by Jen Malone
“Presents!” Paige declares. We’ve only been here for 2.5 seconds but, clearly, Paige cannot wait one more instant to give Anna Marie whatever it is she got her. She yanks her backpack from next to the wall where I’d nudged it and rifles through until she finds a rectangular-shaped box tied with purple (Anna Marie’s favorite color) ribbon.
Paige’s grin is huge as she hands the package over, and her smile grows even bigger as Anna Marie tugs off the ribbon and unwraps the paper. Anna Marie holds up the cellophane-wrapped Summer Dance Party 11 for Xbox and squeals.
“Every party needs dancing!” Paige declares.
Anna Marie throws her arms around Paige and says, “It’s perfect! Thank you so much! I was getting really good at all the songs on SDP 10, and that’s awesome but also kind of boring, ya know? And now I’ll have a whole ton of new ones to learn. Yay! I love it so much!”
Geez, I hope she likes the journal I bought her as much. Writing quietly is not exactly a party activity, and now I’m worried I should have brought something more fun. I know Anna Marie will like it, because we’re alike in most ways and I have to put all my thoughts on paper or it’s like they never happened (and let’s be honest, Anna Marie always has a lot to say about anything and everything), but this party is supposed to be all about letting loose and coming out of my shell. Maybe that means I should have found something we all could have had fun with tonight, like Paige’s present. Why am I such a fail at party guesting? At the very least, I’m waiting until later to give Anna Marie my present.
Paige has dropped to her knees and is pushing the bulky coffee table tight against the couch, clearing an open space in the middle of the carpet, and Anna Marie is sliding the game into the console. I grab a controller to help out.
“ ‘Maniac’ or ‘Funkytown’?” I ask, scrolling my thumb along the buttons.
“ ‘American Boy,’ ” orders Paige. “It’s Kanye!”
I’m not supposed to listen to Kanye. Mom doesn’t like “the way those rap singers disrespect women.” But I don’t mention this. Instead I find the song and hit play before jumping back up and joining Paige and Anna Marie in a line. Of course Paige, who is allowed to do, watch, and listen to anything on account of being the youngest child by a whole lot of years, knows every word. At least it doesn’t take me long to learn the refrain, and the dance moves come pretty naturally.
I’m paying so much attention to the scores on the screen and trying to beat my friends that I don’t notice the girl with stringy hair clutching the banister and bobbing her head along until she sings out (off tune, I might add), “ ‘Take me to New York. I’d like to see LA.’ ”
Paige and Anna Marie spin around, and I’m so startled I drop my controller.
“ ‘I really want to come kick it with you,’ the girl continues, squinting through thick glasses at the lyrics on the screen and emphasizing them with a karate-style leg move that causes her to tumble down the last two stairs and land on her hands and knees.
The song ends as all three of us gape at the girl in front of us on the floor. If it were me sprawled there, I would have practically died, but this girl seems completely unembarrassed. In fact, she’s smiling.
“Hi, everyone!”
Anna Marie sighs, walks to the steps, and reaches out a hand to help the girl up.
“Guys, this is my, um . . . This is Veronica. She’s, uh, she’s joining us tonight.”
Anna Marie has one of those forced-polite smiles that’s exactly like the one I plaster on at coffee hour after church when all the old ladies pet my arm and ask me if I have a boyfriend yet. (Answer I give: No, I’m still too young for that. Answer I’d like to give: No, and haven’t you ever heard of women’s lib? Girls these days have way more to do with their time than think about boys, you know. Actual answer: No, but I definitely wouldn’t complain if I did and, please, God, could it be Jake Ribano?)
I exchange a quick glance with Paige behind Anna Marie’s back, and try to make my smile more genuine as I say, “Um, hey, Veronica. It’s nice to meet you.”
Just because I’ve heard Anna Marie complain nonstop about her weird stepsister-to-be doesn’t mean I have to judge her before I know her. Although there’s probably some kind of Best Friend Code that says I do. But still.
Paige also allows a small smile and then turns her attention back to queuing up the next song.
“So, what are you guys doing?” Veronica asks.
