Party Games Read online

  She caught a glimpse of Blake in the corner of the kitchen. He pointed to her, then pretended to hop like a rabbit before cracking up. He put so much gel in his hair that his rock-hard hairdo didn’t budge when he hopped. She felt her cheeks turning red, and part of her wanted to hit him upside the head. However, she couldn’t help but chuckle along with him. He looked pretty funny imitating her. As annoying as Blake could be, she knew that most of the time he was only trying to laugh with her, not at her. She turned back to her mother and Gene.

  Sara was glad her mom had a friend. However, if Sara had been goofing off with Blake, she would’ve heard about it later. What was Gene still doing here, anyway? His duties had been completed long before the reception had begun. Didn’t he have some orchids to water?

  “Sara, can you remind the band that the father-of-the-bride toast is coming up?” Leah asked. “Gene’s going to try to fix my headset. I should help.”

  Why it would take both of them to fix the headset was a mystery, but who was Sara to argue? “Sure.”

  Fortunately, the band had stuck with the schedule, and Kenny was already introducing the father of the bride. She quickly glanced around the room. The photographer clicked away. The videographer ducked in front of the head table, capturing the whole speech on his camcorder.

  Since everyone was busy, she decided it might be a good opportunity to slip outside for one second and check her text messages. It was totally against the rules, and if her mom found out about it, she’d take away the cell phone. They’d had a few blowouts about text messaging. However, if her mom was goofing off with her new BFF, Gene, then why couldn’t she steal one second to text Allie?

  Tonight was a monumental evening for her best friend. Allie was on her second date with the captain of the varsity water polo team. During the school year Allie had hit the jackpot when her drawing-and-painting teacher had seated her across from Shane Corson for an entire semester. After sketching each other’s portraits and exchanging tips on airbrushing, Shane had finally worked up the nerve to ask Allie out. Allie was really lucky that way. In art, Sara had been seated across from Gil Brunson, the president of the math club. She’d spent a good portion of the semester worrying as she’d shaded his portrait about hiding his pockmarks and making his braces look even.

  Even though school had just ended and summer had begun, San Diego still suffered from June gloom, a dark and foggy chill that lasted until the end of the month. Sara shivered against the ocean air as she popped open her phone and clicked into her text inbox. The soft glow of a patio light revealed one new message. The number looked unfamiliar, but she was used to getting unfamiliar numbers on her phone. Her cell also served as a business line, so she was plagued with phone calls and text messages from vendors and clients, 24/7.

  sara,

  r we still on 4 2moro?

  L8R

  Dakota

  Sara’s laughter filled the empty patio. Allie! She was so funny sometimes. Pretending to be Dakota London! She must’ve used Shane’s phone to compose the message. Two weeks ago Allie had sent her a text asking for a get-out-of-rehab party, then signed it from Britney Spears. Now she was pretending to be Dakota London. Dakota was not only the biggest diva at their school, but one of Sara and Leah’s biggest clients of the summer. Sara and Leah were in the midst of planning Dakota’s late-summer sweet sixteen bash. The food alone cost more than most luxury cars, and the party came with a price tag comparable to a small beach house.

  Rich and beautiful, Dakota had come to their school after being kicked out of the all-girls private school she’d attended for cheating on a test. She had crashed two Escalades without a license and had been arrested for joyriding in her grandfather’s Bentley. She was a trendsetter and a serial heartbreaker.

  When Sara had learned that they were signing on Dakota London as a client, she’d tried to warn her mom that Dakota London was drama. But her mom had wanted the commission from Dakota’s expensive party. Leah had been dying to remodel her kitchen for the past two years, and this was just the financial boost she’d needed to do it. A conflict avoider by nature, Sara had stayed as far from the whole situation as she possibly could without being unhelpful. So why would Dakota be calling her?

  As she thought of something funny to write back, she looked at the phone number again. It was a different area code from Shane’s or Allie’s. Maybe it really was Dakota? But why would she ask Sara if they were still on to meet tomorrow? The only times Sara had met with Dakota to go over her party, Leah had been present. And Sara wasn’t aware of a meeting.

