You're Invited (17 page)

Sadie stands up and brushes off her butt. She holds out her hand and pulls me up. “Another ‘first of all.' Ready? First of all, I don't know what we're thinking, because we're totally missing out on cake right now. Second of all, Becs? You are so awesome. There's tons of other kinds of stuff to write about. Tons.”

“Yeah, but all the radio plays are songs about love. Songs that make people feel things.”

Sadie is quiet for a minute. “Well, who says it has to be about boy love? There's a million other kinds of love. Like, what do you love the most?”

This time I don't even have to think hard at all. “All of you. Lo. Vi. Hanging out, us four.”

Sadie grins at me. “Well, there you go then.”

I'm working up a good argument to this in my head when I realize something. She might be right. Out of the blue, a line comes to me.

With friends like you to bump through life with

It's teasing me and I know there's more there, but before I can concentrate enough to capture it, we're interrupted by what sounds like an ice-cream truck blaring its old-timey music.

We spin around to see Lauren's Bubby tearing up the street in one of those electric scootery things old people ride around the grocery store in, waving her hand all around to get tourists to step aside. And the music? Is totally her horn.

“Wanda and I came to hurry you slowpokes along. We're waiting for you before we bark ‘Happy Birthday' to Joe.” She taps the side of the scooter, which has
WANDA
written out in glittery gold script.

Sadie looks at me and I look at her. The second we
catch each other's eyes, we start laughing so hard tears are streaming down our faces. Bubby just sits there on her scooter with her hands on her hips.

“Are you two done laughing at me? I know I'm not looking fantabulous at the moment with this wind whipping my wig all over the place. And Wanda is none too easy to drive like a lady in this skirt. Honestly, Becca, you should have skipped saying ‘Yes to the Dress' and signed off on those jeggings. I totes mcgoats would've gotten here faster if I didn't have to keep the whole town from seeing my knickers as I drove. Now bust a move, ladies. Becca, you promised to teach me nail art later.”

With that, I have to clutch Sadie to keep from falling over.

S'MORES COOKIE BARS

Ingredients:

¾ cup graham crackers, crumbled

4 tbsp butter, melted

½ cup butter, softened

¾ cup sugar

½ cup brown sugar

1 egg

½ tsp vanilla

1 ¼ cup all-purpose flour

½ tsp baking soda

½ tsp salt

1 cup chocolate chips

½ cup mini marshmallows

1 chocolate bar

Preheat oven to 350° F. Mix graham cracker crumbs with melted butter. Place a sheet of parchment paper into the bottom of a square 8" x 8" baking pan, and then press the graham cracker mixture into the bottom of the pan to make the crust. Cream the softened butter, add in the sugar and brown sugar, and cream until fluffy. Mix in egg and vanilla. Combine the flour, baking soda, and salt. Mix well. Add the flour mixture to the butter-sugar mixture and combine. Fold in chocolate chips and marshmallows. Spoon the mixture on top of the graham cracker crust (try to make it as even as possible, although it won't be perfect). Bake for 20 minutes. While the cookie bars are baking, break the chocolate bar into pieces and place it in the freezer. About 8–10 minutes before the cookie bars are finished, you can sprinkle extra marshmallows over the top. Then let the cookie bars finish baking. When done, place pieces of chocolate bar on the top. Let the cookie bars cool completely before cutting.

**Great for when you just want something different from regular s'mores.

**Perfect for hanging out on the beach when your parents won't let you build a bonfire!

T
hat's
all the flyers,” Sadie says as she appears on the steps in the
Purple People Eater
's cabin.

“I'll make more. I can't believe we don't have a party booked today. What am I going to do?” Becca wails from where she's lying on the floor near the flashlight bucket. She must be really distracted if she doesn't care how much old yacht dirt is probably attaching itself to her ruffly shirt and pink shorts right this very minute.

“Um, chase that poor guy around some more?” Lauren teases.

Becca makes a face, but doesn't actually say anything about Ryan. Which is So Not Becca.

“Anyway, I know what I'm going to do,” Lauren says. “Take a practice SAT and get some summer reading done. Have y'all finished the list yet? I can't believe it's almost the end of July and I've just started. If I don't watch it, I'll start turning into Zach!”

Becca makes a moaning sound, Sadie doesn't even answer—she's looking off into space—and I shake my head. I haven't cracked any of those summer books yet.

“Hey, Sades? You okay?” I reach over and tap her arm. She hasn't moved from the bottom of the steps.

“Yes.
No. Not really. Everything seemed to be going great with the business, and now . . . nothing.” She sits on the bottom step and rests her chin in her hands.

“We need to do more than flyers.” Lauren's folding up a piece of paper into a fan. It's about nine hundred degrees inside the
Purple People Eater
today.

“But what?” I ask.

“Don't look at me,” Becca says with her arms over her face. “I'm the worst Queen of Booking and Advertising who ever existed in a hundred million billion years.”

“You are not,” I tell her. “You've made sure we have plenty of flyers to go around, and you got us those great business cards.”

“Whole lot of good any of that's doing,” Becca says.

“We need to brainstorm new ideas,” Lauren says as she fans her face with the folded paper. “Why don't we all come up with five ideas over the weekend, and we'll pick the best ones to implement.”

“To what?” Becca lifts an elbow to eye Lauren.

“Implement. To take action on, or put into practice.”

Sadie perks up a little. “That sounds good. We can meet back here on Monday. Everyone come up with good ideas, okay?”

Both Sadie and Lauren are up the stairs before Becca sits up. “Wait, are y'all leaving? But I don't have anything to
do
today.”

“You can keep time for my practice test,” Lauren calls from the deck above.

