17 
17 WE HAD TO LEAVE SOON FOR BUTTER—I never wanted to stop saying the restaurant’s name—and I was a mess. I couldn’t decide what to wear, my freshly washed hair was half up and half down as I straightened it, and I’d redone my eyeliner three times. My shaky hands had kept drawing squiggly lines.
“Okay,” I said aloud to myself. “Stop and do one thing at a time. It’s just a restaurant and you’re going to be totally fine.”
“I didn’t know a crazy person who talked to herself was staying with me,” Heather said, poking her head into my room.
“I can’t decide what to wear and we’re leaving soon!”I said. “You’re ready to go and I’m not even close.”
Heather was dressed just right for dinner in a deep red halter dress and black wedges. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and she’d given it soft waves with a curling iron.
Heather eyed the mass of clothes thrown on my bed. “Calm down, Silver. We’re just going out to eat. Do your hair so you don’t look like a weird poodle, and I’ll be back in a sec—I’ve got a dress you can borrow.” She waved her hand dismissively at my pile of clothes. “I don’t have to look through any of that to know you don’t have something for Butter.”
She disappeared and I picked the flatiron up off the dresser and stared in the full-length mirror as I went back to smoothing my hair. Heather reappeared a few minutes later, just as I was unplugging the flatiron.
She held out a dress to me. “What do you think?”
It was a strapless black cocktail dress. Simple, but sophisticated at the same time. In this dress, I’d actually look as if I fit in at Butter.
“Ooh,” I said. “It’s perfect! I can really borrow it?”
“I have a zillion of them,” Heather said. “I won’t even care if you spill something on it.”
I took the dress, making a face at her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Heather walked back to the doorway. “Your hair is done and you have a dress. Finish your makeup and meet me in my room when you’re done. And make it fast.”
I nodded and grabbed my makeup bag and Heather’s dress. I sprinted for the bathroom and got dressed, loving how the cocktail dress made me feel pretty and confident. Taking a breath, I started over on my eyeliner, and this time I managed to draw straight black lines. I dusted shine-absorbing powder over my T-zone and added peachy blush to my cheeks. Tonight I wanted the focus to be on my eyes, so I used clear gloss on my lips.
There. Done.
I left the bathroom and slipped my feet into my black kitten heels. Anxiety over getting ready melted into excitement. We were going to Butter!
I hurried down the hallway to Heather’s room. She was on her laptop, sitting in one of her chairs.
“I’m ready,” I said.
“Obviously,” Heather said. “One sec. Let me tell Alison we’re going and log off IM.”
“Okay.”
I rummaged through my purse and pulled out my phone. I hadn’t checked my e-mail in forever. I tried to log in and got an error message.
I tried again, and when I got another error message, I clicked it so I could figure out what was going on.
You’re already currently logged in on another computer. Please log off and try again. If you think you’ve reached this message in error, contact Customer Support.
It was definitely a mistake—I wasn’t on my e-mail anywhere else. Ugh—I’d try again later. I closed my phone as Heather shut her laptop lid. She grabbed her purse off her bed, and we walked to the front door.
The Fox penthouse was silent.
“Should we tell your mom we’re leaving?” I asked.
“Nope. I told her what time we were going and where. And do you see her running out here to say good-bye?” Heather asked, her voice low.
I didn’t answer the question I knew was rhetorical.
We left the apartment and took the elevator to the ground floor. Outside the sun was setting, and lights were starting to illuminate the city. We got in the car and I smoothed Heather’s dress as Paul drove us forward.
“Have you been to Butter before?” I asked Heather.
“A few times,” she said. “Depending on the night, it can get pretty crowded. But I didn’t have any trouble making reservations for tonight.”
That made me relax a little. I was glad my first trip to a superstar restaurant wouldn’t be packed.
“Does it really look just like it does in magazines?” I asked.
Heather glanced at me, and passing car lights reflected in her eyes. “Yes, Silver. It does.”
I could tell she wasn’t really annoyed—just amused at my babbling. Paul pulled up to the curb and Heather opened the door.
“See you in a couple of hours,” she said to him.
“Have a great dinner, girls,” Paul said.
I got out of the car after Heather and stared at the restaurant’s glass window. The word BUTTER looked back at me, and I couldn’t believe where I was standing. My fave celebs had walked right here. It was crazy to think about!
“We have to, you know, go inside to eat,” Heather said.
“Right. Inside.”
And when we stepped inside, everything Heather had said about Butter was true. It looked exactly like the magazine photos. Omigod. The decor was elegant but modern. The ceiling was curved, and there were potted trees in almost every corner of the room and along the walls. The soft lighting gave the place a, well, buttery glow.
