You're Invited (24 page)

Once we order the tea (Omigosh—and he PAYS for mine! My mother always said you can tell the good ones by their manners and the way they treat their mamas. I bet she'd call Ryan a true Southern gentleman even if his South is all the way in Ireland), Ryan
pulls out a chair for me at a table in the corner.

“So I bet you think this is kind of weird,” he says.

Um, I basically would be less surprised if Lauren skipped school or Sadie forgot an item on her to-do list or Vi wore a dress. Oh wait, Vi did wear a dress. But still.

“Yeah, kind of,” I mumble.

Ryan looks about as comfortable as I feel. Which is, like, not at all. He keeps dunking his straw up and down, up and down, in his sweet tea.

“So, the thing is, um, your company booked me for this gig. This band party, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding.

“And, uh, I'm supposed to be some rock star for these little girls, right?”

“Right.” I nod again.

“But the problem is, I really can't play the guitar that well and, um, I was wonderingifyoucouldhelpme.”

That last part came out like it was all one word. Oh. So that's what this is about. He needs my help.

He gives me a shy smile and I hide a sigh. It's not
Ryan's
fault I basically acted like a total idiot by practically throwing myself at him. He was pretty polite about it, considering I totally didn't take the hint. And he looks
so helpless right now. How do I say no to him? Plus . . . accent! Accent all to myself for a little while before the summer ends. How do I say no to
that
?

“Yeah, sure. I can help. You seemed to have the basics down when I heard you play at the beach.”

“The basics I'm good with, but I'm having some trouble with keeping the rhythm when I do my chord changes.”

“Right. Some of that is just muscle memory, but it's also pretty common for beginners to try to tackle songs that are too advanced. Do you want to grab your guitar and meet me at Polka Dot Books in a half hour? There's an outdoor hangout spot in the back and I practice there a lot. It's protected from the rain and mostly private. Except for Cooper, the store's black Lab.”

“Yeah? You're truly up for this?” Ryan asks.

“Sure. I have nothing going on this afternoon.”

I fill Daddy in and race back to my house for my guitar. I have to wade through a pile of clothes on my floor to get to it. I have some time to kill since the bookstore is right next door, so I spend a couple minutes trying to make a dent in the mess, but I get bored pretty quickly. Guess it's an allowance-free week for Becca. I settle for a quick cuddle with Mr. Bobo. Despite my so-called
bestie Vi calling my stuffed dog bald and one-eyed, he isn't even the tiniest bit sad-looking.

When I head over to the bookstore, Ryan is already there, strumming a song. He's not bad, but I spot a few bad habits right away. I fix his grip (Ack! Touching boy hands!!) and give him a few pointers, and then we jam a few songs. He picks up everything I teach him really fast.

“I wish I'd known you knew so much about guitar earlier this summer,” he says.

I don't tell him it probably wouldn't have mattered earlier this summer, because I would have been too busy practicing my giggle on him to sit quietly next to him and play. But it's pretty nice now. I'm still totally aware there is a cute boy next to me—because, hello, let's be real—but I have to admit, I'm kind of having fun just hanging out like I would with my friends.

I smile. “Yeah, it's too bad.”

“Right. I feel like it's my fault I formed an opinion of you early on. I'm really sorry I didn't get to know you better before now.”

I just smile again. It's kind of awkward, though, and I don't really know what to say to that, so I'm pretty happy when he says he has to use the bathroom. I consider offering the one next door at my house, but Daddy
would probably fuh-reak if I brought a boy home when no adults were there, so I don't mention it. While he heads off to the public restrooms down the street, I take the chance to work on my new song, the one Sadie inspired. It's coming along really well. Not well enough to show it to anyone, but I'm getting pretty excited about it.

“What's that one?” asks a voice from the doorway. I jump about ten feet in the air.

“Sorry,” says Ryan. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“I thought you went to the bathroom!” I accuse.

“I did. Meg let me use the employee loo here.”

Of course she did. Traitor. Meg always makes me run next door to use mine, but I guess even fifty-gazillion-something-year-olds are suckers for a good accent. I duck my head and start playing James Taylor's “Carolina in My Mind,” but Ryan stops me with his hand on my guitar.

“Go back. Play the other one. It has a great hook. Whose song is that? Can you teach me the chords?”

I basically want to run up to my room and dive under the pile of clothes on the floor. Even though the rain is cooling things off today, my face is hotter than one of those freaking meteors we saw the other night.

“Um, it's
nothing. Just something I'm working on.”

I can't meet Ryan's eyes, but he's so quiet for so long that eventually I sneak a peek at him. He's staring at me with his mouth open. “You
wrote
that?”

“Um, yeah. It's not that good. I just—”

“Are you mad? It's
really
good. Does it have lyrics too?”

Hello, Earth? Could you please swallow me up now? Any time would be perfect. Like RIGHT now.