  She was trying to figure it all out when an unfamiliar male voice startled her. She shoved the phone into the pocket of her blazer. She spun around, the back of her neck tingling.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said quietly. Facing her was Cute Guitar Guy. She’d forgotten that the band was taking a break. From where she stood, she could see his blue eyes.

  “Uh—it’s okay.” Maintain composure. He wore a leather jacket over an ironed white shirt and a tie. Something told her that he wouldn’t touch a tie or an iron unless he was getting paid. He looked more like the ripped-jeans-and-Converse-All-Stars type of guy. She understood the feeling of being forced to dress appropriately for an event. Party-planning aside, she’d never wear the knee-length skirt and matching blazer unless she had to. Her outfit was about as cool as suits could get, but it was still a suit. Sara would much rather be in black skinny jeans and a comfy tank top.

  “I was just saying that was a really good call.”

  She noticed dimples.

  “Oh, thanks…but for what?” she asked.

  “The conga line.” He threw his guitar strap over his shoulder. “As entertaining as it was, someone had to stop Mickey Piper from taking out the wedding cake.”

  The nervous laughter that came from her throat didn’t even sound like her. It sounded as though it were coming from someone else’s body, and she wished she could shut it off. She felt her face grow warm. “I know. I just didn’t think I’d be leading it. He was supposed to lead.”

  He shrugged. “It’s cool. How many people can say they’ve done the conga line with Mickey Piper?”

  “True.” The way he said it made her feel like less of an idiot. He acted as though he’d never even noticed her flapping bangs or terrible moves. She actually felt kind of okay with the whole situation.

  She was about to ask him if he was a permanent member in Kenny’s cover band or if he was just filling in for the other guitarist when Gene’s perky voice exploded into her ear. “Test-ing! Test-ing! Come in, Sara. Are you there?”

  “Yes, hello, Gene. I’m here.” Did he have to ruin the closest thing to a real conversation she’d ever shared with a hot guy?

  The guitarist pointed to his watch, then to the reception hall. “I think I better go back in,” he whispered.

  She held up a finger. “One sec,” she whispered. “Sorry.” A gust of wind dusted the patio. She turned around so she could hear through her headset better.

  Her mother’s voice came in clear. “I guess we’re all set, then, honey! Can you make sure the waiters have picked up all the empty glasses on the patio? I don’t want my event looking like a mess. Thanks!”

  “Of course. Already on it.” Could she look any dorkier? She didn’t even know the guy’s name, and her mother had already come into the picture.

  When she turned around, he was gone.

  Two

  “Sara, listen. Gene’s coming over for a splash.” The sound of her mother’s heels clicked over the asphalt in the parking lot.

  “A splash?” Sara knew what it meant. She knew they weren’t going swimming. It had always been Gene’s way of saying they were having a glass of wine. They were so BFF. It was like how Allie picked up on using words that only Sara used. For example, Sara had gone through a phase when almost everything of importance that came out of her mouth was followed with “at once.”

  For instance, if she were to leave Allie
a voice mail at this very moment, she might say, “I have to hear every detail of your date with Shane. You must text me at once.” It hadn’t been long after Sara had started saying “at once” that Allie started saying it too.

  As they neared the car, Sara turned to her mother. “You sure are using a lot of Gene lingo these days. Soon you’ll be dating.” Sara burst into laughter as soon as the words had left her mouth.

  Her mother was quiet, and Sara wondered if she should keep her jokes to herself. It was late. Obviously, her mother wasn’t in the mood for sarcasm, especially when it involved her dating a man who could easily be a switch-hitter. Even though the wedding had been a total success, their feet hurt, and terrible eighties cover songs were stuck in both their heads. Just a minute ago Mom had been packing up candles while humming “YMCA.” She’d been throwing the last of the candles into a box when she turned to Sara and said, “I’ll have this song stuck in my head until the next party.”

