.
Sadie stops rearranging chairs that were perfect the first time. “They’re dressed up.”
Sure enough, Anna’s got on a tartan skirt and McKenna looks like she’s borrowed a huge plaid shirt from her dad. I put my flash cards down as they make their way over to us.
“This is the party, right?” Anna asks.
Sadie blinks at her. “Yeeesss . . .”
“See, I told you we’d be too early. Hey, there’s food! I’m starving.” McKenna zooms toward Vi and the food table.
“So . . . did your grandparents invite you?” It’s the only logical conclusion I can come to. Why else would two girls from our class show up at a senior’s going-away party?
Anna laughs. “No, silly. Bubsters3000 invited us on Twitter. Who is she, anyway? Wait, are y’all throwing this party?” She tilts her head and studies me as if she’s never seen me before. “Are you Bubsters3000?”
“No,” I say with as much emphasis as possible.
“RSVP’s doing the party,” Sadie adds. “And I saw that invite from Bubsters3000, but I didn’t pay attention to it since it was for the same day as this party. I didn’t realize that it was this party. But how . . .”
“I’m pretty sure I know who Bubsters3000 is.” I leave Sadie with Anna and march toward Bubby, who’s talking with two older ladies who have just arrived.
“Maybe if I gave him a locket with a picture of me inside?” she’s saying to her friends. “No, too old-school. How about a cell phone with an album full of my pictures?”
“Excuse me,” I say. “Bubby, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Of course, my Lo. See you gals later.” Bubby waves at them with just the tips of her fingers, like she’s a pageant queen. Or Becca in the golf cart.
When we’re out of earshot, I leap right in. “Bubsters3000?”
Bubby giggles. “That’s my Tweeter name. Aren’t you following me?”
Is it horrible if you don’t follow your own grandmother on Twitter? It’s not like I really have time to check my feed. “It’s Twitter, not Tweeter. And why are there girls from my class here?” And just as I ask that, I spot a group of guys near the door. I squint and realize they’re Zach’s friends. Becca’s already welcoming them with extra tams. What in the world?
“Oh, them!” Bubby says with a wave of her hand. “I sent a Tweeter note to everyone I could find who had Sandpiper Beach in their profile.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You’d know that if you followed me.”
“But . . .” I gesture sort of uselessly at another bunch of kids coming through the door. “Why? I thought this was Mr. Vernon’s party?”
“He’s moving to be with his grandkids. I thought he’d appreciate having more than a bunch of oldsters at this hullabaloo. I need to go welcome them.” Bubby gives me a grin and makes her way toward the closest group of girls. “Hey, yo, girlfriends!”
“Lauren?” Sadie grabs me by the arm. “What’s going on? We’re not ready for this many people!”
“There’s not enough food, that’s for sure,” Vi adds from behind Sadie.
Before I can answer, Becca jogs over to join us. “Lance said he got a Twitter invitation from someone named Bubsters3000. Everyone’s saying that. Wait, how come I didn’t get an invitation?” Her lower lip juts out like she’s super sad about my grandmother not inviting her to a kilt-wearing old-people party.
“Lance is here?” Vi’s face goes a little pale.
“It’s Bubby,” I tell them. “She went a little crazy and invited the whole town. On Twitter.”
“Bubby’s on Twitter, and I didn’t know?” Becca says, like that’s the most important thing I just said.
Sadie looks as if she’s about to hyperventilate. Vi keeps throwing these worried glances at the food table. And Becca’s practically bouncing on her toes, trying to see who else has arrived.
And what can we do? Nothing, that’s what. Bubby wanted a giant party, and now she’s got one. And all the seniors seem to be rolling with it. The two ladies Bubby was talking to earlier are chattering away with Anna and McKenna. But some of the kids don’t look too sure. Zach’s friends are grouped in a corner, and some sixth-grade girls are standing with their arms crossed and frowning like they just walked into math class instead of a party.
“We need to start, fast,” I tell my friends. “Or Bubby’s going to lose half her party.”
“They’ve pretty much demolished the food,” Becca says.
“Okay, let me think.” Sadie presses her hands to either side of her face and surveys the crowd.
We’re all quiet for a minute, until Vi pipes up.
“There’s a kitchen here, right?” she asks.
“On the other side of the dining room.” I point to the doors that lead from the party to the dining room.
“You’re going to make something!” Becca claps her hands.
Vi turns red. “No, and there’s not enough time anyway. I’m going to see if they have any snacks we can buy. Chips and salsa, that kind of thing. I know that isn’t Scottish, Sades, but we need more food.”
Vi runs off toward the kitchen and Sadie shoves some note cards into my hands. “Lauren, can you do the welcome? Becca, you try to gather everyone toward Lauren, and I’ll go see if we have any music that isn’t so . . . bagpipey.”
“Wait . . .” I call after Sadie, but she’s disappeared into the crowd with Becca. “Okay, well . . .” I climb up onto a chair and look at the note cards. “Excuse me?”
Everyone just keeps on talking. Where’s Vi and her whistle when I need her? Luckily, Bubby spies me from across the room. She cups her hands to her mouth and yells, “Hey, my peeps! Hush up and listen to Lolo, already!”
The room goes silent, and everyone’s staring at me.
Okay, this is uncomfortable. I check the first note card. “Welcome, everyone, to Mr. Vernon’s going-away party!”
The seniors clap politely, and the kids just . . . look at me. I clear my throat and smile. “Och, ye ken Mr. Vernon is movin’ to auld Scotland to be with his son and daughter-in-law and their wee bairns.” Seriously? Who wrote this stuff? Why didn’t Sadie give the cards to Becca, the actress-in-training? I
can barely even read this. “Aye, so tonight we lads and lassies are goin’ to have a belter of a good time!”
Someone hoots from the back of the room—one of Zach’s friends, I think—and all the seniors join in.
I squint at the note card. What Sadie’s written next doesn’t even look like English. I shove the cards into my pocket and say in my normal voice, “Now Mr. V’s friends can share their favorite memories.”
The seniors move toward the chairs, and just in time, Vi arrives with a cartload of food. The kids head straight for the Jell-O cups and kosher dill pickles. That’ll keep them busy for a little while, but we’ll have to think of something else—soon. Sadie goes to rescue Vi, and Becca guides an elderly woman to a seat near Mr. Vernon.
I turn my attention to the seniors. Bubby nearly leaps out of her seat when I ask who wants to start.
“Oh, Mr. V,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes. “I’ll never forget when you came to the Moonlight Mix-It-Up and asked me to dance. Maybe we can reenact that tonight, hmm? I know all the latest moves.”
Mr. Vernon coughs a little and squirms in his seat.
“Ohhhh . . . ,” I hear Becca say just under her breath, right next to me.
“So, um, thanks, Bubby. Who’s next?” I ask, really quickly before Bubby can say anything else.
A tall, thin man with barely any hair stands up. “Charlie, you remember when we were on that fishing excursion? You swore you’d catch the biggest mackerel, but hoooo boy, you couldn’t catch much of nothing over three inches.” The whole group, Mr. V. included, bursts into laughter.
“And then Ginny lost her lunch over the side, remember that?” one of the women says.
Becca grabs one of the photo collages off the table and hands it to Mr. Vernon. He starts laughing so hard, he can barely catch his breath. “Who took this picture?”
I peek over his shoulder and see the one in the middle of the collage. It’s Mr. Vernon, proudly holding up the world’s tiniest mackerel while a round little old woman leans over the side of the boat behind him. Another person—not in the shot—is giving him bunny ears. It reminds me of all the silly pictures I have of my friends.
