Thursday, September 12
Tuscan Meadows
Phoenix, Arizona
A PARTIALLY OPENED door and the strains of Taylor Swift welcomed Dizzy Leonard to the party. Filling her lungs with a deep breath of courage, she pushed her shoulder against the ornately carved wood and dared step foot inside Lila Busby’s home.
She invited you.
That’s what Mom’d said, and Mom wouldn’t lie. Her mother’s happy face had told her it was true. This wasn’t some mean-girl gag. She’d really and truly been invited to Lila’s sixteenth birthday. And now here she was with the ceramic kitten she’d bought with money she’d earned pooper-scooping Mrs. Grogan’s yard, wrapped in shiny red paper and tied with blue ribbon. The blue ribbon would distract from the Christmas paper, and though Dizzy had worried the gift might be too juvenile, she’d heard from Andy Bower that Lila loved ceramic kittens. Lila had an entire collection of porcelain felines according to him. The thought that Andy would lie was as inconceivable to Dizzy as the thought of Mom lying. He just wouldn’t, that’s all.
She smoothed back her short hair, glad she’d taken the time to straighten it for once. Remembering how its usual mousy brown had gleamed in the mirror when she was done, she resolved to keep up her appearance better from now on. The nervous, fluttery feeling that had taken over her stomach when Mom let her out of the car was still there, but this was a case of mind over matter. Mom wanted her to have friends. She wanted to have friends. And now, for the first time since she’d taken those pills, the girls at school were giving her a chance. She bent the stiff corners of her mouth into a smile, raised her chin, and walked straight into the most beautiful living room she’d ever seen—except in a magazine, of course.
Columns had been painted onto the walls, creating the illusion they held up the high ceilings. The marble coffee table had fancy claw legs, and there were big, colored urns everywhere. Dizzy had never seen so many urns . . . and the window coverings . . . Dizzy put a hand on her heart.
Real drapes.
At home, the curtains were so thin you could see right through them, and Dizzy had to hide in the bathroom to change clothes. Lila Busby’s family was rich. Lila was as pretty and popular as Dizzy was . . . not. Lila had fake columns and real drapes. But what really gave Dizzy that less-than feeling was the fact that Lila Busby had Andy Bower. Their names even sounded good together. Dizzy’s smile tightened. That was okay. She just wanted to have friends, so Mom would stop worrying. And Andy wasn’t exactly within her reach anyway.
As she psyched herself up to walk through the room toward the sounds of voices and music, she felt a hand on the small of her back and jumped, nearly dropping her gift.
“Is that the kitten?” Andy took the box from her hand and turned it around, examining it.
Breathless, Dizzy nodded. She tried not to, but she couldn’t help staring at the long black lashes that framed Andy’s ice blue eyes. His face was manly enough for the longest lashes. He could wear fake ones and still not look like a sissy. Andy gave the box a shake, and she reached out, not wanting him to break the kitten.
“Don’t worry, Diz. She’s gonna love it. C’mon. The party’s this way.” He tweaked her nose, set the gift on a table crowded with boxes and bows, and tugged on her hand.
She barely remembered the short walk to the kitchen. Andy had her by the hand, and she could feel her palm sweating, her arm trembling all the way to her shoulder. Taylor Swift was still on, and it was almost like she was singing to them.
Almost.
As soon as Andy caught sight of Lila, standing over by the chips and dip, he jerked his hand away from Dizzy and went to slip his arm around Lila’s waist. The house was big, but it seemed the whole party had crowded into the kitchen, and the conversation buzzed loudly in her ears. Between that and the music, she couldn’t make out what Andy said to Lila. Then her body went stiff, and her throat constricted. She could hear what Lila was saying, shouting really, just fine.
“What the fuck is she doing in my house?” Lila had a big piece of cake on a small paper plate in her hand. She stuck a plastic fork in the cake and headed straight over to Dizzy. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Lila repeated.
“I-I . . . Happy birthday, Lila.” She pointed to the gift table in the living room. “I brought you a present.”
For a moment, Lila looked like she might be glad to see Dizzy after all. “What is it?”
“A kitten. For your collection.” Dizzy’s shoulders lowered from where they’d risen around her ears. Lila liked kittens. And she’d invited her. There was nothing to worry about.
“O.M.G.” Lila looked around the room. “A toy kitten. Guys, Dumb Dizzy got me a fucking toy kitten.”
Dizzy heard more buzzing in her ears. Andy was bent at the waist laughing. A lot of the kids were laughing, but not Lila. Lila was scowling and pointing to the door with one hand, her paper plate wobbling in the other. “Get the fuck out, loser!”
Dizzy’s chin dropped, and she felt tears welling in her eyes. She started to go, but then hesitated and turned back to Lila, suddenly filled with the need to speak up for herself. “You invited me,” she whispered.
Lila showed her teeth, like some wild angry animal. “I wouldn’t invite a loser who tags after my boyfriend . . . like a kitten. My mother sent that invitation because your mother told the principal you don’t have any friends.” Lila raised the hand that held her plate.
A sick premonition of what Lila was about to do came over Dizzy, but she didn’t feel like standing up for herself anymore. So she didn’t. She just stood there and waited for Lila to smash the plate into her face.
“Bye-bye, Dizzy. I hope you enjoyed your cake.”