You're Invited (20 page)

“What?”

“Her mom said she started throwing up right before dinner.” Izzy shrugs. “She was fine at camp this morning.”

I look around helplessly. “But . . . but people are gonna be here any minute and I have to be on the beach. Except I can't leave you alone out here.”

“I bet you could ask one of the grown-ups to use the lighter.”

“That's not the point. It's finally my job and I want to do it,” I whine.

“Well, you don't have to get mad at me. It's not my fault Morgan's sick.”

Plus Mom's not here.
Both of us are thinking it, even if neither of us says it.

“Fine. I'll
call the girls to help. I don't know if they're allowed to use the lighter, but at least they can sit with you.”

“I don't want the girls to sit with me. I want you.”

“Izzy, don't be a baby. I'm trying to get a job done here.”

“That's what you've been saying all summer,” Izzy mumbles under her breath, but I catch it.

Whatever. She's only ten. She totally doesn't understand how much work—fun work, but still—it can be to run a company.

My phone buzzes and I check it. “Lo just texted me back. She's right around the corner, and Vi and Becca are stopping off for a piece of cake, then heading straight over too.”

Izzy just shrugs and slumps in her seat. We sit in silence while we wait.

• • •

An hour later I've come to the realization that Mom and Dad exaggerated the importance of this job when they did it. I got to light the first few, but then everyone just turned to the person behind them and lit one candle off the other, so I'm entertaining myself by relighting any that have blown out. The beach is covered in tapers stuck
into little hills of sand that people used to prop them up. Between their flickering, the water shimmering in the moonlight, and the blinking stars, it's like one giant twinkle party out here.

Off to one side a few of the kids from the high school built a bonfire, but they got bored and left it. A bunch of my classmates swooped in and claimed it and now someone is strumming a guitar. The fire smells like summer nights.

“Sades!” Becca gathers the skirts of her maxi dress in her hands and carefully takes a giant step over a circle of candles to stand beside me. “Do you ever get that feeling where everything is so perfect and you're so totally happy to be exactly where you are that it makes you sad, but you can't explain why?”

I really, really do.

We're quiet for a few seconds and then Becca squints over at the bonfire.

“Who's on the guitar?”

She, Lauren, and Vi have been taking turns helping Izzy, so she hasn't watched any of the action on the beach. I follow her eyes. “Actually, um, I think it might be Ryan.”

“Oh.” If Becca's surprised, she doesn't show it.

“Do you want to go over there?”

“Nah.”

Now I try to hide
my
surprise. I mean, I know she's been really mellow about Ryan since we had our talk the other week, but I figured that would change once we were face-to-face with him.

I'm about to protest when Lance calls out to us. He must have noticed us staring at them. “Hey, y'all! Come on over!”

I wave at him and grab Becca's hand.

“C'mon, we'll just say hi.” She looks like she wants to protest, but she doesn't say anything, just follows me. When we reach the group, everyone says hi and we drop to the sand. “Hey. Are you taking requests?” I ask.

Ryan laughs. “I'm not good enough to know whole songs yet.”

Then he glances up, sees Becca beside me, and promptly ducks his head.

Poor Becs. I know she's halfway mortified thinking back on how she's been acting around Ryan, even though she doesn't have to be. She's really quiet (soooo not like Becca) while the rest of us chat softly and Ryan picks at strings.

After about twenty minutes I hear my name being called and spot Lauren waving at the beach entrance. I stand and brush sand off the backs of my legs, then reach out a hand to tug Becca up. We only get two steps before Becca says, “Hang on. I just need to tell Ryan something.”

Oh, no. This can't be good. Either she's gonna be all flirty, which is pretty counterproductive at this point,
or
she's gonna apologize or something, which would be worse, considering about a quarter of the seventh grade is hanging out at the bonfire and would overhear it.

But before I can stop her, she's crouching in the sand next to Ryan. He looks resigned, like he couldn't believe she'd left him alone as long as she had, but it's not normal flirty Becca who says, “Hey.” This Becca's soft and quiet. “I just wanted to let you know your low E is out of tune. Also, when you're playing your open chords, you're not playing on the very tips of your fingers, so some of the notes are getting lost. Just move your wrist forward and roll up to the tips and you'll solve it.”

Then she straightens, jogs in the sand a few steps to catch up to me, and tucks an elbow through mine. I don't
want to chance glancing back at Ryan, but I definitely don't hear any music as we walk away, so I'm thinking he's probably got his jaw hanging open.

But I don't even have a chance to mention that to Becca, because Lauren's waving with both hands now. Only she's not smiling.

We have to weave through candles, so I can't run. “What's wrong?”

“It's Izzy. I think she's sick!”

