A. A. HAD TO HAND IT to Ashley—this was the best party ever. Not a single detail had been overlooked. From the unicycle-riding waitresses with their pink cotton-candy wigs to the master of ceremonies cracking his whip at the front door, the event was totally on-message. Even the canapés were themed. So far A. A. had scarfed down five meatballs shaped like miniature seals and two pastry-case gypsy caravans, filled with mini seafood “lions.” And she was still only in the lobby.
She pushed her way through the crowd, looking for the other Ashleys. A. A. was wearing a slim column dress and sparkly sandals. After the prebirthday shopping trip, they’d declared a dress truce and agreed that they should all wear a shade of purple this evening.
This would mirror the color of Ashley’s first outfit of the night and complement all the other changes she had planned. Lili had dropped the issue of the red velvet dress when Lauren pointed out she might look too much like the red velvet rope sectioning off their private dance floor. Just as well—A. A. was tired of all the arguments. This party might be amazing, but she’d be relieved when all the craziness was over.
A. A. wriggled through a gaggle of Miss Gamble’s seventh graders, all talking at the top of their voices and gazing around Ashley’s house as though it were the White House. They’d never been here before, of course. They probably thought she had a pink lemonade fountain—spraying out of a giant hose, held by a carved ice-cream clown—in her living room all year round.
Where was Lili? And where was Lauren? A. A. couldn’t walk around being fabulous alone. Soon she was going to be sucked into some lame interview with Guinevere Parker, who was standing in one corner, dressed in a hideous puce taffeta prom dress from hell and round-toed flats, muttering into a handheld tape recorder.
Maybe she was writing a story about the party for the Miss Gamble’s newspaper—or maybe she had nobody to talk to apart from a machine. A. A. almost took pity on her—almost—and then hurried by. One advantage of being so tall was that you could pretend you didn’t notice somebody lurking a foot or two below your sight line.
A. A. had worries of her own right now, anyway. It wasn’t at all certain that Lili would be here tonight. They had no idea what was going on with her—she didn’t come to school and didn’t answer her phone, e-mails, or IM, which meant she was probably in the worst trouble ever with Genghis Khan.
A. A. had been inside the house for twenty minutes, and there was no sign of Lili at all. The party wouldn’t be as much fun without her. Ashley was going to be all preoccupied with this Cooper dude, not to mention her numerous changes of costume. Lauren was all down-at-the-mouth about losing two boyfriends in one week—not that she was anywhere in sight either. A. A. missed the good old days of the Ashleys, when they all went everywhere together. Boys ruined everything.
Speaking of boys . . . she couldn’t stop thinking about Tri. A. A. hadn’t seen or heard from him since the other day in the diner, when he told her he’d broken up with Cecily. What was she supposed to say? Why had he made such a big deal about telling her? It was all totally mystifying.
Maybe he had other stuff he wanted to tell her, but that wasn’t possible on Wednesday: Lauren was all upset, and A. A. had felt so bad for her. Tri had backed off, saying he and A. A. could talk about stuff another time. So why the sudden silence? Was the “another time” he had in mind sometime years in the future, like when they were in high school?
“A. A.!” Someone was calling her name, and she turned around slowly, dreading what—or who—she might see. There, stranded on the far side of the ice-cream clown, surrounded by a twittering bunch of Miss Gamble’s girls, was Tri.
Her heart clenched—much to her annoyance. So Tri was at the party; who cared? It was no big deal. She knew he’d be here. What she didn’t know was that he’d look so . . . well, so hot. He was wearing a crisp white button-down shirt, a navy blazer, and pressed chinos. Were her eyes blinded by all the circus lights? Because he didn’t even look at all short.
A. A. decided the best policy was to avoid him. Hot or not, Tri was trouble. She was never sure if he liked her or despised her. And if she wanted to live her life on an emotional roller coaster, she’d just spend all her time with the other Ashleys.
She spun on her pointed Jimmy Choo heel and tried to head toward the sunroom, where she’d heard there were dogs jumping through hoops over mounds of hot coals or something. But the crush of the crowd slowed her progress, and the next thing she knew Tri was next to her, pulling on her arm.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Over here!”
He gestured with his head to a relatively deserted corner near the giant lion’s cage where the band would be playing later on. A. A. shrugged and allowed herself to be pulled away. The dogs-jumping-over-coals could wait. Tri seemed like he was bursting with something to say, and that made her feel like she was jumping over coals. She wished he didn’t have that power over her, the power to make her feel anxious and weird and skittish.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Tri told her when they were both wedged against the bars of the cage. He was standing very close to her.
“Why?” A. A. asked.
He leaned close to her, his deep blue eyes fixed on her intently. A. A. couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. This was it. What was Tri going to say?