Um, isn’t it obvious? But no, that’s mean.
I keep my voice upbeat and answer, “We’re just playing a dance game. Do you want to use my remote? I can sit this one out.” Even if I wanted to, I can’t turn off the manners Mom and Dad always insist on. And I don’t want to. I’m not rude.
Veronica adjusts the strap on her ruffled tank top, which she’s layered over a gray sweatshirt. Her jeans are baggy and sag at the knees.
“Oh, that’s okay,” she answers. “I can use the time to set up my sleeping area. I have a cot to assemble and an air mattress I have to blow up, and Mom said it was okay to bring a folding camping table to put my alarm clock and my water bottle on. Oh, but someone has to remind me, I’m only allowed to fill that up once because otherwise I’ll wet the bed. Not to worry, though, because I borrowed an adult diaper from my grams, so I’ll pop that on before we go to sleep either way. I’m totally prepared for tonight. Speaking of which, did any of you bring your tarot cards? If you didn’t, that’s okay. I brought extras, but some people are pretty particular about using their own decks, know what I mean?”
Paige’s eyebrows reach her hairline, and I just know she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, because her eyes start to water a little. I kick her (subtly) and aim a Be nice! look her way, which makes her roll her eyes.
“Um, I don’t have my own tarot cards,” I say. “But, you know, I’ve always been curious about them. Maybe later you can show us how they work.”
Anna Marie mouths a thank-you at me, and I smile. She gestures to a clear space behind the Ping-Pong table and says to Veronica, “If you want to set up there for now, you can.”
“Oh, that looks perfect. Hey, do you think there are any spiders in this basement? I love spiders. Oooh look, the light over there will make a perfect nightlight so I can read my comics if I have trouble sleeping. If any of you guys know what happens in the latest volume of Get Fuzzy, I’m serious, do not tell me. I can’t wait to find out if Bucky Katt and Satchel Pooch finally become friends in this one. Really, truly, don’t tell me.”
Veronica makes a threatening face and points her finger at each of us, as if expecting one of us to blurt out a spoiler to a comic book I can guarantee none of us have ever heard of, much less read.
“We’ll try to contain ourselves,” Paige says, rolling her eyes again and turning back to the television. Thankfully, I’m pretty sure Veronica doesn’t get sarcasm, because she just smiles brightly and chirps, “Thanks!” before pacing out the spot she has in mind for her cot.
She wastes no time lugging something that looks like a second Ping-Pong table (this one folded over) down the steps and opening it on its side to reveal an army-green camping cot. Dropping to her knees, she yanks each leg open until the contraption looks like one of those fainting goats, post faint. Anna Maria sighs and circles behind the sofa to grab an end so she can help Veronica turn it right side up. I feel like I should be trying to help too, but all I can do is stare, my mouth open.
Veronica does this kind of bobbing thing with her head as she examines the cot, then she pats the fabric a few times with her hand before turning her back to it and plopping down butt first. She bounces a bunch of times.
“This’ll do. Time for the air mattress-pump. AM, you got a place I can plug in the pump to blow it up?”
I cringe. Anna Marie goes crazy whenever anyone tries to give her a nickname. Even leaving off the Marie part and just calling her Anna makes her nutso. Last year we had a substitute teacher during the whole time Mrs. McClusky was
off having her baby, and Anna Marie refused to answer anytime the woman addressed her as Anna. It got to the point where the sub asked for a conference with Mrs. Guerrero, who set her straight by saying, “I support Anna Marie’s actions. In fact, if I wanted my daughter to be called Anna, I would have named her that.”
Actually, Mrs. Guerrero’s pet name for Anna Marie—Bug—is the only other thing I’ve ever seen Anna Marie tolerate.
My best friend looks ready to respond, but in the end she purses her lips and points to the closest wall outlet. A quiet Anna Marie is something I never thought I’d live to see.
Paige and I pretend to be busy scrolling through song selections on the Summer Dance Party game, but ultimately we come right back to “American Boy.” It’s too good not to have another go at it.
Just as soon as the air mattress–pump noise ends.
