Lucky Break by J. Minter Page A

hot pink, bright green, and dark red. If I squinted, I could almost make out a graphic print of Marilyn Monroe. It was cool (sorta) and edgy (very), but the dress was not at all me.
    â€œI picked it out for you in the shop downstairs. It matches your amulet,” Feb said, sounding proud of herself. “And it complements my dress!” she said, holding up a similarly loud blue and white splatter-painted T-shirt dress. Yikes.
    Usually Feb had impeccable taste when it came to clothes. Maybe she was just out of shopping practice? But she looked so busy, standing there crossing off things on her electronic to-do list. I knew she’d flip if I asked for a new dress.
    I looked past my sister at a group of three Thai girls about my age. They were giggling in front of the elevator. For a second, they reminded me of me and my friends, and I got a not-in-Paris pang. Then I realized that all these girls were wearing something very similar to what Feb had just picked out. Hmm.
    I wasn’t the type to follow trends that I didn’t genuinely adore, but then again, it was only one night, and if other people were wearing the style, at least my crazy Marilyn dress wouldn’t make me the laughingstock of Bangkok.
    â€œIt’s great,” I said to Feb, slipping into the bathroom to pull on the dress.
    By the time I gave myself a quick touch-up (loosened side ponytail, shimmery Urban Decay highlighter rimmed around my eyes, and DuWop matte pink lipstick), the ballroom of the hotel was already filling up with guests. It seemed really early, but then I remembered that Feb and Kelly got up at the crack of dawn to hit the rice paddies, so most of their guests were probably on the same schedule. The sun hadn’t even set, and people were already lined up to order my Thai-riffics. If taste in cocktails was any indication, I guessed the party was off to a pretty good start.
    Feb was still in intense-planning mode, and she had Kelly handling the spillover chores, so both of them were rushing around making sure the lanterns were hung, the Thai dancers on time, the stereo system set up. They looked so frazzled, and I loved attending to these last-minute details. Over and over, I asked them if I could help, and over and over, Feb insisted that I get “out there” and enjoy myself.
    So I tried. I milled around the room, sampling barbecue fish skewers and spicy vegetarian dumplings. I stifled a yawn. I leaned up against the bar to enjoy the view of the city from the twenty-seventh floor of the hotel. I looked at my reflection in the window, yawning.
    From this perspective, unlike me, Bangkok never seemed to rest. But there had to be people out there doing normal things, just sitting down to dinner with their family, or going to see a movie … or nursing a broken heart. From the outside, you’d never be able to tell. It made me wonder whether anyone at this party could tell what I was going through.
    â€œFlan? Is that you?” a familiar voice said behind me. I turned around to see Arno Wildenburger standing with his arms extended. Arno was an old friend of Patch’s, but I’d hung out with him enough times that I felt like we were friends in our own right, too. The last time I’d seen him, he had hooked me up with tickets to see the Magnetic Fields’ secret show under the Brooklyn Bridge. It was strange to see a familiar smile in this sea of new faces, but Arno was impossible to miss, especially in this crowd. His dark hair practically gleamed with the Frédéric Fekkai glossing gel he bought by the case, and his watches (one for every day of the week) were always the size of a hockey puck. He’d always just seemed like a normal kid to me, but tonight he looked so New York.
    â€œYou look sooo Bangkok in that dress,” he said, giving me an approving nod. “Way to go.”
    â€œThanks, Arno.” I stepped in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, not expecting him to pull me