Wynn. “I want to be a flapper.” She mimed holding a long cigarette.
The previous year, we’d all rented elaborate—and expensive—dresses for a medieval theme, with laced-up bodices and flowing sleeves. “I vote Broadway,” I said, thinking I could dress as an orphan from Annie.
“Your preferences will be taken under advisement,” said Willow with exaggerated snootiness. It wasn’t that different from her regular voice. “But Mom has her heart set on this jazz band she saw at the Lincoln Center. Her assistant is finding out if they’re available.”
The party always featured a live band. The Goodwins put upa circus-sized tent and erected a wood dance floor on their lawn. It was crazy. I couldn’t help thinking what our family could do with that party budget. Probably pay our mortgage and Brady’s therapy for a year.
“So, ladies,” said Willow, “if there’s anyone special you want on the guest list, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Wynn started rattling off the cutest members of the basketball team, lacrosse team, and soccer team. “Jeremy Dillon, Evan Stans, Andrew Hudson . . .”
Willow held up a hand to interrupt. “Suffice it to say that every cute guy in this school will be invited,” she said.
“Even . . .” Reesa started, then snapped her lips shut.
“Even who?” said Willow.
Reesa darted a warning glance my way. She’d almost said James’s name but must’ve remembered she was keeping him a secret from Willow. “Nobody . . . never mind.”
“How about Molly Palmer?” I suggested. “We all used to be such good friends. She’s—”
Willow nearly choked on her portobello sandwich. “Why the hell would I invite her ? I heard she lives in Lakeside now. Some trailer park or something. I would die .”
I glanced at Reesa, our eyes holding the growing number of secrets we kept between us. As for the ones I kept from her, I swallowed them with a gulp of my chocolate milk.
Following my new routine, I made my way to the tiny room in the supply closet at the end of the day. Jane Eyre sat untouched where I had left her on the shelf. I flipped through her pages, front and back. Nothing. Maybe he’d gotten bored of the little game we were playing. I left, disappointed, after my required twenty minutes of waiting.
When I pedaled into our neighborhood, Lennie was leaving in his red Jeep. I steeled myself for some kind of harassment, but he just drove by. Didn’t even glance my way.
I tucked my bike under the back stairs and trudged up to our apartment, muscles still complaining from my accident the day before. I let myself into our miniature kitchen, rounded the half island with its three stools, and went for the fridge to get a drink. Mom had stuck a note there with a magnet advertising a local pizza joint. In our old house, she never let us stick papers on the Sub-Zero.
Ivy—Walk over to the store and get potatoes. See coupon on counter. Six bags, if you can manage it.—Thx, Mom
I picked up the six dollars she’d left on the counter, and a two-for-one coupon on five-pound bags of Yukon Gold potatoes. How exactly did she think I was going to carry thirty pounds of potatoes? And what was she going to do with that many potatoes, anyway? The store she referred to was not Bensen’s, the gourmet market we used to frequent, but the Save-a-Cent on thecorner. I could walk it, lug four bags in my backpack and one in each hand, or I could take my bike with its trusty basket.
I left my backpack on the kitchen floor and headed back down the stairs. The Save-a-Cent had a bike rack out front, next to some metal boxes that dispensed newspapers. I rode right past them and parked behind some Dumpsters, then cut through the parking lot before heading to the main entrance.
Yanking a cart free, I spun it around and rolled into the store, ignoring the stacks of ginger snaps and clementines near the entrance. Not in the budget today. My mouth started to water thinking about them, though.
The previous year, we’d all rented elaborate—and expensive—dresses for a medieval theme, with laced-up bodices and flowing sleeves. “I vote Broadway,” I said, thinking I could dress as an orphan from Annie.
“Your preferences will be taken under advisement,” said Willow with exaggerated snootiness. It wasn’t that different from her regular voice. “But Mom has her heart set on this jazz band she saw at the Lincoln Center. Her assistant is finding out if they’re available.”
The party always featured a live band. The Goodwins put upa circus-sized tent and erected a wood dance floor on their lawn. It was crazy. I couldn’t help thinking what our family could do with that party budget. Probably pay our mortgage and Brady’s therapy for a year.
“So, ladies,” said Willow, “if there’s anyone special you want on the guest list, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Wynn started rattling off the cutest members of the basketball team, lacrosse team, and soccer team. “Jeremy Dillon, Evan Stans, Andrew Hudson . . .”
Willow held up a hand to interrupt. “Suffice it to say that every cute guy in this school will be invited,” she said.
“Even . . .” Reesa started, then snapped her lips shut.
“Even who?” said Willow.
Reesa darted a warning glance my way. She’d almost said James’s name but must’ve remembered she was keeping him a secret from Willow. “Nobody . . . never mind.”
“How about Molly Palmer?” I suggested. “We all used to be such good friends. She’s—”
Willow nearly choked on her portobello sandwich. “Why the hell would I invite her ? I heard she lives in Lakeside now. Some trailer park or something. I would die .”
I glanced at Reesa, our eyes holding the growing number of secrets we kept between us. As for the ones I kept from her, I swallowed them with a gulp of my chocolate milk.
Following my new routine, I made my way to the tiny room in the supply closet at the end of the day. Jane Eyre sat untouched where I had left her on the shelf. I flipped through her pages, front and back. Nothing. Maybe he’d gotten bored of the little game we were playing. I left, disappointed, after my required twenty minutes of waiting.
When I pedaled into our neighborhood, Lennie was leaving in his red Jeep. I steeled myself for some kind of harassment, but he just drove by. Didn’t even glance my way.
I tucked my bike under the back stairs and trudged up to our apartment, muscles still complaining from my accident the day before. I let myself into our miniature kitchen, rounded the half island with its three stools, and went for the fridge to get a drink. Mom had stuck a note there with a magnet advertising a local pizza joint. In our old house, she never let us stick papers on the Sub-Zero.
Ivy—Walk over to the store and get potatoes. See coupon on counter. Six bags, if you can manage it.—Thx, Mom
I picked up the six dollars she’d left on the counter, and a two-for-one coupon on five-pound bags of Yukon Gold potatoes. How exactly did she think I was going to carry thirty pounds of potatoes? And what was she going to do with that many potatoes, anyway? The store she referred to was not Bensen’s, the gourmet market we used to frequent, but the Save-a-Cent on thecorner. I could walk it, lug four bags in my backpack and one in each hand, or I could take my bike with its trusty basket.
I left my backpack on the kitchen floor and headed back down the stairs. The Save-a-Cent had a bike rack out front, next to some metal boxes that dispensed newspapers. I rode right past them and parked behind some Dumpsters, then cut through the parking lot before heading to the main entrance.
Yanking a cart free, I spun it around and rolled into the store, ignoring the stacks of ginger snaps and clementines near the entrance. Not in the budget today. My mouth started to water thinking about them, though.
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