You're Invited (21 page)

“
Then what about your bike?” Mom asks.

“Too much to carry,” I say as I twist the seashell key ring hanging from the ignition of the golf cart. “And I have to go to the library.”

“The library? That's way over by the cove.” Mom's eyebrows knit together, and I'm sure she's picturing me splatted out in front of Sadie's house or something.

“It's fine, Mom. It's not that far away. And I promise to stay on the side streets.”

She sighs. “I wish your dad never bought those carts, but all right. Be careful.”

“Of course,” I tell her before I roll on down the driveway. I'm going to hit the library first to rent some movies, and then the bank to finally deposit the money I made on Bubby's dog birthday party, and last of all Marks Makes Cakes, since Vi flat out refuses to set foot in there again. What I really should be doing is a marathon read of the last two books on my summer reading list, but Sadie's been staying home with Izzy all week, so without me, it would've been just Becca and Vi getting everything ready.

Because we
finally
booked another party. I don't know if “booked” is the right word, since even though Becca's been chatting up every single weekly who
comes into the Visitor's Center, and Vi made this awesome page full of pictures and captions from the parties we've already done to include with the flyers, and Sadie's been making calls to everyone we know who has a birthday coming up this month, no one's actually booked us for anything. Until last night, when I got a text from Bubby.

Lo baby
, my life iz over!

Since she's seventy-two years old, when she says something like that, I kind of picture her in the hospital.
What happened? Where are you?
I typed back.

My apt. But I'm sooooo sad! Mr. V is moving on.

Mr. V is in the hospital?

Nooooo . . . wish he wuz tho b/c then I'd still have a chance w/ him,
she wrote.

What are you talking about?

He's moving 2 Scotland!

Ohhhhh . . .

And that's when Bubby had the bright idea that if Sandpiper Active Senior Living (meaning her) threw Mr. Vernon a going-away party, then he might notice her and realize how wonderful she is and change his mind.

Guess who she wanted to plan the party?

So I know I should be grateful that we have another party. It just feels as if it doesn't count because Bubby is my family. That's like if you paint some amazing work for the elementary-school charity art auction, feel all proud about it hanging up in the school gym, and then your mother buys it. (And yes, that happened. May second, three years ago. The painting is still hanging in our living room. It's practically the only non-boat thing in the room.)

I roll into the square (careful to look in all directions just in case Mom's stats on golf-cart crashes are correct), and then turn right, around Merlin and the gazebo and toward Lava Java and the bridge.

“Lo! Wait!” Becca comes running from the Visitor's Center, her sparkly red purse flying out behind her.

I pull over in front of Lava Java and wait for Becca.

“Whew! I'm
so
glad you're here. I have to go to the photo counter at the pharmacy to print these pictures for the collages. Our printer's dead and Dad's using the one at the Visitor's Center to print out a gazillion and two flyers about the Founder's Day stuff next month. Plus I have to buy all the stuff to make the collages. So where are you going?” Becca leans on the golf cart and waits for me to answer.

“The library first.” I
check the time on my phone. Ten fifteen. I have to move if I'm going to make it to all my stops and back across the island to the marina before noon.

“Awesomesauce. We can stop at the pharmacy on the way.” She slips into the passenger seat of the golf cart and tucks her purse between her feet. And then looks at me, like she can't figure out why I'm not driving yet.

“Um, no. I can't drive friends, remember?” I wait for her to get out, but she doesn't budge.

“C'mon, Lauren! You're a really, really good driver, and the pharmacy isn't that far away. And besides, how am I supposed to carry all those pictures and glue and construction paper and markers on my bike? Pleeeeease?” She widens her eyes and blinks them, like she's going to cry big, fat tears if I don't agree.

“I can't, I'm sorry. If my parents see, I'll be dead.”

“Your dad's at the marina, right?”

“Yes. He's got some contractors coming at eleven to look at replacing part of the dock.”

“And your mom is . . .”

“Home. She was up all night at the hospital.” Wait. I see where she's going with this, and I fell right into it.

“So how in the world are your parents going to see
us riding around if we don't go anywhere near your house or the marina?” Becca straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin, and gives me her best toothy grin.