“We have reservations under Fox,” Heather told a man in a suit and tie. He typed something in in his laptop, then smiled at us.
“Of course,” he said. He picked up two menus. “Right this way, please.”
Heather and I followed him downstairs to a dining area, which looked nothing like the restaurant’s entrance. The low ceiling had flattened out and was covered with tree vines. Candles were on every table, and their light flickered across the tables. It was casual, but one of the coolest places I’d ever seen.
The waiter walked us over to a corner table. “Is a table in the Birch Room suitable?” he asked.
“Perfect,” Heather said.
Our table was in front of a half-circle green couch. Heather and I slid onto the couch and the waiter filled our water glasses. He placed a basket of breadsticks in front of us with a small bowl of olive oil.
“May I get you anything to drink?” he asked.
“I’ll take a bottle of Perrier,” Heather said. I’d never had that kind of fancy water, but I’d seen it in the Trio’s suite.
“One bottle of Perrier,” the waiter said. He looked to me. “And for you?”
“The same,” I said. “Perrier sounds great.”
“I’ll be right back,” the waiter said.
He walked away and I glanced around. I loved the curved couches and how the entire room was filled with candles. I glanced up at the vines on the ceiling.
Heather caught my gaze and looked up too. “It’s so creative,” she said. “I’d never be able to come up with anything like that. It could have turned out creepy or something, but the birch wood looks so sophisticated.”
“It does,” I said. “It must have taken forever to design this room.”
“Let’s check out the menus so we’re ready to order when the waiter gets back,” Heather said.
“Good idea.” I picked up my menu from the thick white tablecloth and opened it. “Wow. Everything sounds so good!”
I decided against “seared Hudson Valley foie gras” since I didn’t know what that was and was afraid to ask. But there were so many other choices that sounded so good.
Heather nodded. “I know. Their food is awesome.”
The waiter appeared with our drinks and set the pretty green glass bottles in front of us. He held up his pad of paper. “Are you ready to order, or do you need more time?”
Heather looked at me and I nodded. “We’re ready,” she said.
“Go ahead,” I said.
Heather looked at the menu. “I’ll have your seared local mackerel and a romaine salad.”
“All right,” the waiter said. “And for you, miss?”
“I’ll take the grilled chicken and the soup of the day,” I said.
“Fantastic,” the waiter said. “We have a delicious lobster bisque that I’m sure you’ll enjoy.” The waiter closed his notepad and dipped his head at us. “I’ll be back as soon as possible with your orders.”
“Thank you,” Heather and I said.
I glanced around, trying not to look as if I was scanning the place for celebs, even though I so totally was.
“Even if Scott Ryder would happen to walk by,” Heather said, “he’d be so scared of you and your Oh-my-God-I’m-totally-gonna-freak face. Chill.”
“Right, sorry,” I said. I picked up a breadstick and dipped it in the olive oil.
“And no double dipping,” Heather said. “Eww.”
“You’d definitely catch something from me now, especially since, I don’t know, I’ve been using your lip gloss and we’ve been living together for almost a week.”
Heather rolled her eyes at me and tore off a piece of breadstick. The waiter served our soup and salad, and we downed them.
People on the outside probably thought we hated each other and couldn’t begin to understand why we were hanging out together or even friends. But the way Heather teased me wasn’t the same anymore. She wasn’t attacking me with personal digs that would have made me furious or on the verge of tears. We were bantering back and forth, and it was meant to be playful—not to hurt anyone.
I was surprised to look up a few minutes later and see our waiter—they served food fast at an upscale place like this.
The waiter set down our plates and collected our soup and salad bowls.
“I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes,” he said.
“Thanks,” Heather and I said.
Heather took a bite of fish, and I started on my chicken. It. Was. So. Good. I’d never thought herb-roasted chicken could taste this good. I kept taking bigger bites, then glanced at Heather as I felt her eyes burning into me.
“I’m not doing the Heimlich on you if you choke because you’re shoveling food into your face,” Heather said.
Yeeeah, okay. She was kind of right. I slowed down and enjoyed my food. The lobster bisque had been amazing, just like the waiter had promised, and I loved the Perrier water. I think it ruined my taste for any other kind of sparkling water.
I raised my fork to my mouth and turned to Heather. “This place is really awesome—”
I stopped midsentence when I saw Heather’s eyes widen. She turned to me.
“Um,” she said. “Uh.”
I’d never heard her talk like that.
“What? What’s wrong?” I looked up and almost dropped my fork.