“Or go grocery shopping with me,” Sadie yells. Sadie's always the one who has to go to the grocery store. Her mom's way too busy with weddings to buy peanut butter or eggs. I mean, I obviously do the shopping for Dad and me too, but the difference is that I enjoy it.

Becca makes a face. “I'd rather hang out at the Visitor's Center. Hey, Vi, maybe we can go to the beach?”

I'm still trying to figure out why Becca's not using her free time to flirt with Ryan. But wait . . . maybe that means . . .

I shove the damp strands of hair that've come loose from my ponytail away from my face. “I kind of have another idea. Can you come over for a little while?”

A huge grin floats across Becca's face. “Yes! We could bake cookies or something.”

“Or something.” The breeze outside feels so, so, so good after being cooped up in the
Purple People Eater
. As
we walk down the dock, lagging behind Sadie and Lauren, I decide I have to tell Becca what it is I really want. “So . . . remember That Mons—I mean, Linney's party?”

“I don't think any of us will ever forget that party.” Becca lifts her eyebrows at me.

“Quit looking at me like that!”

“Then why did you bring up the party?”

I roll my bike away from the marina's office. I don't know why I'm so embarrassed to ask Becca. I guess because what I want is just So Not Vi. But if I want something to be more Vi-ish, then it doesn't have to be So Not Vi anymore, right? I can change my mind about what I like and don't like whenever I want. I mean, it's not as if there's a list somewhere saying what I can and can't like.

Then why is this so hard?

“Vi?” Becca's pedaling double-time to keep up with me as I fly down Sandpiper Drive, speeding past the pastel-colored houses that line the street. “Wait, where are we going? Your house is the other way.”

I slow down to let Becca catch a breath. “We kind of have to stop at your house first.”

“We do? Why?”

“Because there's some stuff we'll need.”

“
Okaaaay. Plain old chocolate-chip or sugar cookies are fine, you know. They don't have to be anything fancy,” Becca says as we roll up her gravel driveway.

“It's not about cookies.”

Becca lifts her eyebrows again.

Just spit it out already, Vi.
“You need your makeup bag and some hair stuff so you can show me what you did at Linney's party.” I say it all so fast that Becca's just standing there, holding her bike and staring at me.

And not saying anything.

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing. You don't have to do it. Never mind. Let's just go bake cookies.” I'm grabbing the handlebars of my bike when Becca finally speaks.

Well, she doesn't exactly speak. More like squeals.

I turn around. Her bike's fallen to the ground and she's jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “Makeover! Really, Vi, really?! Eek! I'll be right back!”

Then she's racing up the wooden stairs to her front door, leaving me in the driveway. Becca's house is right next door to Polka Dot Books and across the street from the Pipin' Hot Café. The café is cooking something with basil, and it's making my stomach rumble. Hmmm . . . I put a pizza together last night. I think I'll
pop it in the oven when we get back to my house.

Becca's gone so long that I start counting the ants crawling along one of the wooden pilings holding up Becca's house. Almost all the houses on the island, except the older ones like Lauren's, are raised off the ground. They're held up with thick wood posts called pilings. That way, if a hurricane hits and there's flooding, the houses will stay dry inside.

The one thing that really freaked me out when Dad and I moved into Meemaw's house on the beach was how, at night in bed, I could feel the entire house sway just a teeny-tiny bit whenever the wind gusted. The trailer park's on the other side of the bridge, not even on the island, so the whole shaky-house thing was new for me. I'd probably felt it sleeping over at Becca's or Sadie's before, but I'd never really noticed it. Not until I had to sleep through it almost every single night.

“Ready?” Becca calls from the top of her stairs. She starts down with a suitcase thumping after her.

“What in the world? How much makeup do you have?” I stare at the navy blue suitcase bumping its way down the steps.

“Oh, Vi. Sweet, sweet, innocent Vi. It's not just makeup, silly.”
Becca thumps down the last stair and climbs onto her bike, holding the suitcase handle with one hand. “We ride!” She pedals off, all wobbly with the suitcase rolling alongside her.

What have I gotten myself into?

We bike the block and a half back toward the beach, Becca dragging that suitcase the whole time. We pass Beach Sports, where those gorgeous green kayaks are still sitting outside, just waiting for me to buy them. When we hang a left onto Coastline Drive, Becca's suitcase flips over and drags in the sand that's always on the sides of the road. Becca doesn't pause. She just lifts it up and lets it settle back on its wheels. Like she does this all the time or something.

We roll up to Meemaw's and park our bikes on the shady concrete driveway under the house. No car, so Dad must still be at work. When it's nice out, he works seven days a week. We (and the suitcase) tromp up the stairs, which are painted white to match the trim on the house. The rest is done in this pretty, soft yellow, which always reminds me of lemonade. A little sign on the porch railing lets everyone know that Meemaw named her house Morning Sky. The second we're above the dune line, the wind off the ocean smacks us in the face.

Becca sighs and stares up at the house as I wrestle with the lock on the door.

“I love this place,” she says as she wraps her hand around her hair to keep it from flying all over. “You're so lucky to live here.”

Which I know. And she knows I know. Meemaw's house is huge. Not just huge compared to the trailer Dad and I used to live in, but HUGE compared to most of the other houses lining the beach. It has this amazing wraparound porch on both floors. I even have a door in my room that opens right onto the second-floor porch. From there, I can see all the way down to the pier, and sometimes I swear that if I look hard enough, I can spot Europe. Or Africa. Whatever's straight across the ocean, anyway.

“This morning I saw dolphins before I left for volleyball,” I tell Becca as the door finally swings open. Buster appears out of nowhere and winds himself around my ankles.