“Ugh . . . you know I hate it when you do this.” I grip the steering wheel and try to figure out how to get Becca out of the golf cart.

“What? Letting your BFF finally ride in this seriously ah-mazing set of wheels? Giving all you've got to our business? Driving past cute guys with our hair flying in the wind?” Becca's already scanning the square for boys.

“No, breaking the rules. And this thing only goes about twenty miles an hour, so not much is going to be flying in any wind.”

“I promise I'll give you all the rides you want in my future cherry-red convertible. Now, let's go.” Becca pulls a pair of big sunglasses and a filmy-looking white scarf from her purse. She ties the scarf around her head, puts on the sunglasses, and then sits there like some kind of black-and-white movie star.

“Right,” I say, as I shake my boring, non-scarfed, non-sunglassesed head and aim the golf cart around the square.

“Hi, Linney!” Becca gives Linney, who's just coming
out of Lava Java, a little finger wave, just like you see beauty queens do in parades.

“Becca! Shh!” I hit the gas pedal to try to move a little faster.

“What? You know we're totally making Linney jealous. I can't wait to tell Vi.”

And Linney might tell her mom, who might tell my mom. I just want to go to the library and get this over with.

“What exactly is Vi up to? I thought she was doing the collages and you were in charge of getting food from the deli,” I say as we roll down Live Oak Drive, past the little souvenir and fudge shops.

“Oh, that.” Becca giggles. Which is super annoying. I hate it when I don't know what's going on.

“What's going on?” I demand.

“I thought that if Vi was in charge of food, she'd see how she could make something so much more yummy than anything she can get at the deli. I wouldn't be surprised at all if she decided to make all the food at our next party. Hey, look, there's Lance and his mom. Hey, can we stop? Hiiiii, Lance!” Becca gives him her movie-star wave as we slowly roll by Terrific Teeth, the only dentist's office around.

“We can't
stop. Too much to do. And before you ask, no, we are
not
doing a Ryan drive-by either.”

Becca ducks her head to study her lap. Hmm. Strange.

“What's up? Are you over Ryan or something?”

“Or something,” Becca says, and her voice sounds kind of funny.

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing, why?” Now she sounds a little defensive. “Everything's fine. Seriously. Just yesterday he came into the Visitor's Center looking for a place to buy paint for his aunt's shed and I wrote him out directions to Whitemore's. No biggie.”

“And then you offered to lend your incredible eye for design in helping him pick out paint colors, of course, right?”

Becca punches me in the arm. “Very funny.” She tilts her head. “Although I really
do
have an eye for color.” She shakes her head. “But nah.”

I take my eyes off the road for just a millisecond and glance sideways at her. “Where is my Becca and when can I see her again?”

Becca giggles. “Don't be a dork. Okay, new subject. If we can't stop and talk to anyone, can we at least find some tunes?
Does this thing have a place to plug in my phone? I have a new playlist on it. You'll lo-ove.”

“Becca, it's a
golf
cart. I think you're supposed to be quiet on a golf course. Hey, you know how you could be helpful? Quiz me with the flash cards in my backpack.”

Becca makes a face. “No way. This is called having fun, Lo. Enjoy it already.”

Right. Fun. I can do this.

• • •

But okay. I admit the parties are fun. Not the driving around to stores with an illegal (according to the Rules By Mom) passenger or going to bakeries owned by the mother of the snootiest girl in town, but the actual parties with my friends.

I'm completely worn out from running all over the place in the golf cart with Becca and then working the afternoon at the marina, so I'm ready to at least try to relax and have fun when I open the door to the party room at Sandpiper Active Senior Living that evening. Then I see Bubby.

“Becca!” I snag her sleeve as she's arranging the photo collages she made on a table. “Can you talk some sense into Bubby? Did you see what she's
wearing
?”

Becca shrugs. “I think she looks cute.”

That's when I realize that Becca and Bubby are pretty much dressed the same: red plaid skirt that looks like a kilt, white button-down top, and a little hat with a pom-pom. The only difference is that Becca has her red hair in two braids sticking out from under her hat, and Bubby's hat rests on overcurled white hair.

