smiled.
"Nothing," I said, stepping forward. "Show me."
50
SEVEN
" L ooks like someone's having a party," Alex said as he eased the station wagon down my car-lined street.
Every light was on at Kylie's house. Crowds of people were visible through all the windows, and the bricks seemed to vibrate, pulsing with music and excitement.
I straightened. Of course. Tonight was Kylie's party. How could I have forgotten what was sure to be the Woodlawn social event of the year? I'd never managed to wrangle an invite, but thanks to homeroom and my here-but-not-here social
51
status, I'd overheard dozens of party-planning tidbits. At this point, I could give a detailed account of what Kylie, Jules and Ella were wearing-wedge heels included-and recite the exclusive guest list by heart.
From the number of cars, though, the list couldn't have been all that exclusive.
It definitely excluded me, though.
I watched a couple of guys roll a keg across the Franks' lawn.
"I wonder if the cops will shut them down?" Alex mused. His tone was completely neutral, like he didn't care either way.
And he didn't. Alex didn't care about Kylie's party. He didn't care if the cops came, and he definitely didn't care that he hadn't been invited. That last thought would never even occur to him. Not in a million years. In just a few minutes, he'd pull out of my driveway and leave the whole scene behind, without even a backward glance.
He was lucky.
I tried to force myself to think about the day. We'd stayed at the beach until almost nine. Alex had taken me to dinner at a restaurant called the Mad Batter, where we'd stuffed ourselves with huge bowls of clam chowder, crab cakes the size of tennis balls and, because Alex had been
52
sure to tell every patron and employee about my "special day," chocolate cake with a candle stuck in it. Much to my mortified delight, he even sang "Happy Birthday," his animated face glowing bright green above the flame. It had been great.
Only now it was ruined. How could I enjoy anything when, in each and every single over-populated room in Kylie Frank's house, Woodlawn history was being made?
And I wasn't even a tiny part of it.
Alex was talking, I realized suddenly. I hadn't heard a word, but his lips moved and now he was staring at me, waiting for some sort of response. Maybe a thank-you for the perfect day. Or a new joke about this being the best quarter birthday any girl could ever wish for.
I stared at him. At his still-green face and the too-long mop of black curls, the tips of which were now tinged with zinc oxide.
And that's when the anger hit-suddenly, inexplicably and almost painfully. It spread over me, poisoning the sweetness of our day.
Why?
Why was nothing the way I wanted it to be? Why had I never even come close to breaking my lame eleven o'clock curfew? Why were my friends quirky and offbeat instead of stylish and blond, with sleek cars and the right sort of
53
clothing? Why didn't they care about sleek cars and the right sort of clothing?
Would it have killed Kylie Frank to invite me to her party? Of course, to do that she'd first have to acknowledge my existence, but given the fact that we shared a street and a homeroom, you'd think she'd figure it out.
It wasn't fair.
I turned my head away from Alex, back toward the party. Beside me, I felt him tense.
"Sam," he said softly. "Did you hear me?"
"Huh?" I asked. "Sorry. What did you say?"
Alex blinked. "Nothing. I just wished you a happy quarter birthday, that's all."
I'm a terrible person, I thought. I'm sitting next to one of the best friends I'll ever have and all I can think about is trading up for an Abercrombie & Fitch model.
"Thanks for today," I said. "It was perfect. Really."
Alex smiled as I pushed open the car door. "Talk to you tomorrow? Remember, you have a geometry test Monday."
I groaned. "Thanks for reminding me."
Alex shrugged. "Call if you need help."
I waved as he pulled out of the driveway. Turning slightly,
"Nothing," I said, stepping forward. "Show me."
50
SEVEN
" L ooks like someone's having a party," Alex said as he eased the station wagon down my car-lined street.
Every light was on at Kylie's house. Crowds of people were visible through all the windows, and the bricks seemed to vibrate, pulsing with music and excitement.
I straightened. Of course. Tonight was Kylie's party. How could I have forgotten what was sure to be the Woodlawn social event of the year? I'd never managed to wrangle an invite, but thanks to homeroom and my here-but-not-here social
51
status, I'd overheard dozens of party-planning tidbits. At this point, I could give a detailed account of what Kylie, Jules and Ella were wearing-wedge heels included-and recite the exclusive guest list by heart.
From the number of cars, though, the list couldn't have been all that exclusive.
It definitely excluded me, though.
I watched a couple of guys roll a keg across the Franks' lawn.
"I wonder if the cops will shut them down?" Alex mused. His tone was completely neutral, like he didn't care either way.
And he didn't. Alex didn't care about Kylie's party. He didn't care if the cops came, and he definitely didn't care that he hadn't been invited. That last thought would never even occur to him. Not in a million years. In just a few minutes, he'd pull out of my driveway and leave the whole scene behind, without even a backward glance.
He was lucky.
I tried to force myself to think about the day. We'd stayed at the beach until almost nine. Alex had taken me to dinner at a restaurant called the Mad Batter, where we'd stuffed ourselves with huge bowls of clam chowder, crab cakes the size of tennis balls and, because Alex had been
52
sure to tell every patron and employee about my "special day," chocolate cake with a candle stuck in it. Much to my mortified delight, he even sang "Happy Birthday," his animated face glowing bright green above the flame. It had been great.
Only now it was ruined. How could I enjoy anything when, in each and every single over-populated room in Kylie Frank's house, Woodlawn history was being made?
And I wasn't even a tiny part of it.
Alex was talking, I realized suddenly. I hadn't heard a word, but his lips moved and now he was staring at me, waiting for some sort of response. Maybe a thank-you for the perfect day. Or a new joke about this being the best quarter birthday any girl could ever wish for.
I stared at him. At his still-green face and the too-long mop of black curls, the tips of which were now tinged with zinc oxide.
And that's when the anger hit-suddenly, inexplicably and almost painfully. It spread over me, poisoning the sweetness of our day.
Why?
Why was nothing the way I wanted it to be? Why had I never even come close to breaking my lame eleven o'clock curfew? Why were my friends quirky and offbeat instead of stylish and blond, with sleek cars and the right sort of
53
clothing? Why didn't they care about sleek cars and the right sort of clothing?
Would it have killed Kylie Frank to invite me to her party? Of course, to do that she'd first have to acknowledge my existence, but given the fact that we shared a street and a homeroom, you'd think she'd figure it out.
It wasn't fair.
I turned my head away from Alex, back toward the party. Beside me, I felt him tense.
"Sam," he said softly. "Did you hear me?"
"Huh?" I asked. "Sorry. What did you say?"
Alex blinked. "Nothing. I just wished you a happy quarter birthday, that's all."
I'm a terrible person, I thought. I'm sitting next to one of the best friends I'll ever have and all I can think about is trading up for an Abercrombie & Fitch model.
"Thanks for today," I said. "It was perfect. Really."
Alex smiled as I pushed open the car door. "Talk to you tomorrow? Remember, you have a geometry test Monday."
I groaned. "Thanks for reminding me."
Alex shrugged. "Call if you need help."
I waved as he pulled out of the driveway. Turning slightly,
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