by Meg Cabot
Giant meteor coming down from space and smashing onto Earth, killing everyone on the entire planet, including your parents and your dog and your kitten and your best friends, but for some reason leaving you and Joey Fields, the boy you have to sit next to all day in school, who barks like a dog instead of talking, alive.
Number two is: After the meteor comes down and kills everyone on Earth including your dog and your kitten, except for you and Joey Fields, the only thing left to eat is tomatoes, the food you hate most out of all the foods in the entire world.
Number three is: The meteor also destroys Disney World.
Number four is: Joey Fields still wants you to be his girlfriend, anyway, even though everyone else is dead and he should be busy being consumed with grief and all.
The number five worst thing that could happen is: Brittany Hauser, the meanest girl on the entire planet, who thinks a fun playdate (and who actually uses the word “playdate”) is to put a live cat in a suitcase and swing it around her head, invites you to her birthday party, and your mother says you can go.
“Mom!” I yelled when I heard this. “Why would you do this? Why would you say that I could go to Brittany Hauser’s birthday party without even asking me first? You know I hate her!”
“Now, Allie,” Mom said, closing the top of the suitcase. “Don’t say hate. You know you don’t hate anyone.”
Which wasn’t true. I hate a lot of people. I hate Brittany Hauser, the meanest girl at my old school. I hate Cheyenne O’Malley, the snobbiest girl at my new school.
I hate people who are mean to animals.
I hate people who start wars.
I hate people (such as Cheyenne O’Malley) who are mean to people who never did anything but be nice to them.
Seriously, that is a lot of hate.
But I didn’t say any of that to my mom, who I knew would just tell me to stop being so hateful.
Instead, I said, taking a deep breath and trying to remember to be mature, “Mom. Why would you say I would go to Brittany Hauser’s party without even asking me if I wanted to go first?”
“Well,” Mom said, looking as if she felt a bit guilty. “I’ll admit I ought to have done that, Allie, and I do apologize. But you can’t tell me you’re still upset over that silly fight you and those girls had before we moved. That was so long ago!”
Silly fight? Excuse me, but since when is animal cruelty ever silly? Besides, the last time I’d seen Brittany Hauser, I’d been smashing a cupcake in her face. What was Brittany doing even inviting me to her birthday party, anyway?
“It’s just,” Mom went on, “that Mrs. Hauser called and asked if I thought you’d want to go, and we got to talking about Good News! — she’s a big fan of the show, you know. Mr. Hauser’s BMW dealership is one of the show’s most generous advertisers. And one thing led to another, and she told me about the party, and I said you’d go, and I guess it just slipped my mind.”
Slipped her mind? My having to go to the birthday party of my enemy, one of the meanest, bossiest girls in the entire town, just slipped her mind?
And okay, it was true my mom was getting to be a very famous celebrity now that she was the film critic for Good News!, the local cable entertainment news show.
Well, famous to people like Mrs. Hauser, anyway.
She still wasn’t famous enough for us to get into restaurants for free or for me to take a limo to school or anything.
But still.
“Brittany Hauser doesn’t even like me,” I said. “She only invited me to her stupid party because of you, Mom.”
Mom blinked at me. “Me? What do you mean?”
“Because you’re a celebrity,” I said. “You have your own TV show.”
“Good News! is hardly my own show, Allie,” Mom said. “I’m only on it a few times a month, and then only for five minutes. I don’t even get paid!”
The fact that my mom doesn’t get paid to be on Good News! was something my dad brought up a lot. My mom hadn’t mentioned that part when she’d said she’d gotten the job. Technically, my dad said, it wasn’t even exactly a job. More like volunteer work.
“Well, five minutes a few times a month is more than anybody else’s parent we know is on TV,” I said, slumping down onto the bed next to Kevin. “It’s not fair. I don’t want to go to Brittany’s stupid party on Saturday. I want to go to the Little Miss Majorette Baton Twirling Twirltacular.”
“You might have fun at Brittany’s party,” Mom said brightly. “You haven’t even asked what Brittany’s got planned for all of you.”
