A Tale of Two Besties (23 page)

Lily was really quiet on the way over to the F³ party, which was fine, because I didn't feel much like talking either. On the seat beside me was the birthday card that Lily had absentmindedly handed me on the way out the door. I was sure I had seen the card at Walgreens the other week—it featured an owl asking “Who-who-whose birthday is it?” (Uh, it's my birthday, owl. Do your homework.) Inside, there was a dashed-off note in Lily's chicken scratch. “Happy birthday!” It read. “To my bestie!”

Thinking about it again, my hands flew up to my neck, feeling for the present Lily had just given me: a vintage BFF broken heart necklace that came in a pair—Lily had the other half. It felt gold and old and pretty heavy. I probably would have loved it, except that, as we rode in the car toward a party that I had assumed was a jokey cover for my real birthday surprise, I couldn't help thinking of it as a consolation prize.

Plus, it totally didn't match my outfit.

Maybe I was too overdressed? I figured since this was a fashion party, I could borrow something from Rachel's pre-goth-phase wardrobe. I picked out a beautiful red BCBGeneration cocktail dress that was a little shorter than what I'd normally wear, paired with gold strappy sandals. The dress flared out from the waist and gave my usually straight figure more curves. It was also really adult-looking, especially after I put my hair up in a sprayed bun and lined my eyes with kohl. If I was going to blow this thing up, I might as well blow it up
right
. I actually felt good about my outfit tonight, until I saw Lily's.

She was wearing a costume. Well, Lily was always a little bit in costume, but this was Halloween-level, even for her. She was wearing a tutu! And of course, her wings, which had so many new scraps of fabric tied around them they made her look like a hunchback. She had a flower crown in her hair, which would have been cute if I wasn't almost positive that it was the same one she debuted back in fourth grade gym class. (The dust bunnies scattered among the fake peonies gave it away.)

“Is this a Halloween party?” I had asked as we left the house, Lily shrugging on her wings with a kind of resigned determination. “Or does it have some kind of retro theme?”

“No.” Lily shrugged. “Why? This is just called ‘looking good on a Saturday night.'”

“Okay,” I said. “Just asking.” I didn't bother following up on that, and so resigned myself to staring dejectedly out the car window as we drove, wondering when it had become so hard to make conversation with my best friend.

“By the way,” I said, hoping to guilt Lily about PuppyBash, “I saw the Jacobys the other night. They said they missed you. . . .” They hadn't said any such things, but I saw Lily's shoulders tense as if shocked by a cattle prod.

“Oh,” she squeaked. “Was . . . did you see Beth-Lynne by any chance?”

I scowled in the backseat. What did Beth-Lynne have to do with any of this? I hadn't even seen her since my last birthday party.

“No,” I said curtly. “Why, have you?”

Lily mumbled something I couldn't catch, but it was possible she was just talking to herself again.

I think I was still holding out hope that this was going to turn out to be some epic prank, right until the moment that we pulled up to Art Rebel. The building was a giant warehouse, the kind some witty detective might find a body in in an episode of
NCIS.
Except usually those buildings didn't have a red carpet outside. There was a line round the block; a sea of improbable hair colors, asymmetrical clothes and thick glasses. But the most insane part was that everyone was wearing wings except me. It was like we had wandered into some strange Disney-sponsored tween nightmare.

“You girls have a fun time!” Mrs. Farson purred as she unlocked the doors. I considered making an argument for staying in the car—lady cramps were probably my best bet—but Lily was dragging me by the hand and out the door before I could protest.

Even from outside, the scene was chaos, like some end-of-the-world apocalypse scenario meets a Zac Efron premiere. Kids were shouting and there were light bulbs flashing everywhere. Loud bass-heavy music was booming from the entrance, where a linebacker-sized bouncer stood holding a tiny clipboard. It would maybe have been funny if I wasn't so disoriented by the myriad of Tinkerbells (and Tinkerboys!) thrumming outside the entrance.

“So, these wings, is that something you started?” I asked. “It's a little . . .” I didn't actually know how I planned on ending that sentence. It wasn't
a little
anything. It was a
lot
. Much to the Muchness. Instead of responding, Lily squeezed my hand tighter as we approached the door. Either she hadn't heard me or was pretending not to.

“Lily!” There was a loud screech near the door, and suddenly the giant bouncer stepped back to reveal the pink-haired girl from Lily's first day at Pathways. Except tonight her coif was silvery white, and she wore a black, shapeless tunic with a gold braided sash. Neon plastic bangles ran up one arm and down the other, and her nails were bright orange. Though I'm sure she thought she looked oh-so Warhol-era, the effect was less Edie Sedgwick and more raver Scarlett O'Hara.

Oh, and one other thing: Her back was sprouting a large tuft of angel wings. Each feather was dyed the same metallic blue-gray as her hair color, and her wingspan ran all the way to the tips of her fingers when she spread them to point to us.

“
She's
good, Julio,” Nicole said, unlatching the red velvet ropes and beckoning Lily with one pumpkin-painted nail. “And so is her, uh . . .”

I smiled grimly. “I'm Harper.”

“Of course, Harper.” Nicole's voice could have been sponsored by Splenda for all the artificial sweetener she'd put in it. “We've heard so much about you! Though didn't Lily tell you about the dress code tonight?” I frowned at Lily, who was suddenly looking anywhere but at me.
No
, I thought,
I had definitely not been told about any dress code.