“Um, yeah. Sort of. I mean, I'm still working on them too.”

Ryan doesn't let up. He pesters me and pesters me until I agree to teach him the song. At first I'm dead set against it, but I remind myself that (a) I opened up to Sadie and it wasn't like the world ended, and (b) Ryan's going to be an entire ocean away soon and I'll most likely never see him again.

So I show him.

Actually, he picks it up pretty quickly and comes up with an accompaniment that sounds really nice next to my lead guitar. After a few minutes of playing around with it, I kind of forget it's my song and just relax. Then I somehow get really,
really
relaxed (and also I keep reminding myself he's leaving town in a mere week)
because I agree to run home and get my notebook with the lyrics and I actually
show them to him too
.

Eeep!!!!

But it's so totally cool because he doesn't laugh or tease me or anything. I think he's kind of even jealous of them or something. At least he says he is.

Of course, I draw the line at singing them. Huh-uh. No way.

But still. Major progress on Songwriting Becca front.

Also plus? Ryan's kind of a cool friend.

And you're invited to the biggest event to ever hit Sandpiper Beach—a Five Alive Concert/Party!

When: Sunday, August 23, at two o'clock

Where: Sandpiper Park Pavilion, at the corner of Bodington Drive & Cove Street

Dress: Rock-Star Chic!

You don't want to miss Jilly's surprise guests!

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

GRAPE JELLY MEATBALLS

Ingredients:

5 lbs frozen meatballs

1 jar (32 oz) grape jelly

1 bottle (24 oz) chili sauce

Pour grape jelly and chili sauce into a Crock-Pot and whisk until it is smooth (there will still be some lumps from the jelly). Add frozen meatballs and stir until the meatballs are covered with the sauce. Put the lid on the Crock-Pot and cook on low for 6–7 hours (or high for 3–4 hours), stirring occasionally.

**Reminder: Don't tell anyone I use frozen meatballs instead of homemade!

**Dad's favorite for the Super Bowl, the World Series, and pretty much any game on TV.

O
h
em gee, Lance, everyone knows JJ Jenkins always performs in a red shirt. It's his lucky color. Good thing I brought backup.” Becca thrusts a bright red shirt at Lance.

Lauren and I stand there and blink at her.

“Well, everyone
does
know that . . . right?” Becca says.

“Sure, of course,” Sadie says in a completely distracted voice. She's too busy messing with the sound system we rented from Darling's DJs to pay attention to Becca's uber–boy band knowledge.

“Um, no,” Lauren adds.

“Yeah . . . no. Why don't we leave you to the band inspection, since you actually know this stuff?” I say. How she convinced each of these guys to dress up like one of the members of Five Alive is beyond me. Oh wait, I do know. We're paying them. Except she still couldn't convince
five
boys to dress up and dance to “I'm a Hot Potato,” Five Alive's biggest song. So I guess it's more like Four Alive, which doesn't really have the same ring.

Becca waves us off as she shakes her head at Evan Miller's ball cap.

Lance comes out of the park bathrooms with the red basketball jersey on as I'm putting the food on a
table under the covered picnic area. It's about ninety degrees out, and I'm doing my best not to drip sweat into the dishes.

“Nice shirt,” I say with a smirk. It's kind of hilarious seeing Lance in this enormous oversized basketball jersey with
JENKINS
blazed across the back in huge white letters. And his hair is even funnier, all slicked back.

“Nice dress,” he shoots back.

Seriously, why does everyone have to make a big deal about me wearing a dress? Okay, maybe it's not everyone—just Lance. My friends haven't said a word about me dressing differently (which is why I love them). Dad always does his goofy Dad-smile, but he knows better than to say anything. And I'm not about to explain to Lance that just because I like sports doesn't mean I always have to wear my comfy running shorts. In fact, this sundress is pretty comfortable too. I don't look up as I push the ham and cheese sandwiches front and center on the table.

“Sorry, Vi. I didn't mean that. I mean, it
is
a nice dress, but I didn't mean . . . well, you know.”

His face is the color of a tomato when I look up and pass him the cord to the Crock-Pot full of meatballs. “Plug that in, please.” Good one, Vi. Totally calm and
cool. Not at all completely freaked out by how weird Lance is acting.

“Um, sure.” He uncoils the cord and plugs it into the nearest outlet.

I'm searching for the paper plates (seriously, it's like Lauren threw everything into the bags at random) when Lance makes this noise like he's just died and gone to heaven, as Meemaw would say.

“These are
so
good! Where did you get them?” He reaches for another meatball and I have to swat his hand away.

“Those are for the party,” I tell him. “And they're made with grape jelly, that's why they're so good.” I put the lid back on the Crock-Pot.

“Wait, did you make these?” He's looking at me like he has no clue who I am. “Seriously, Vi. That's the best thing I've ever eaten. I didn't know you could cook.”