“I can guess,” I said, rolling my eyes. “She’s going to stick me in a suitcase, then she’s going to twirl me around over her head.”
“No,” Mom said. “Mrs. Hauser is renting a limo and taking all you girls into the city.”
I think my eyes must have bulged out of my head. I know Kevin dropped the furniture catalog he’d been holding and sat up.
“Limo?” he yelled. “Allie gets to ride in a limo?”
“A BMW SUV limo from Mr. Hauser’s dealership,” Mom said. “And don’t yell. Then Mrs. Hauser is taking all you girls to Glitterati,” Mom went on.
“Glitterati?” Kevin yelled. Glitterati is a very famous store in the city where they do nothing but host birthday parties. For girls and for boys, too. You go there and get a makeover (hair and makeup…even the boys, if they choose to be a pirate, or something. Like, they put glitter gel in the boys’ hair and give them an eye patch or whatever), and then they let you dress up in the costume of your choice. Like, you could be an undercover rock star or a teen superstar or prep school princess. They have everything.
After you have your look put together, you strut down a red carpet runway, and a photographer takes your picture. You don’t get to keep the outfit (unless your mom is there to buy it for you), but you get to keep the photo.
Kevin has been wanting to go to Glitterati since the day he was born, practically.
“And when you’re through there,” Mom went on, “you’re going to The Cheesecake Factory for dinner and for Brittany’s birthday cake.”
“Cheesecake Factory?” I breathed.
I had never been to Glitterati, or to The Cheesecake Factory, because both of these places were very far from our town. They were in the city, which was next to the airport, which was more than an hour away. I had been to the airport, of course, to pick up our relatives when they came to visit.
But the nearest we have ever gotten to The Cheesecake Factory was the Old Spaghetti Factory, which I had actually hated, because practically everything there is to eat at the Old Spaghetti Factory is red. And one of my rules, of course, is Never eat anything red.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Then, after dinner, you’re going to go stay overnight in the luxury Hilton Hotel downtown, where you’ll watch the new Jonas Brothers movie on pay-per-view and order room service in your own suite. Then, in the morning, you’ll enjoy brunch in the hotel restaurant — ”
“The one with the waterfall and glass elevators in the open-air atrium?” Kevin looked outraged. We had been to the Hilton Hotel once with Mom and Dad when Grandma’s plane was late and there was nothing else to do while waiting to pick her up but go into the city and ride the glass elevators at the Hilton up and down.
At least, until the hotel manager had come out and asked us to please go find something else to do, as Kevin’s shrieks of delight were disturbing the customers.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Then the limo will take you home. But I guess you’d rather go to Missy’s baton-twirling thing. I understand.”
I sat there with my mouth open. I couldn’t believe it: a ride to the city in a real genuine limo, a trip to Glitterati, dinner at The Cheesecake Factory, a night in a luxury hotel suite with room service and pay-per-view movies, brunch in an open-air atrium with a real waterfall and glass elevators…
…and all I had to do in exchange was put up with bossy Brittany Hauser for twenty-four hours?
It would be totally w
orth it.
Except…
Except what about Missy, and her self-esteem issues, and going to the Little Miss Majorette Baton Twirling Twirltacular with Erica, Caroline, Sophie, and possibly Rosemary to support her?
“I want to go,” Kevin said, climbing to his feet. “I’d like to ride in a limo, please. I’d like to go to Glitterati and dress as a pirate, and then stay at the Hilton Hotel.”
“You’re not invited,” Mom said. “And I’ve told you before, no standing on the bed.”
“But Brittany might like me to come,” Kevin said. “All of Allie’s friends like walking me to school. They think I’m very cute.”
“You can’t come,” I said to Kevin, hitting him in the stomach. Only not hard enough to hurt him. Just hard enough to make him sit down. “Brittany’s my friend, not yours. And you’re not that cute.”
Kevin started to howl, even though I’d barely touched him.
“I want to go!” he shrieked. “I want to go to Glitterati!”
“What’s all this yelling in here?” Dad came into the master bedroom. “What about glitter?”
“Allie punched me in the stomach!” Kevin wailed. “I want to ride in a limo!”
