You're Invited (7 page)

I hate to admit it, but the biggest hit so far has been Ryan. He's completely owning his role as the gentleman of the house, welcoming each guest by name (the place cards I did totally come in handy) and pretty much charming the socks off of them. Looks like Becca is now gonna have to fight her way through a swarm of nine-year-olds if she wants a shot at him herself.

So far so good. But if there's one thing I learned from Mom's weddings it's this: Keep the action moving along. It's only a matter of minutes before these girls start sword fighting with their fans or using them to scoop up the dip. I had really, really wanted to wait for Mom to witness this part, but I have no idea what's keeping her or how much longer it will take. I wink once with each eye to signal Lauren and she beelines around the corner. I wait for it.

And wait for it.

And wait for it.

Finally, I gather my long skirt in my hands and slide
past the partygoers and around the corner. I spot the problem immediately.

Lauren is standing in the doorway, whisper-yelling Becca's name into the house.

“
What
are you doing?” I ask.

“I'm calling for Becca.” She sounds so matter-of-fact.

“But she's not there. Why don't you go inside and find her?”

Lauren's eyes go wide. “I
told you
. I am
not
setting foot in there.”

“Oh for the love of peccadilloes, Lo.” I squeeze past her and into the sunny hallway. Honestly, there is nothing at all scary about—

BANG!

I scream and jump through the doorway, landing on top of Lauren on the floor of the porch. Around the corner, the entire party erupts in gasps and screams.

Before I can react, Vi goes tearing past me, her flip-flops snapping against the wooden floor and her hand to her forehead. “Heavens, y'all! Miss Rebecca has been shot! Murdered!”

The guests look from one to another, and then their open mouths turn up at the corners as they catch on that this is part of the entertainment. Which, I mean,
obviously, I knew too. It was just that I didn't expect the shot from the cap gun I brought to be so loud. Or to happen just then. My heart thuds back to normal speed and I roll off Lauren as Vi keeps on with her role.

“Okay, ladies. It's up to us to solve this murder! If you reach under your seats, you'll find an envelope taped to it. Inside will be a description of your role and any information your character has about the suspects,” Vi says.

Lauren is back on her feet now too and she starts handing out tiny notepads and pens so our detectives can write down clues if they need to. My heart swells a little bit as I realize we really did think of everything.

The girls are giggling and introducing themselves to their friends with their new names, which all begin with “Miss.” Lauren wrote them each specific roles as debutantes attending a cotillion ball at the plantation. As one, they move into the foyer of the house, where the “body” of Becca—er, Miss Rebecca—lies sprawled. Wow, she's really good at keeping perfectly still. I don't think I've ever seen Becca not in motion—the girl's like a hummingbird. I catch Vi's eye and we grin at each other.

Ryan jumps right into his role too, like he's had
a month to memorize his lines off the script Lauren wrote. “Oh no, not Miss Rebecca! My betrothed. And I was so looking forward to our wedding next month.”

“You were not, big brother!” Molly, aka the birthday girl, accuses. “You told me this morning that you think she's too bossy for you!”

Ha! I bet Becca's twitching inside at that one. The other girls all giggle. YES! Molly's totally nailing her lines and she didn't have anything more than her note card to go off of. Vi and I high-five—well, more like low-five—behind our skirts.

Mrs. Campbell says, “Well, I have to say, now that Miss Rebecca is gone, perhaps this will clear the way for my Miss Samantha to have a chance with the groom-to-be,” and I feel like things are going well enough that I can sneak out of the foyer and into the kitchen to check on the cake. Vi's right behind me.

Or she was.

“Vi?” I peek back into the hallway from the kitchen.

She's standing in front of the enormous grandfather clock, her head tilted just a bit and this teeny-tiny smile on her face. If this wasn't Vi, I'd say she was checking out her reflection in the glass.

“Vi!” I say a little louder.

“Sorry! I was just . . . checking the time.” Her face
turns red as she flip-flops down the hallway to the kitchen. “So, um, did you notice where Lauren got to? You'd think she'd want to see her play in action.”

I poke my head out the back door and, sure enough, Lauren is bustling around the porch, cleaning off the tables and resetting them for the dessert course. “For someone soooo mature for her age, she is seriously the biggest baby ever when it comes to
not
-haunted houses.” I say it extra loud so my voice carries over the porch. Lauren glances up and sticks her tongue out at me. I duck back into the kitchen, only to find Vi standing completely frozen, gazing at the cake.

“What's up?” I look back and forth between her and the cake.

She points at the cake. “That bratty, stuck-up, princess-wannabe, good-for-nothing—”

“Vi,
what
?” I ask.

“That is
not
Rhett and Scarlett.”

I follow her finger to the tiny couple on the frosting “lawn” of the plantation replica cake. Uh-oh.

It's a tiny hobo with a handkerchief parcel slung over his shoulder standing next to a miniature Little Orphan Annie. Um . . .

“I'm going to KILL Linney,” Vi says.

“
Uh, Vi, so I know Linney's a total snob and all, and y'all have
history
, but what exactly did you ask for when you placed the order?”

“I
asked
for Rhett and Scarlett.” Vi's voice is a little squeaky and she starts pacing the kitchen, which would be funny since it makes her skirt get all tangled up every time she pivots but obviously isn't funny because she's seriously mad.

“And she said they had them?” I had actually been a little surprised they happened to have figurines of Rhett and Scarlett in stock.

Vi stops pacing and starts twisting a napkin she grabs off the counter. She avoids looking at me. “Well, I, um, I'm
pretty sure
Linney said she had them. I guess I was in such a hurry to get away from that monster that I might not have been paying attention to her answer. But I
thought
she said she had them. I'm calling the bakery.”

