The Tiara on the Terrace (19 page)

O
rders blared fast and furious over our headsets that afternoon, keeping us racing to pack “emergency” beauty kits, fix runs in stockings, set up make-up and hair stations in the Court sitting room, not to mention help the Court primp for the Festival Eve barbecue. We barely had a chance to use the bathroom, let alone puzzle over other evidence or meet. Still, the Court's mood was light and happy. I kind of liked running around with Trista and Grace, headsets in our ears and Brown Suiters buzzing past, bringing the Court water and snacks and rearranging their clothes. If it weren't for the constant thoughts of Barb Lund and our midnight mission throbbing through my head, I might have even thought it was fun.

By the time I walked into the Queen and Court sitting room later that night, I barely had any “pep” left for the
Festival pep talk Ms. Sparrow had told us to gather for. The Court were lounging in the puffy flowery armchairs, looking casual in their orientation T-shirts and flannel pajama pants as they bopped their heads to the music playing from speakers on the mahogany desk. Ms. Sparrow's Pretty Perfect “how-to” videos ran on the TV with the volume down while Danica and Denise painted the Courts' fingernails and played rounds of twenty questions, which—thanks to their twinlepathy—were ending lightning fast. I made a mental note to never, ever play charades with them.

“Where's Grace?” I asked, frowning.

Sienna looked up from her magazine. “Oh, she's with her parents.”

A burst of panic jolted me. “Her parents?”

Trista shot a look at me. My stomach twisted.

“Uh-huh,” Sienna nodded absently, looking at her newly pink nails. “They heard about the fire and flipped out, even though everyone assured them it was totally nothing. They think the Festival officials are being careless, I heard them say. They want to take Grace home. Pull her from the parade, even. It was kind of turning into a scene.”

I cringed as I pictured the Court walking directly by Grace, her cheeks blazing as her parents asked to check smoke detectors.

Kendra shook her head sadly, no doubt horrified that the “house rules” and Festival family–only tradition had been violated by a visit with actual family members.

“Can you imagine?” Denise's eyes bulged. “The night before the parade? To have to go home?”

“Taylor Swift!” Danica blurted out suddenly. Everyone except Denise looked at her like she was insane. “That's who it is, right?” She beamed at Danica expectantly. “Your celebrity?”

“Yessss!” Denise high-fived her. Jardine shook her head at them, smiling.

Kendra shot them an annoyed look. “Ms. Sparrow's talking them down, though,” she explained as if she and Ms. Sparrow had consulted about it personally. Then she added, “I hope she can stay. She's really good at covering up this beast.” She pointed to the microscopic scab on her forehead from her run-in with Jardine's tiara. “And she's awesome, of course,” she finished. Everyone murmured in agreement, and I was surprised to find I wasn't jealous at all, like before. I felt maybe even a little . . . proud?

“Did you know she was going to make tiny roses with ribbon for Ms. Sparrow so she can match the Coral Beauties tomorrow?” Kendra continued. “And now . . .” From the sorrow in her voice, you would have thought we hadn't faced
any other tragedies that week.

“Oh my gosh, how perfect! Do you hear that?” Jardine exclaimed. She jerked her head to the speakers on the desk. “Turn it up! I love this song!”

Denise and Danica burst into giggles when they realized it was Taylor Swift's “You Belong with Me.” They got up and started singing along and whirling around, and this time there were no spaghetti straps falling every two seconds, just their big smiles and the T-shirts we made at orientation billowing around them as they spun. Kendra, Jardine, and Sienna jumped up too—holding up outstretched hands both to wave their manicures dry and dance around like crazy people.

“C'mon, Sophie! C'mon, Trista!” Jardine yelled. “Get your groove on!”

“You belong with meee-ee-ee,” Sienna shout-sang as she motioned for us to join on the “dance floor.”

Trista and I looked at each other. She shrugged and smiled.

Before I knew it Jardine was tugging me and Trista into their circle. I shot one guilty look toward the door, but soon I was twirling around, laughing and singing as we thumped against the ottoman and puffy couches like bumper cars. As I looked around at their beaming faces and silly moves,
I thought back to the way they'd huddled around us so worriedly after we'd been locked in the fridge—and how Kendra had pulled us into their circle the night of the fire like we were their little sisters, not their servants. Sure, the three of them could be such royal pains—literally—but they were
our
royal pains. Even Kendra's weird vibrato seemed more funny than annoying right then, and I found myself wanting them to like me.

Trista stood frozen in the center of our circle for a verse or two, but when the chorus hit she suddenly thrust two fists above her head, and rocked her whole body forward and back in a superfast wave motion, her butt waggling behind her. The Court went nuts, hooting and cheering as they formed a dance circle around her. I cheered, too, wishing so much Grace would burst in and do our crazy dance moves so we could all forget everything for half a second and just have fun.

“Ladies!”

We stopped cold at the sound of Lauren Sparrow's shout echoing from down the hall. Kendra dove for the speaker volume like an Olympic gymnast, her ankle injury miraculously cured in time for our dance party. The rest us slumped down guiltily as Ms. Sparrow appeared in the doorway, her hair looking flatter and messier than usual. She frowned,
her eyes dark—and even a little wild. She looked seriously stressed out. For the first time I realized she must've been under a lot of pressure to keep us all safe with everything that was going on, even without the Yangs showing up to ask questions.

“Shhh!” Ms. Sparrow hissed, not sounding at all like herself. “I'm in a meeting downstairs. And I don't need this racket right now. I'll be up in a minute. And in the meantime? Behave!”

“Yikes,” Sienna said as Ms. Sparrow stormed off. Kendra looked like she might cry. She hated disappointing Ms. Sparrow—and Ms. Sparrow had never looked angrier.