“I did not punch him,” I said. “I lightly tapped him. And he can’t ride in the limo. He’s not invited.”
“Kevin, she barely touched you,” Mom said. “I was standing right here, watching. And you know perfectly well you aren’t invited. Take your catalog and go up to your room and add it to your collection.”
Kevin, mad that he wasn’t invited to Brittany Hauser’s party (which is ridiculous, because Brittany Hauser hardly even knows him), grabbed his catalog and stomped from the room. My other little brother, Mark, happened to walk in at the exact same time, just having gotten back from bike riding with his friends.
“What’s with him?” he wanted to know about Kevin.
“Oh, he’s just mad,” I said. “Because I get to ride in a BMW SUV limo to the city to Glitterati, then go to The Cheesecake Factory, then spend the night in the luxury Hilton Hotel with room service, then have brunch in the open-air atrium and come back in the limo.”
“With who?” Mark demanded, looking outraged.
“Brittany Hauser,” I said.
Mark stopped looking so outraged. He shuddered and said, “Gross.” Then he added, “Glitterati! Glitterati! Ha! Ha! Ha!” Then he left the room, still laughing.
“I suppose,” Mom said thoughtfully, “I can get you out of it if you really want me to, Allie. I could tell Mrs. Hauser that I didn’t know you’d already made other plans.”
I thought about Missy and her sparkly costumes, and of “I’m Gonna Knock You Out.” I thought of the twirling trophy, as tall as me, that Missy was hoping to win. I thought of her self-esteem issues, and how important Erica said it was that we be there in the stands, cheering for her on Saturday. I thought of the little bags of popcorn.
I thought of how mean Brittany had been to me the last time I’d been to her house, and what a bad best friend Mary Kay Shiner — who was sure to be at Brittany’s party — had been, compared to Erica, Caroline, Sophie, and even Rosemary, who’d started out as someone who wanted to beat me up.
Those guys had always been there for me, whereas Brittany and Mary Kay had only ever made fun of me, at least toward the end of our friendship. They only wanted to be friends with me now because of my mom’s celebrity.
But a limo!
This might be my only chance, ever, to ride in a limo.
At least until I was a famous actress slash veterinarian, which was what I planned on being when I grew up.
I thought about the thing with the makeover at Glitterati. And the fact that afterward you walk down a runway, and they take pictures of you. It would probably be good practice for when I’m an actress slash vet. Probably I’d be walking down lots of runways and even red carpets, with photographers snapping pictures of me all the time. If I didn’t practice doing that now, at Glitterati, when would I?
“That’s okay,” I said to Mom. “I’ll go to Brittany’s stupid party, I guess.”
Even as I said it, I felt terrible…like I was betraying Erica and her sister and all my friends…my really, really good friends.
But the limo! And Glitterati! And The Cheesecake Factory!
“Well,” Mom said. “That’s settled, then.”
“Has it occurred to anyone,” Dad said, “that the idea of renting an SUV limo and carting a bunch of girls into the city for dinner and a night in a hotel suite for a tenth birthday party is completely ludicrous, not to mention an utter waste of money?”
“Tom,” Mom said. “It’s the Hausers’ money. They can spend it however they see fit.”
“You mean they can flush it down the toilet,” Dad said. “Because that’s what they’re doing. What are the rest of us supposed to do when it’s our daughters’ birthdays?” Dad looked down at me. “I suppose you’re going to want to go spend the night in a hotel in the city for your birthday, too, now, aren’t you?”
“No,” I said. “I want a horse for my birthday.”
Dad threw his hands up in the air. “You see?” he said to Mom. “You see what they started? Well, I’m staying out of it.” Then he went back into the dining room to finish grading papers.
“Well,” Mom repeated. “That’s settled, then. You’ll be going to the party. I’ll let Great-Aunt Joyce know she’ll only have the boys to look after on Saturday night.”
“Wait a minute? Great-Aunt Joyce?” My voice cracked. “That’s who’s coming to stay with us while you and Dad are at Cousin Freddie’s wedding? Great-Aunt Joyce? Why not Uncle Jay?”
Mom gave me a very sarcastic look.