“I hope you’re decent, ladies,” comes a singsong voice hidden by the staircase. A video camera appears through the railing of the steps and swivels to capture the action—ha, as if there’s anything to capture—in the basement. Blergh. I’d know that voice anywhere. It haunts my nightmares.
“GET OUT, you freak!” Anna Marie screams. “Mooooooom!”
The camera snakes back through the railing, and a second later Anna Marie’s little brother, Max, appears, a giant grin on his freckled face and two hands in the air. He’s worked for ten years to achieve Perfect Brat status, and let’s just say, mission: accomplished.
“Chillax, sis. Mom sent me down to tell you the pizza is here,” he says.
Anna Marie throws an Xbox remote at his head, but he’s had years of practice ducking it, so it goes whirring right over his shoulder and smacks against the wall.
“This BETTER be the last we see of you tonight, Max!” Anna Marie threatens.
“Whatevs,” Max answers, clomping back up the steps.
Anna Marie takes a deep breath and glances at each of us. She seems embarrassed, but it’s not like we don’t get it. . . . Max is a terror. I know it, and Paige knows it too. Maybe not Veronica yet, but if she’s joining the family, it won’t take long. Anna Marie shakes it off and smiles. “Okay, who’s hungry?”
Veronica drops the air mattress pump, vaults around the Ping-Pong table, and races for the steps. “Me, me! Ooh, I really hope your mom ordered one with pineapple and pickles! It’s my favorite kind!”
CHAPTER THREE
Zombies at the Drive-In
“Are you guys having so much fun? I’m having so much fun. We should do this every weekend, although I guess then it wouldn’t be as fun because it would be normal and not special but—omigosh, who on earth would watch Zombies at the Drive-In Part Seven? Does that mean there were really parts one through six?” Anna Marie chatters as Paige flips through the on-demand listings, searching for a suitable horror movie. We’re back in the basement, snacks in tow, after polishing off two pizzas between the four of us. (Luckily, neither had so much as a hint of pickles or pineapples.)
“Creepy Baby Dolls Come Alive?” Paige asks.
I cannot even believe I’m actually going to watch a horror movie. I could blame the fact that I’ve never watched one on my parents, because I know without asking what their answer would be if I said, Hey, Mom, Dad, so can I check out Werewolf Apocalypse before bed tonight? Um, yeah right. But my parents aren’t here now, and I can’t get in trouble, which means the splishy-sploshy churning in my stomach at the mere thought of serial killers in hockey masks or vampires with blood-dripping teeth is all me and makes it pretty clear why I never bothered asking in the first pace. I’m a giant scaredy-cat. Meow.
But I’m also the one who wanted the full sleepover experience, and horror movies are practically a requirement. I promised myself I wasn’t going to get all wimpy tonight. Not tonight. Tonight is about acting different. Acting way more like Paige and way less like boring old Meghan. (I’m putting Anna Marie right in the middle of us, because at least she’s seen Ghostbusters.)
Anna Marie touches my leg. “Are you good with this? It won’t, like, make things worse for you at bedtime, right? We want you with us all night, so if there’s something we have planned that’s gonna change that for you, we’re counting on you to tell us, ’kay?”
I force a grin and nod. It won’t make things worse. At least I’m pretty sure it won’t. I won’t let it.
Anna Marie smiles back and then asks, “Did you guys see the commercials for that one with the ghost that gets captured on the family’s home-surveillance cameras and it’s, like, standing right next to the faces of the people who live there while they sleep?” She hugs her arms to her chest. “I swear, I’d rather die. Shoot me now.” She tucks her legs under herself on the couch and lets out a giant whole-body shiver. Then her hand snakes across the cushions to grab a handful of M&M’s.
“But ghosts are cool,” Veronica says. “I have one that lives in my attic, and sometimes I bring him oatmeal cookies. He can’t eat them on account of his being all vapory and stuff, but he says he likes the smell of them.”
For the hundredth time that night, Paige, Anna Marie, and I exchange glances above Veronica’s head. What would be proper protocol here? Ask about the ghost? Ignore her obviously made-up story?
