“Guess who’s invited us over for dinner next week!” my mom said the second I walked in through the back door on Saturday. It was lunchtime, at least I thought it was. We had all—me, Caro, Heather, Heather’s bedbugs—slept late the next morning, then Caro’s oldest brother, Michael, made blueberry pancakes, which we ate while watching cartoons. The fact that we were hungover went unsaid, but the pancakes and coffee had helped.
A little.
“Who?” I said, wincing at her too-perky tone. “The queen? Do I get to wear a tiara?”
“You’re always so cranky after you sleep over at Caro’s,” my mom replied. “What time did you go to bed last night?”
I shrugged. “Dunno. Two?”
“That is WAY too late,” she said. “Caro’s parents are okay with that?”
I shrugged again as my dad strolled into the room. “What’s too late?” he asked.
“She stays up way too late when she goes over to Caroline’s house,” my mom informed him.
“All we did was watch movies,” I said. “It’s like sleeping with your eyes open. And it’s rude to talk about someone like they’re not there.” I reached for a banana out of the fruit bowl. “Manners matter.”
Both of my parents gave me a Look. “What, exactly, are you learning at school?” my dad said, shaking his head. “My tax dollars at work, I swear.”
“Our tax dollars,” my mom corrected him. “Promise me you’ll take a nap later today, okay?”
“Twist my arm,” I replied, not bothering to mention that taking a nap was already on my Short List of Priorities that day.
And so was talking to Oliver.
I had checked my phone the minute I woke up, waiting to see a text or missed call or something from him, but I just had junk emails from SAT prep programs and a few “Don’t you want to apply HERE?” colleges. (Those colleges were like clingy boyfriends or girlfriends. No one wants to go to school there when they’re so desperate to get people to do just that. They needed to start playing hard to get, I thought, or no one was going to ask them to prom.)
I had deleted everything, but Heather caught me checking my phone three separate times at breakfast. “No word from Lover Boy?” she asked around a mouthful of syrup and blueberries, which was exactly as attractive as it sounds.
Caro, however, dropped her fork. “Who?” she asked me. “Who’s she talking about?”
Michael flipped another pancake at the stove, the sudden sizzling sound reminding me of an old torture technique. “Can we, um . . . ?” I nodded my head in the direction of Caro’s siblings.
Caro didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed our plates, napkins, and silverware. “Get the syrup!” she called to me as she ran upstairs, and since I happen to love both syrup and Caro, I obeyed.
“Are we seriously going to eat in your room?” I asked as I ran up the stairs after her.
“What? No! Are you insane?” She beckoned me into the bathroom, then shut the door behind us.
I looked around. “You want me to eat breakfast in the bathroom?”
“I don’t care if you eat breakfast in here or not. I just want you to talk and this is the most private place in the house. What am I hearing? You told Heather something important, but not me?” She punched me twice in the shoulder. “Slugbug Betrayal!”
“I don’t think that’s how the game works,” I said, reaching for my pancakes. “And I thought I was telling you, but you were already asleep. Heather happened to be awake and I didn’t even know she was in the room at first.”
“Ugh, she’s the worst. So, anyway. Lover Boy.” Caro narrowed her eyes at me and managed to look intimidating even with a drop of syrup on her chin and pancake batter in her hair. “Did you . . . kiss Oliver?”
I nodded, no longer interested in eating. “Outside. Last night, when we were sitting in the gazebo.”
“You kissed him in the gazebo? Oh my God, what kind of weirdo romantic are you?” But Caro was grinning from ear to ear. “Was it good? Is he a good kisser?”
I guess my hesitation and smile told Caro everything. “Get OUT!” she cried. “Do you think he remembers it? How drunk were you?”
“He better remember it!” I said. “We were just talking and then . . .” I brought my hands together. “It just happened. It wasn’t like we were planning it.”
“Yeah, you just lured him into a gazebo at a mansion.” Caro wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Well played, Emmy, well played.”
I pretended to curtsey, which is hard to do when you’re holding a plate full of pancakes and your borrowed pajama pants are too big. “Thank you, thank you,” I said. “But I haven’t heard from him yet.”
“Well, it’s not like you live next door to each other or anything—OH, WAIT.”
I checked my phone again. “What if he doesn’t remember it?”
Caro shrugged. “Then Drew and I will burn his house down.”
“You’re very loyal.”
“Make sure to say nice things about me when they arraign me for arson.”
“Emmy.” My mom’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Are you listening?”
Nope.
“Yeah, totally,” I said, then hopped up on the island countertop. “Down,” my mom said, pointing at the floor, and I hopped back off. I had forgotten that I wasn’t at Caro’s anymore. “So who’s dinner with?”
My mom raised an eyebrow that told me that’s what I just missed. “Maureen invited us over for next Monday night,” she said. “You and me and Dad and then her and Rick and the girls and Oliver. Isn’t that nice?”
It sounded like a nightmare. “Awesome,” I said. “But the girls have a million food allergies. What are we eating? Tofu?”
My dad made retching sounds.
“I think they’re grilling,” my mom said, ignoring him. “But we’re supposed to bring the salad, which means that I have to find that recipe. . . .” She fluttered off to her laptop, where she organized recipes by food group, holiday, event, and season. It’s an Excel spreadsheet straight from foodie heaven. “Are you in the mood for feta?” she called to me as she disappeared.
“Possibly!” I called back. I had finished eating that banana in record time. “Can I go hang out with Drew today?”
“Ask your father,” came the reply, so I turned to look at my dad. “Can I?”
“You and Drew have been spending a lot of time together,” my dad said in a non-nonchalant (or perhaps, chalant? is that even a word?) way.
“Dad, Drew’s gay,” I told him, just as my mom yelled, “Drew’s gay!” from her office. I swear, she’s installed hidden microphones in every room in the house.
“I know,” my dad said, then tapped me on the head with the newspaper as he walked past. “Your old dad may know a little more than you think he does.”
“What?” I said, but he just waved the newspaper at me and went out to the garage, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
“So is that a yes?” I called to no one in particular, and when no answer came, I decided it was definitely a yes, and went to call Drew.