“Considering the amount of cake batter I scraped off the kitchen ceiling after the sleepover he supervised,” she said, “your uncle Jay is lucky I even let him back inside this house. Your great-aunt Joyce is driving down to stay with you kids this weekend, and I’m not going to hear another word about it.”
I almost gagged with disappointment. I wasn’t exactly Great-Aunt Joyce’s biggest fan. It wasn’t just that Great-Aunt Joyce, who is my dad’s mom’s older sister, was a million years old. There are lots of people who are even older than Great-Aunt Joyce who are way more fun than she is. All Great-Aunt Joyce ever talks about is how she thinks we have way too many toys and how, in her day, all she had to play with were some paper dolls she made herself out of cardboard and two Popsicle sticks.
And when she comes to stay with us, she acts super strict about turning the lights off exactly at nine o’clock, and won’t let me read until nine-fifteen, like Dad usually does. She also doesn’t believe me about not liking to eat anything red, just like Grandma, and always tries to force me to eat tomatoes, because she says they’re “good” for me.
Only how good can they be for me when they make me feel like I’m going to throw up?
“Mom,” I said, even though I knew it was completely futile, which means there was no point in trying. “Great-Aunt Joyce smells funny.” This is totally true. She smells like medicine. Only maybe that’s just because that’s what I always end up having to take when she’s around, because she makes me so sick. “Plus, she doesn’t believe me about how I can’t eat tomatoes.”
“Stop exaggerating, Allie,” Mom said. “Your great-aunt Joyce is a lovely, caring woman. And she won’t let you slide down the stairs on mattresses or put cake batter on the ceiling, the way Uncle Jay would. Besides, you won’t even be around for twenty-four of the hours that she’s here.”
This was a cheering thought. Suddenly, I wanted to go to Brittany’s party more than ever.
“I just have to figure out a way to tell Erica and those guys,” I said thoughtfully. “They’re going to be super disappointed that I’m not going with them to the Little Miss Majorette Baton Twirling Twirltacular. We pretty much all agreed we’d go together.” I felt a little bit of a pang as I thought about Missy’s glittery costumes, all of which Mrs. Harrington had s
pent so many hours hand-sewing. “I really did want to see her compete.”
“Missy will be in other baton-twirling competitions,” Mom said. For some reason there was a note of laughter in her voice. “I’m sure.”
“Well,” I said. “I hope Erica and those guys will understand.”
“Of course they will,” Mom said.
But the more I thought about it after I went up to my room, the more I thought maybe my friends wouldn’t understand. After all, we’d agreed we’d go to the Little Miss Majorette Baton Twirling Twirltacular together and support Missy (well, all of us except Rosemary, who thought twirling was boring).
How was it going to look if I said I wasn’t going now because I wanted to ride in a limo to the Glitterati store in the city, have dinner at The Cheesecake Factory, and spend the night in a fancy hotel?
It was going to look like I wanted to spend time with my friends from my old school instead of with them.
Which wasn’t true. I didn’t even like Brittany Hauser.
But I really, really wanted to have my photo taken on a runway.
The more I thought about it, the more I thought that maybe by saying yes to Brittany Hauser’s party invitation, I wasn’t being that good of a friend to Erica. After all, I had promised I’d go with her. Sort of.
And here I was, breaking that promise, all because I’d gotten a better invitation from someone I didn’t even like that much. Or at all, even.
And breaking a promise to do something with one person, just because someone else asked you to do something way more exciting, is a rotten thing to do. That’s a rule.
What I needed, I realized, was to come up with a really good story about why I couldn’t go to Missy’s Little Miss Majorette Baton Twirling Twirltacular. Something that wouldn’t be a lie, exactly — because lying was wrong.
Except that this lie wouldn’t be totally wrong. Because it would be a lie to make other people feel better.
And my saying I was going to a party instead of Missy’s twirling competition wasn’t going to make anyone feel better. It was only going to make Erica and those guys feel bad that they hadn’t been invited to Brittany Hauser’s party (even though they didn’t know her. If they did, they wouldn’t feel bad about not being invited to her party, because Brittany is such a stuck-up brat).