Paige settles our silent debate when she lets out a giant sigh and tosses the remote onto the couch. “There’s nothing good here. Most of these movies are all dumb, but not so bad that they’re funny. And the other ones are so legit scary that we need to save them for after midnight for maximum effect. Lame-o.”
Anna Marie snatches the remote and flips back to the dance game on the Xbox, letting the soundtrack offer background music. “We could give each other mani-pedis. I bought stick-on designs. Or my mom got us cookie dough. We could bake cookies and not let my bratty brother have a single one. He and that weirdo little friend he has over will go ballistic.”
“I’m all for cookies,” I say, putting the bowl of M&M’s aside and standing. Anna Marie’s mom always gets the good, nonorganic, non-reduced-sugar kind of cookie dough. I’m betting it probably has preservatives and everything. Which also means it’s obscenely awesome.
Paige tucks her knee up and rests her chin on it. “You guys. We need to think bigger. I vowed we’d be off the hook tonight.”
I mean, I did too, even if I’m not exactly sure what “off the hook” would look like.
Paige grabs my arm. “You promised me we’d do stuff we’d never do otherwise. For you and for me. My brother will not shut up about this crazy bachelor party he went to last month, and my sister’s sorority just finished Greek Week—you should just hear the stories. I need something equally amazing to wow them with so they’ll stop treating me like their ittle, wittle baby sister.”
This probably isn’t the best time to break it to Paige that being ten years younger than her next-older sibling means she’s probably always gonna be the baby sister. Instead I chew on my lip for a second before saying, “Well, like, what did you have in mind?”
Veronica says, “What about blindfolded Ping-Pong?”
But Paige is already grinning. Uh-oh. I know that grin. “Let’s stalk some guys from school on Instagram. Maybe we could find someone who wants to meet us once your mom goes to bed.”
Anna Marie gapes at her. “Paige, we can’t sneak out. That’s not what I meant by crazy, and you know it.”
I nod too.
Paige squints her eyes at me. “We said we’d do epic, Megs. What did you expect?”
I don’t know what I expected. But not that. Sneaking out is one step shy of illegal. Anna Marie puts a hand on Paige’s arm and takes my hand with her other. “You guys. Quit it. No one’s sneaking out. There’s plenty of other stuff we can do to make it awesome. Besides, it’s my birthday, and birthday girl rules say no fighting at my party.”
I squeeze Anna Marie’s hand, and she passes along the squeeze, like we’re little kids back in our Girl Scouts circle singing the “Make New Friends” song at the end of the meeting. All three of us g
rin, and the tension escapes the room.
“Oh drat. I wish I’d known we were going out later. I would have brought my night-vision goggles,” Veronica says.
Our grins freeze on our faces and then melt away like candle wax. We’re all looking at Veronica, but only Paige has the nerve to ask, “What do you need night-vision goggles for?”
Veronica gives her a look that clearly means Duh! and answers, “So I can watch for the Chinese-food delivery guy. It’s really cool. I turn off all the lights in my house and stare out the window, and I can see everything perfectly. I know the exact minute he turns onto our street.”
“Um, wouldn’t the headlights on his car tell you that too?” Paige asks.
Veronica tilts her head and says, “Well, yeah, but he turns them off when he parks the car, and this way I can watch him walk the whole way up the path to our door.”
Paige’s mouth hangs open for a second. After a few blinks, she recovers and gives a little shake of her head. She looks around at each of us before proclaiming, “I know! How about we play I Never?”
“I never what?” I ask.
“It’s a game. My sister told me about it, and she plays it all the time in college. We need the M&M’s.”
I reach across the sofa to retrieve the bowl.
“Okay, how do we play?” asks Anna Marie, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Paige and bouncing a little. It’s good to finally have a plan, and I’m feeling that twinge of excitement again. This game is new and different, and I’m guessing it’s superfun if Paige’s sister taught it to her.
“So, we take turns,” Paige says, “and each of us says something we’ve never done before. Like a statement. It could be all, ‘I never . . . jumped off the high dive at the pool,’ or whatever. And then anyone in the circle who has done it eats an M&M, and if someone hasn’t done it, she doesn’t eat anything.”