We looked a little wilted, like flowers left outside the float barn too long. Danica and Denise looked at each other; then Danica nodded and said, “I know, guys! Why don't we all play twenty questions together?”

The rest of us shared a look.

“Or”—Jardine flashed a mischievous smile—“truth or dare.”

“I don't play that,” Kendra said. “Well, just not the dare part,” she said.

“Me, neither,” I said, remembering the gritty taste of liver-flavored Whiskas from the last time I'd gotten suckered in.

“Truth, then,” Sienna said, her eyes lighting up. “Why don't we all tell our most embarrassing stories ever?” she suggested, mentioning that it'd totally bonded her soccer team at their sleepover before last season's playoffs. “I don't think it's an accident the Riptides took the league title,” she finished. “Besides, that's why we're here tonight, right? To get pumped?” She pointed at Jardine. “Queen first!”

Jardine sighed and leaned back her head. “Oh my gosh, which one? Here's one from last month. The. Worst.” She sucked in a breath like she was diving into cold water. “You know, Lucas? The blond guy. Baseball pitcher?”

Everyone but me and Trista nodded.

“So I was texting my friend, right . . . ,” she began. “And I was going on about Lucas and how I wasn't sure if I should ask him to prom or not. And like, how cute he is . . . You know where this is going, right?”

“Oh, no,” Kendra gasped. “You didn't.”

“Yep.” She flung up her hand and looked at the ceiling. “I was texting it all to Lucas. Totally spaced.” A spray of gasps and laughter rose up as Jardine shook her head at herself. “Okay,” she said, waving her index finger around the room. “I choose . . . Kendra!”

The stories went on, one better than the other, all involving crushes. That is, until we came to Trista, who stood up
and—after letting out a high-pitched giggle I'd never heard come out of her—told us that at summer science camp her model rocket had shot off sideways and plunked into a lake. “Mixed up metric with US standard measurements. Threw the newton-second calculations all out of whack,” she'd said, shaking her head at herself as her cheeks colored. “Mickey Mouse–mistake.”

The Court
a
wwwwed
as if they understood perfectly. Kendra even patted Trista on the shoulder as she sat back down.

“That leaves you, Sophie!” Danica said, clasping her hands together.

“Go, Sophie!” Denise whooped as the Court leaned forward. They were counting on me to end with a bang. I felt it—and I didn't want to let them down.

“Sooooo many to choose from,” I lied, trying to mimic Jardine's dramatic opening.

“So. Picture it. Sleepover at a friend's house. We're all on her bed, laughing.” The Court nodded. “And . . .” I drew in a breath. “I crack up so hard that I pee my pants a little.”

There was a long pause. “Ha!” Kendra barked, but it—and every other chuckle in the room—was forced.

“Some got on her comforter,” I added, hoping that was more interesting.

“Ew,” Jardine said, wrinkling her nose. The rest of the Court looked away awkwardly. Sienna yawned and checked her watch. I guess only Trista could get away with telling a story not involving boys. A sinking feeling came over me, and suddenly I was desperate to make up for my lameness.

“But,” I raised one finger. “If Grace were here? She has an
amazing
one.”

The Courts' heads tilted up to me, eyes shining. I froze. The words had flown out before I'd even thought about it.

“You'll have to ask her about it,” I backpedaled.

“But she might not even come back!” Kendra erupted. She sure was over her sadness awfully quickly.

“Oh, tell it! Please tell it!” Denise called out.

I shook my head, panic rising. “I can't, guys. I mean, it's her story, right? I won't do it justice.”

“She'd totally tell it. We all told ours,” Danica said it like she'd known Grace since kindergarten. “We're bonding!”

“Never mind, guys,” Jardine rolled her eyes. “She's not going to tell it.” She sighed as if I'd just confirmed she'd lost any sliver of hope that I could ever possibly be cool.

“Well, maybe for, you know, group bonding . . . ,” I began. Maybe it wouldn't be that big of a deal, I told myself with a shrug.

“Yes!” Sienna called out with a pump of her fist. She
leaned forward in her chair.

There was no going back. Seconds later the whole story was tumbling out of me. It went over better than I ever, ever could have imagined. I felt giddy as they clutched their sides, in stitches, while I dramatically acted out the time that, at a barbecue at my house, Grace had come back from the bathroom with her skirt completely tucked into the back of her underwear. As they laughed harder, something came over me and I couldn't stop. “And get this, guys,” I said, breathless, my words tripping over each other, “She was low on clean laundry, so she was wearing way too-small underwear that rode up her butt.” I tucked my shirt into my pants and pretended to be walking around with a wedgie. “And not just any underwear. Too small
Wonder Woman
underwear.” As the girls howled, I went in for the kicker, “And guess who saw it and told her?”

“Oh no. No, no, no!” Kendra exclaimed. “Don't say your dad. Please don't say your dad.”

“So much worse,” I said.

“Your brother?” Danica cringed.

Jardine gasped. “Oh my gosh, your brother is Jake Young. Jake Young had to tell Grace to get her dress out of her Wonder Woman underwear. I. Am. Dying!”

“Jake! He's so cuuuute, too!” Sienna said. Then she
clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, sorry, Sophie. Don't tell him I said that, okay?”

I'd totally forgotten Jake was in Sienna's math class. A cold, slithery feeling ran through me as they kept laughing until they were gasping for breath. Kendra sounded close to another hyperventilation fit. I could only imagine how they would have howled if I'd told them Jake was Grace's secret older crush.
At least I left that out,
I told myself. It wasn't much consolation, though. I'd just sold out my best friend.

As their laughter faded, Trista looked at me from across the room, chewing on the side of her lip. I felt hollow as I pictured Grace downstairs, begging to stay while we all danced around and told stories. Stories about her. What had I been thinking? I wished I could gather all my words and shove them back inside me.