Vi fumbles around in her skirt, trying to find the opening to her pocket, while I calmly remove the Annie and hobo figures from the top layer of the cake. As she dials, I duck back outside and snag a flower vase Lauren is lifting up as she brushes crumbs from the tablecloth.

“I need to borrow this for a sec,” I tell her.

I can hear Vi on the phone in the kitchen talking to Linney. “Seriously? You had to
know
Orphan Annie would not be an okay replacement for Scarlett. What do you mean, she's supposed to be me? I don't even have red hair! And for your information, both my parents are
alive
. My mom's just not . . . here. And what, is the hobo supposed to be my dad? Because that's just . . .”

I brush past Vi and grab the phone out of her hand, hitting end on the call. I pass it back to her and calmly arrange flowers in a delicate pattern to cover up the divots in the frosting lawn.

“It's totally fine, Vi. Look!”

I step back and admire my work while Vi continues to jam her thumb on the end-call button about fifty times. She gives me a tight smile and spares one little look at the cake. “It looks beautiful. Nice save. But this is
not
fine. When I see that girl—”

From the foyer, someone shouts, “You did it, Miss Molly!
You
killed Miss Rebecca!” I rush back to the guests to find Molly taking a ginormous bow. She's grinning ear to ear as she leans over and helps the formerly dead Miss Rebecca to her feet. Everyone applauds (Mrs. Campbell hardest of all).

“Forgive me for shooting you?” Molly asks, and
Becca hugs her. Then Becca reaches back and tries to pull Ryan into the circle. He joins them and takes a bow too, but I notice he drops Becca's hand the second he straightens back up. She looks as if she'd like to play dead again, but she shakes it off pretty well.

We all file back out onto the porch where Vi and Lauren are rolling the cart with the cake into place beside the guest of honor's chair.

“Best party EVER,” Molly says to her mom, who turns to me with a giant smile on her face.

It totally is. Except for the fact that
my
guest of honor, and the one person I was most trying to impress today, was a complete and total no-show.

What now?

scheme
noun

an official plan of action

Use in a sentence:

I have a scheme to get into a really good college (unlike certain brothers): study hard, save lots of money, ace the SAT, and do lots of extracurriculars.

I
squint at the tiny numbers on the phone screen that show my savings account total. Seriously, $1,252.16? That's
it
? That would pay for, what, three days at college? Saving money is so much harder than I thought it would be. Even after I deposit my share of last night's party earnings, my total will still look kind of pathetic.

Of course, it would help if I actually had some
money to save, besides the pittance Dad gives me to work at the marina. Pittance: a small portion, wage, or allowance. Memorized that one after the party last night. I read somewhere that the only way to really remember new words is to use them in sentences. Even if it drives your friends crazy.

My stomach growls, and I log out of my bank account to go in search of food. It's super quiet in my house today. Mom got called into the hospital to do an emergency surgery, Dad dragged Zach to work at the marina, and Josh is at college, taking summer classes to try to fix the GPA he messed up last semester. It's the perfect day to dig into some of the math practice questions for my SAT study class.

I trip over one of Zach's size 95ish Nikes on the way to the kitchen. But it's so worth it, because I have leftover PB&J from yesterday's party just waiting for me in the fridge. I'd scrawled
LAUREN'S—TOUCH IT AND DIE
on the foil wrapping covering the plate, and shoved the whole thing in the back.

I set my phone on the sailboat-patterned countertop and open the fridge. Who knows where anyone even buys a boat-patterned countertop, but trust my
dad to have found the one place that does. There in the back—right where I left it—is the plate of PB&J.

Under the wrapping is one quarter of a delicate crustless sandwich.

One quarter.

“Zach!” I yell, even though there's no way he can hear me from the marina. I even
gave
him a couple of the sandwiches last night, out of the kindness of my sisterly heart.

I'm deciding whether I want to eat the little PB&J or shove it into one of his shoes when my phone sounds the Batman theme, immediately followed by a line from a rap song.

Sadie. And my grandmother, Bubby.

I take a bite and read Bubby's message first, since I'm pretty sure I know what Sadie's says.

Know where I can borrow a dog?
I don't even want to know what that's about.

No . . . why?
I type back, against my better judgment.

New McDreamy @ Sr Living. Has a pug. Want to impress him with my love of dogs.
Sometimes I wonder if Bubby is really my grandma, or actually Becca's. Although I guess I know exactly how Dad got so weird.

Will let you know if I find a spare dog,
I reply.

I click over to Sadie's message as I stuff the last of the sandwich into my mouth. It's the Bat Signal. She probably wants to debrief us on what happened with her mom last night. I can't believe Mrs. Pleffer never showed. At least one of my parents shows up to every last thing I do, even if it's just holding down a chair as our school's It's All Academic team alternate. Or maybe they're just happy that one of their kids actually cares about school.

Finding a spot for the sandwich plate in the dishwasher is not exactly easy, but I shove it in there before scrawling a note to Mom. I dash upstairs, pull my latest shell finds from my backpack, and replace them with my SAT math workbook just in case everyone's running late. Then I sprint to the door.

Envelopes are piled up in the little boat-shaped basket under the mail slot. I flip through them, even though I hardly ever get any for myself. The only interesting thing today is a letter from Raleigh State University, addressed to Mom and Dad. I hold it up to the light coming from the brass ship's lantern on an end table. I can't see through the envelope, but I'm pretty sure it's another note threatening to kick Josh out of school.