feel included, too. Plus, everyone can have fun with gingham!’
The committee broke into whoops and squealing; a big step up from the ghostly silence following Olivia’s last announcement. As people started texting their friends in excitement, Olivia felt her cheeks blush with a new burst of energy. She was back on track.
‘Much better!’ she beamed. ‘Next thing on the list: how would you guys like to come back to my house so that we can hammer out the finer details over pizza? Sound good?’ The room erupted into cheers.
Olivia led the way out to the parking lot, walking ahead of a pair of girls planning their outfits. ‘OK, which earrings will go best with my pink hat – the pale crystal hoops or the chandelier earrings?’
With a quick stab, Olivia remembered the French accent in the background during Jackson’s call advising him that
something
would match the colour palette better. What colour palette? And, more importantly, what could her boyfriend be up to?
When no one answered at the Abbotts’, Ivy jiggled the doorknob and let herself inside. She wiped her boots on the cheery ‘Welcome’ mat before stepping on to the plush white carpet of the Abbotts’ foyer. If Ivy’s house had a polar opposite, it was Olivia’s. Where the Vega house had curtains made of dark velour, the Abbotts’ drapes boasted a bright floral pattern. And unlike the deep crimson of Ivy’s walls, Olivia’s were painted a pale sky blue. Ivy sometimes wondered how the Abbotts ever got any sleep at all, what with their whole decor theme reminding her of a dazzling summer morning.
‘Olivia?’ she said, rounding the corner. ‘Oh. My. Darkness.’ Bunny-mania had taken over the Abbott residence. There were pink-clad girls everywhere! A clump of girls was crowded on to the sofa, squashed one against the other, making paper chains and bunting out of scraps of gingham.
Ivy was even more shocked to see the Terrible Trio sitting at Olivia’s kitchen table, sipping from etched glass cups and diligently taking notes.
Who tamed those beasts?
Ivy wondered.
She spotted Olivia sitting on the floor, surrounded by committee members, patiently making decorations out of hay and pink-and-black papier mâché. Olivia glanced up. ‘Hi!’ She beamed, standing up and picking her way through the various dance-related obstacles. ‘Welcome to the mad house!’
‘Olivia, I don’t know how to tell you this, but . . .’ Ivy eyed her sister seriously. ‘There is hay in your home.’
‘I know!’ Olivia led her sister into the entryway, one of the only chatter-free zones in the house. ‘Isn’t it crazy? New plan: we’re going to have a pink-and-black theme for the barn dance. Isn’t it perfect? Even you will be happy. Pick any fabulous black outfit in your wardrobe and you can wear it, no problem.’
Ivy let her head droop to the side. ‘Great,’ she said drily. ‘Thanks for that. I’m, like, so excited to indulge my inner goth.’ Ivy displayed wiggling jazz-hands with zero enthusiasm.
Olivia’s smile fell. Even her hair looked flatter. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Look, you know I love you and I’m glad you’re having fun on the committee, but honestly, do Brendan and I look like the type of people who would enjoy a school dance?’
‘Er, Ivy?’ Olivia chewed her fingertip. ‘I think you might have yourself a Brendan-sized problem.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, don’t you remember how Brendan looked like he’d sucked a lemon drop when you dissed the school dance?’
Ivy shifted in her boots. ‘Um, yeah, I guess.’ Then something else floated to the front of her memory. She flinched. ‘There might have been another incident.’ Ivy slapped her hands over her eyes, peeking through her fingers at Olivia. ‘There was a phone conversation. Brendan tried to suggest I might enjoy the dance and then . . . oh and then . . . the look on his face at Rebecca’s ranch!’
‘What face?’
‘A face like I had crushed his
The committee broke into whoops and squealing; a big step up from the ghostly silence following Olivia’s last announcement. As people started texting their friends in excitement, Olivia felt her cheeks blush with a new burst of energy. She was back on track.
‘Much better!’ she beamed. ‘Next thing on the list: how would you guys like to come back to my house so that we can hammer out the finer details over pizza? Sound good?’ The room erupted into cheers.
Olivia led the way out to the parking lot, walking ahead of a pair of girls planning their outfits. ‘OK, which earrings will go best with my pink hat – the pale crystal hoops or the chandelier earrings?’
With a quick stab, Olivia remembered the French accent in the background during Jackson’s call advising him that
something
would match the colour palette better. What colour palette? And, more importantly, what could her boyfriend be up to?
When no one answered at the Abbotts’, Ivy jiggled the doorknob and let herself inside. She wiped her boots on the cheery ‘Welcome’ mat before stepping on to the plush white carpet of the Abbotts’ foyer. If Ivy’s house had a polar opposite, it was Olivia’s. Where the Vega house had curtains made of dark velour, the Abbotts’ drapes boasted a bright floral pattern. And unlike the deep crimson of Ivy’s walls, Olivia’s were painted a pale sky blue. Ivy sometimes wondered how the Abbotts ever got any sleep at all, what with their whole decor theme reminding her of a dazzling summer morning.
‘Olivia?’ she said, rounding the corner. ‘Oh. My. Darkness.’ Bunny-mania had taken over the Abbott residence. There were pink-clad girls everywhere! A clump of girls was crowded on to the sofa, squashed one against the other, making paper chains and bunting out of scraps of gingham.
Ivy was even more shocked to see the Terrible Trio sitting at Olivia’s kitchen table, sipping from etched glass cups and diligently taking notes.
Who tamed those beasts?
Ivy wondered.
She spotted Olivia sitting on the floor, surrounded by committee members, patiently making decorations out of hay and pink-and-black papier mâché. Olivia glanced up. ‘Hi!’ She beamed, standing up and picking her way through the various dance-related obstacles. ‘Welcome to the mad house!’
‘Olivia, I don’t know how to tell you this, but . . .’ Ivy eyed her sister seriously. ‘There is hay in your home.’
‘I know!’ Olivia led her sister into the entryway, one of the only chatter-free zones in the house. ‘Isn’t it crazy? New plan: we’re going to have a pink-and-black theme for the barn dance. Isn’t it perfect? Even you will be happy. Pick any fabulous black outfit in your wardrobe and you can wear it, no problem.’
Ivy let her head droop to the side. ‘Great,’ she said drily. ‘Thanks for that. I’m, like, so excited to indulge my inner goth.’ Ivy displayed wiggling jazz-hands with zero enthusiasm.
Olivia’s smile fell. Even her hair looked flatter. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Look, you know I love you and I’m glad you’re having fun on the committee, but honestly, do Brendan and I look like the type of people who would enjoy a school dance?’
‘Er, Ivy?’ Olivia chewed her fingertip. ‘I think you might have yourself a Brendan-sized problem.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, don’t you remember how Brendan looked like he’d sucked a lemon drop when you dissed the school dance?’
Ivy shifted in her boots. ‘Um, yeah, I guess.’ Then something else floated to the front of her memory. She flinched. ‘There might have been another incident.’ Ivy slapped her hands over her eyes, peeking through her fingers at Olivia. ‘There was a phone conversation. Brendan tried to suggest I might enjoy the dance and then . . . oh and then . . . the look on his face at Rebecca’s ranch!’
‘What face?’
‘A face like I had crushed his
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