  Her mom jingled the car keys. “You want to drive us home?”

  “Sure.” Her driver’s test was right around the corner, so any opportunity to get behind the wheel was welcome. Up until spotting Cute Guitar Guy, the only thing she’d really been excited about was getting her license this summer. Her sixteenth birthday was right around the corner, and she couldn’t wait.

  She was taking the keys from her mother’s hand when Blake came up alongside them. He’d changed from his caterer’s uniform into jeans and a baby blue polo shirt. The collar of his shirt stood as pointed and stiff as a cornstalk. His hair was so slicked back with mousse even the dim street lights reflected off its hard sheen, and his bleached teeth practically glowed in the dark. “Hey, Sara, you want a ride home? I was gonna stop at Java Joe’s.”

  “It’s fine with me,” her mother answered. Sometimes Sara wished she had a remote control that could control all parental voices. She would’ve hit pause before those words had come out.

  “Um…actually,” Sara said, “I’m pretty beat. I think I’m just going to head home. But thanks.”

  “Right on. Let me know if you need any rides to events this summer.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I will. Thanks.” They often rode together to events. Blake had gotten his license last year, and he’d always been generous about giving her rides in his new Escalade.

  As he headed to his car, he looked over his shoulder before hopping a couple of steps. She shook her head but couldn’t keep from smiling. “Whatever!” she called.

  As they slid into her mother’s Acura SUV, her mother turned to her. “Why didn’t you want to ride with Blake?”

  Sara shrugged. “I wanted to drive home. I need the practice.”

  Sara started the car and it occurred to her that she never got to see Cute Guitar Guy again. She felt tempted to ask her mom what she knew about him, but then her mother might become Curious Leah and ask Sara a million questions about her nonexistent love life.

  Her mother had made her parallel park the car when they’d arrived, and getting out now was a little tricky. She nailed the curb a couple of times, but at least it wasn’t the bumper of the BMW behind them.

  “So, someone has a birthday coming up,” Leah said as soon as they were on the road.

  Sara smiled. “Just a little over a month.”

  “So, I was thinking we could have a big party. Invite some of your girlfriends over, and we’ll have nonalcoholic daquiris, and we’ll have it catered by Meiki’s. I’ll hire that one deejay who teaches hiphop, too. And I’m going to make a big board with a picture from every year since you were born—”

  “Mom, no. I don’t want a party. I mean it. Please don’t throw me a party.”

  Deep down, she thought it would be nice to have a party. But the truth was, she didn’t think enough people would come. It wasn’t that she was unpopular. She knew tons of people at school. However, during the school year she was always hammered with homework. Factor in working for the event-planning business, and she hardly had time to socialize.

  The last day of Sara’s sophomore year had ended three days earlier, and she had to admit she’d faced the summer with a small sense of disappointment. She was more than happy to save money for a car and help her mother out with the event-planning business. However, surfing and hanging out with Allie were out of the question. Her summer calendar was booked with events. While everyone at her high school would be sitting around beach bonfires, she’d be working.

  While Sara had helped orchestrate some of the biggest sweet-sixteen bashes in San Diego, she hadn’t actually been a guest. She’d been working. Even if she did get the occasional e-vite from some well-meaning classmate who was throwing a party, she had to turn it down. She had one best friend, Allie. Instinct, or maybe it was just the fear of humiliation, told Sara that Allie would be the only person to show up at any shindig honoring her birthday.

  “I’d rather just go to Meiki’s than have it catered. Just you, Dad, and Allie and me.” She found it strange to think that she helped plan sweet-sixteen events in which the invitations alone cost more than ten sushi dinners, and yet her own birthday party was hardly a party. The kids whose parents could afford extravaganzas hosted theme parties with only the best caterers, bands, and decorations. Ice sculptures, new luxury cars, and exotic animals involved in grand entrances were starting to become the norm at her school for sweet sixteens. Sara never expected to lead white tigers on jeweled leashes in front of two hundred friends, but she sensed that her mother was hoping for at least a few friends and a cake to celebrate with.