“Okay. All right.”
Just breathe,
Lauren
. Who cares what
they're wearing? It's a Scotland-themed party, after all.
And then I see Sadie, who's got on a green plaid skirt and matching pom-pom hat.

Sadie spies me and zooms over. “Lauren, why aren't you dressed up?”

“I didn't realize we had to do the kilt thing too. I thought that was just for the guests.”

Sadie shakes her head and sighs, like I'm completely and utterly hopeless at throwing parties with silly themes.

“Look.” I hold up the bags I'm carrying. “I brought a cake with the Loch Ness monster on it, bagpipe-shaped cutouts to hang up, and some movie with Mel Gibson called
Braveheart
. I had to make these cutouts, you know. It's not like anyplace in Sandpiper Beach sells bagpipe cutouts.” Skull-and-crossbones cutouts, yes.
Lighthouse cutouts, definitely. But bagpipes? No way.

“Perfect. Now let me just put this on you so you don't look like you wandered into the wrong party.” Sadie wraps a plaid sash diagonally over my shoulder and ties it at my waist. Becca's face turns a little green when she sees how awful the plaid goes with my pink shirt.

Sadie steps back, squints at me, and then pulls a pom-pom hat from a bag behind her. “You need a tam,” she says.

“No, I—”

Becca takes the bags from my hands as Sadie slaps the tam on my head. I adjust the thing so it's not falling over my eyes. “Hey, do you think your mom will finally be able to make it today?” I ask.

“Nope.” Sadie makes a face. “This one's my fault, though. Since I'm not working for her anymore, I keep forgetting to look at her wedding calendar. She's actually had a wedding on the books for today since last fall.”

“Bummer,” Becca says, her arms full of the stuff I brought.

“Sorry, Sades,” I add.

“Yeah, well. It's still gonna be a great event, right?”
Sadie takes the movie and starts setting up the video equipment we borrowed from the Visitor's Center. Usually the TV shows a loop of
The Best of Sandpiper Beach and Surrounding Scenic Sandpiper County
. Becca makes an appearance in the background about halfway through, leading a tour as the Dread Pirate. She swears it's Pete, not her, but everyone can see her hair sticking out from under the pirate bandanna.

I'm standing there, wondering if I can talk Bubby into some normal clothes and whether I can get away with hiding my pom-pom hat behind the boxes of bingo cards on the nearest shelf, when I hear my name.

“Psst! Lauren!” Vi's calling me from the back door (aka the Great Dog Escape Door).

I push my hair forward to cover at least part of the plaid sash and go to help Vi. Who is also wearing a plaid skirt. Really. “Am I the only one who didn't get the message?” I ask.

“What?” She's only half paying attention to me, and then I see why. She's got the handle of a little red wagon in her hand, and the wagon is full of aluminum-foil-wrapped dishes.

And I'm completely stunned. Vi is such an amazing
cook, but is totally shy about it. “Vi! Did you make all of this? What's in there? I can't wait to try it!”

“No! Geez, will everyone just lay off the cooking thing? This is from the deli.” She bites her lip. “Okay, fine. I might've made some crab dip. It's in the cooler. But don't make a big deal out of it, all right?”

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. “So you need help getting it in? I could've brought it in the golf cart, you know, so you didn't have to walk with it.” I seriously cannot wait to try that dip. Maybe I can sneak some as we're setting up the food table. I'll have to grab some for Zach too. Crab dip is his absolute favorite. I can hold it hostage till he agrees to return the movie to the library for me.

“I only walked from the deli. Ms. Sanders next door let me borrow her kids' wagon and gave me a ride there on her way to pick up her son.” Vi pulls the wagon in as I hold the door open.

As I help her unload and uncover the food, Vi keeps making comments like “Why didn't they offer a vegetarian stew?” and “Where's the haggis? How can you have a moving-to-Scotland party without serving haggis?” I want to tell her there'd be plenty of vegetarian stew and haggis (yuck) if she had made the rest of the
food, but I stay quiet. Making crab dip for a big group of people is a huge step for Vi.