Nicole pursed her lips and shrugged benevolently. “Oh well, I'm sure we can't all find a pair of wings quite as stunning as our Lily's on such short notice. It's natural that you would feel a little, shall we say,
less motivated
to be your true self, what with that upbringing you've had.” Nicole moved in between me and Lily, pushing us apart and snaking her arms through ours as she bulldozed through the entrance, leaving me to wonder just what Lily had told her about my home life. What did she mean about my upbringing? Sure, my parents weren't perfect, but I loved them to death! (And so, last time I checked, did Lily.) I couldn't imagine what Nicole was referring to, but it sounded nasty. I needed to talk to Lily, ASAP.

The warehouse opened up to a giant makeshift runway on which uncomfortably skinny girls were losing their balance on treacherously high heels and were being weighed down by what looked like welded metal angel wings in different shades of black and red. It was like a carnival sideshow sponsored by Lady Gaga's costume company.

“These wings were made with a 3-D printer, using only organic plant synthesis,” Nicole intoned like a tour guide, unlocking her arms and sweeping them toward the girls teetering around with frantic looks toward the audience. “The process is completely cruelty-free.”

I caught Nicole's pointed stare at my patent leather sandals. “Oh, these are faux,” I said, probably too quickly. Lily looked embarrassed. Nicole gave her an imperceptible nudge in the ribs that I wasn't supposed to see, and then Lily cleared her throat. “Oh, um, even faux leather promotes the animal slaughterhouse industrial complex,” my supposed BFF said in one breath, not meeting my eyes. Nicole's grin got even wider.

“Oh,” I said coolly. “That's really interesting.” I shot Lily a look that I hope said,
Best birthday ever??

“Fascinating, isn't it?” Nicole grabbed a passing plate of spring rolls from a black-clad waiter. “You know,” she crunched, “I actually grew up near Brentwood. That's where you're from, right Harper?”

I nodded, shifting my gaze back onto Nicole. It took all my concentration to remember the MomTips to use when confronted with hostile and undermine-y people, such as “Maintain eye contact at all times” and “Minimize anxious babble.”

“Shrimp roll?” Nicole asked flippantly as she tossed two in her mouth.
Shrimp roll, Miss She-gan?
She seemed to realize her mistake immediately.

“I thought you were vegan!” Lily sounded so shocked, I felt bad for smiling.

For once, Nicole's placid kumbaya exterior seemed to crack. “Well, shrimp don't count,” she shrugged defensively. Despite being momentarily thrown off her game, Nicole barreled through, her garish silver hair catching the light dully like antique shards of iron. “I mean, shrimp don't even have brains. They're disgusting. They're basically insects.”

“Oh,” Lily nodded, as if she actually believed that Nicole wasn't spewing complete BS. “I get it.”

I'd had enough. “Excuse me,” I interrupted, aware that I had my hands on my hips as if I were a superhero trying to puff myself up to be as large as possible. Or a blowfish expanding into a giant to scare away predators. “Nicole, it was so lovely to meet you, but do you think I can have two seconds with my friend here? I'd really like to . . . look around the space with her.”

Nicole's eyes narrowed and she removed her arm from around Lily's shoulders. “Of course,” she said. “
Namaste
. That means ‘go in peace.'”

“Thank you soooo much!” I chirped. Even I could hear how fake and bitchy I sounded. Nicole nodded and, after one more steely-eyed appraisal, walked off.

“So, what do you think?” Lily whispered once we were out of earshot. “She's awesome, right?”

“Oh, she's the best,” I said. “I really like the part where you and she emphatically agreed that my shoes are the downfall of Western civilization.” If Lily caught any of my sarcasm, she didn't show it. Instead, she waved to the backstage area, where a girl with a sizable 'fro stood next to a lanky guy in a tie suit. Like, the suit was made out of ties.

“Hey, I've got to say hi to Jane and Drew. Wanna come?” I shook my head—had I not just told her I needed some time alone with her?—and Lily looked torn. I decided to make things easy for her.

“I'm going to get us some drinks,” I said, marching away before she could protest. “I'll come find you guys.”

Somehow, it was even more insulting that she didn't chase after me. But what did I want? For her to realize how upset I was, throw herself at my feet, and beg for forgiveness?

Actually, yes, that is exactly what I wanted.

I situated myself by a table of gluten-free cookies and wheatgrass shots. Gaggles of kids walked by in all manner of perfectly scrappy apparel, some of it obviously crafted by big-name designers to give it that hobo-chic look, other outfits appearing as if they were actually assembled out of the contents of a neighbor's trash can. And as far as I could see, all of them were wearing variations of Lily's feathery trademark quirk. If this party had a theme, it would be What Pinterest Puked, I thought while trying not to stare. Or
D-I-god-Y?,
Craft Store Horror, Say it Ain't Sew. . . .
The list went on in my head as I angrily downed wheatgrass shots, which I don't even like.

Then a new voice sounded out from behind me, almost causing me to spill a grass-green concoction down Rachel's dress. “‘Etsy atrocities'?” I was surprised out of my thoughts to see a red-haired, freckle-faced boy smiling crookedly down at me.

“Sorry, I didn't realize I'd said that out loud,” I mumbled, thinking that, gee, I must be losing it as bad as Lily had if I was talking to myself. Red grinned, and I was relieved to notice that he was dressed like a normal person. Well, at least in the ballpark of normalcy: green denim jeans, a brown long-sleeve shirt, a bright pink bow tie, and an overly warm coat that he had draped across his forearm. He had Harry Potter glasses but a face like Snape's, lending him the look of a large, somewhat ridiculous-looking bird with ginger feathers. He peered at me unapologetically, though somehow managed to avoid any eye contact: It was a look I'd come to know as the “Pathways Appraisal.” At least he wasn't wearing any wings either.