We pick our way across the rest of the beach as fast as we can, then follow Lauren down the path to Cove Street, where the tables are set up. As soon as we come over the little hill, I see Izzy clutching her stomach. Vi's offering her sips from a water bottle.

“Iz?” I race up to her and put my hand on her arm. “What's up?”

She looks at me and a tear slips down her cheek.

Vi speaks instead. “She just completely puked in the grass over there. I offered to take her to lie down, but she said she only wanted you.”

“I don't feel so good, Sade.” Izzy sounds terrible.

I share a glance with the other girls and put my arm around my sister.

“We'll take care of the candle cleanup,” Lauren
offers immediately. The others nod enthusiastically.

“Don't worry about a thing. We'll handle it,” Vi says. She's already pulling her new curls into a ponytail holder and knotting the bottom of her dress at the knees.

I give them grateful smiles, then walk my sister gingerly back to the house, where I tuck her into cool sheets and place a damp washcloth on her forehead.

“I'm sorry, Iz. You probably caught whatever Morgan has,” I say.

“I got sick in front of your friends!” This time tears are streaming down Izzy's face. I gape at her.

“So
what
? Like they care. Geez, Iz, you're sick. You can't help that. No one cares, I promise.”

“No one does care!” Izzy says with a giant sniffle. “Not you, not Mom. Neither of you are ever around when I need you. You're both too busy with your dumb businesses.”

Wait a second, wait a second, wait
one second
.
Mom
is always busy with
her
dumb business. I mean, yeah, I have RSVP, but we haven't even had a job in two weeks and before that we were . . .

Kind of busy. Not the whole time, but I guess even the times we didn't have actual parties, we were meeting
up at the
Purple People Eater
to plan them or getting stuff we needed together. And the last two weeks have been all about drumming up new business. So yeah, I guess I was busy, but it was a fun kind of busy and I was with my friends, so it didn't feel anything like Mom's kind of busy. Besides, Mom uses her job as an excuse for everything, and she's way worse because
she
has other responsibilities. Like TWO KIDS.

I'm
not missing out on anything
I'm
supposed to be doing, even when I have a million party-planning things to do. It's summer. I don't even have homework. I basically have zero responsibilities.

Except being a good big sister to Izzy. Dad made me cross-my-heart promise before he died.

I glance at Iz. She's slumped back against her pillow and her eyes are closed. It's like finally getting that off her chest took the last strength she had.

I watch her chest move up and down but really I'm in my head, replaying a bunch of times when Izzy wanted to help us or hang out and I ignored her calls or sent her away.

Izzy's breathing gets soft next to me and I think she's fallen asleep. But I just lie there in her bed, thinking.

Am
I just like Mom?

Please join us in wishing a bonny fare-thee-well to
Mr. Charles Vernon

On Saturday, August 8, at five o'clock

Sandpiper Active Senior Living, 1101 Rosalinde Street

Wear your finest Scottish attire and get ready to dance a bagpipe jig in honor of our beloved friend!

Your fond memories are the only gifts Mr. V needs

Hosted by Mrs. Geraldine “Bubby” Simmons

RSVP to Sadie Pleffer at (910) 555-0110 or [email protected]

camaraderie
noun

a feeling of mutual trust and friendship among

persons in a group

Use in a sentence:

I enjoy the camaraderie I share with Vi, Sadie, and Becca, even when we're chasing runaway dogs, wearing puffy old-fashioned dresses, and shopping at (ugh) Party Me Hearties.

Z
ach! Let's GO, already. I have a ton of stuff to do before I have to be back at the marina this afternoon.” I give his bedroom door a good kick. Maybe too good of a kick, because I forgot I was wearing flip-flops and ended up whacking the hard wooden door with my bare toes. I hop up and down as I wait for him to answer.

“Go. Away.”

So I pound with my fist. “You promised you'd drive me over to the library.”

“Take the golf cart and leave me alone.”

“Jerk!” I give the door one last good thump, and turn on my heels toward the garage. Why do I get stuck with the lazy brother who can't get up in time to drive me to the other end of the island? I mean, it's not like it's the crack of dawn or anything. It's ten o'clock. But considering I was woken up by music blasting from his room at three a.m., I guess I shouldn't be surprised he's still asleep.

I pull out of the garage just as Mom drives in. She rolls down her window and blinks at me with bleary eyes. She got called into emergency surgery last night, which ended up taking hours. Her curly hair is starting to frizz, and she runs a hand over it as she asks, “Where are you going?”

“Party errands.”

“Can't you ask Zach to drive you?”

“Zach is still asleep. I've been up since seven.” I decided a long time ago that the most successful people get up early every day, even on weekends. Mom's always asking me if I get enough sleep, but if I'm going to do better than Zach or Josh, then sleep can wait.