  “Really? That’s all you want?” Leah sounded kind of disappointed, and Sara squirmed at the thought of letting her down. But wouldn’t it be worse if she was standing in front of a pitcher of virgin daquiris with Allie?

  Sara nodded. “Yes, really.”

  “Speaking of sweet sixteens, I almost forgot to tell you. Dakota London wants to have male models hand deliver each and every one of her invitations to her guests. She’s set up some interviews with the models tomorrow, so I thought it would be fun for you two to meet and pick out the models together. I gave her your number.”

  Sara perked up a little. So that’s what the text message had been about. She could think of better ways to spend her time than hanging out with Dakota, but handpicking male models? She’d be nuts to pass up the opportunity. She couldn’t wait to tell Allie.

  “Watch where you’re going!” Leah gasped.

  A horn blared from behind them. “Sorry!” Sara waved as she merged in front of the driver behind them.

  Her mother sighed. “Anyway, I thought it would be really fun if you took on more responsibilities for this party. I’ve been so busy lately, and I don’t have time to help pick out models and that sort of thing. I thought that since you guys are about the same age, this might be something fun for you to do. And I think you’re ready to start taking on more responsibilities with clients.” Since January, Sara had been helping her mom with setting dates and making phone calls. Now her mom wanted her to take on more responsibilities? What luck!

  After they got home, Sara went straight to her room and flopped down on her bed. Her overweight cat, Figaro, yawned, then nuzzled up next to her shoulder. Sometimes Sara thought Figaro was the only sane being in her life—even if he had been sleeping on her leather jacket with the gathered sleeves. She’d picked up the jacket last summer when she’d been visiting her cousins in Los Angeles. She’d found the jacket on Melrose, where, rumor had it, all the cool celebrities shopped. Sara liked things that were edgy and rare. It had been a year since she’d purchased the jacket, yet she still hadn’t worked up the nerve to wear it anywhere other than in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom.

  She ran her fingers over the sleeve, and her hand came up covered in black and white cat hair. Furry clothes were nothing new. Cat hair and a messy bedroom were a normal part of her life. Shoes buried beneath jeans, books lost beneath covers, and an unmade bed felt like home.

  She heard the front door swi
ng open, then the muffled sound of Gene’s voice. Sara decided to take a quick, but piping hot, bath—just how she liked it. Baths had to be short because she got bored if she sat in the tub for too long. She’d once set up candles, poured half a bag of lavender salts into the water, plugged in her iPod speakers, and gotten cozy, with Snow Patrol in the background. Within ten minutes, she was bored stiff.

  The rushing water drowned out the sound of her mother’s and Gene’s splashing. When she was finished with her bath, she slipped into her favorite pair of pajamas. Of all her possessions, these pajamas were her dorkiest. If anyone outside her home saw her in this heart-and-teddy-covered pant set, she would die of embarrassment. However, the pj’s fit perfectly, and they’d been washed so many times, the fabric was softer than anything she’d ever touched in her life. As nerdy as they were, they were the best loungewear she owned.

  She was tired but wired. She didn’t think it was possible to simply climb into bed, shut her eyes, and welcome dreamland. She curled up with an afghan her grandmother had made for her and tried Allie again. She was so in the mood for a late-night chat with her best friend. After five rings, Allie’s voice mail picked up.

  “Hey, Allie. It’s Sare. Dying to know how your night went. Hopefully, less crazy than mine. Call me back.”

  She felt her stomach growl and wondered if her mother and Gene would mind if she busted in on their midnight splashing. She thought there was half a bag of Doritos left, and her hunger pains seemed to go into overdrive just thinking about the salty cheddar taste. The afghan still around her shoulders, she dragged it to the kitchen. The lights were dim when she entered. Apparently they’d failed to push the dimmer switch up another notch. At first, she wondered where Gene and her mother had gone. She’d expected them to be standing around the wooden kitchen island over freshly baked bruschetta or something else that Gene had whipped up.