You're Invited (3 page)

“Knock, knock! Miss me?” Becca floats down the narrow steps.

“Sorry I sent the signal in the middle of your Visitor's Center reception thingy,” Sadie says.

Becca's
parents are in charge of the Sandpiper Beach Visitor's Center. Technically, they run an association of all the businesses in our town, but they also have a little glassed-in kiosk where tourists can get brochures and directions to the closest bathroom and facts about local history (which aren't always correct—I mean, the lighthouse was built in 1857, not 1859 like I heard her dad tell someone last week). That's where they're always hanging out, which irritates Becca to no end.

I see her point, though. Sandpiper Beach has a population of 4,042 (in the winter, at least—that number quintuples when the summer crowds show up—and that's being nice and including the part of the town that's actually on the mainland, across the bridge), so pretty much everyone knows everyone else's business already. But when your parents are in a glass box in the center of town 24/7, they
really
know everything that's going on.

Becca waves her hand. “Ugh, it was sooooo seriously boring. Deadly. Except at the very end when this completely adorable guy showed up with Mrs. O'Malley. I think he was her grandson or something. I was
thisclose
to working my way over to him when my phone buzzed. Lo, are you planning to share those or not?”

I take just one more pita chip and reluctantly pass the bag to Becca.

“Wait, there's a guy who exists in this town and you don't know every single detail about him? How is that even possible?” Vi draws up her knees and rests her chin on them, grinning at Becca.

Becca's quest for a boyfriend began the day she turned twelve and decided she was officially old enough for one. So far she hasn't had the best luck, which probably has a lot to do with the whole population 4,042 thing and the fact that everyone in our grade has known each other since we wore swim diapers while building our sand castles.

“Now I have to go all Nancy Drew and track him down. Who's with me on this?” Becca seems ready to whip out a notepad and a magnifying glass, detective-style.

“Could we talk about guys later, maybe?” Sadie says.

Becca squints in the dim flashlight glow. “Have you been crying?”

“Sadie, what happened?” Vi scoots closer and wraps a long, tanned arm around Sadie.

“Mom fired me.”

“She
what
?!” Becca says. She's got this look on her
face like Cute New Guy just told her he has a girlfriend.

“How? Why? Wait, does this have something to do with all those fireworks that went off tonight?” I grab Sadie's hand. Working with her mom's wedding-planning business means—meant—
everything
to Sadie. It's so different from me working in the marina office. I'm only here because Dad pays me, not because I'm super into boats.

“Yeah, that was kind of my fault. All the fireworks went off at the same time, a bridesmaid and her dog went overboard, a gull pooped in my hair, the happy couple is going on a morning show to do a tell-all, and Mom doesn't want me working with her anymore.” Sadie's not really looking at any of us.

“A seagull pooped in your hair?” Becca couldn't look more horrified. Sadie nods and Becca shudders. “I'd die. Die! So dead.”

Vi's hiding her face, and I just know she's trying really hard not to laugh. I'm sure it's more at the thought of a bird pooping in Becca's hair than at what actually happened to Sadie.

“But you're so good at planning and organizing and coming up with really creative stuff. The anchor invitations you designed for the marina's Christmas party
were Mom and Dad's favorite thing ever. And all the costumes you pulled together for the
Little Women
production at school last year? Everyone was talking about them,” I say. “You need to show your mom that she can't live without your help.”

“Exactly,” Vi adds. She's tossing the bottle of warm water up in the air and catching it, like it's a weirdly shaped baseball. “Hey, you should totally plan a wedding on your own and remind her how great you are at party planning!”

“Yeah, something totes better than a
Little Mermaid
wedding, too. Something so, so, so ah-mazing that the bride and groom would pay you, like, a gazillion billion dollars because you're giving them the wedding they only wished they'd dreamed about,” Becca says.

“Like the one you're already planning for yourself and Visitor's Center Guy?” Sadie's actually smiling now.

Becca shrugs. “No. Maybe.”

“But who would hire a twelve-year-old to plan a wedding?” I ask. “Even though you'd be awesome at it, Sades.”

Becca leans forward. “Maybe not a wedding. But what about some other kind of party, like a birthday?”

Sadie's face lights up. “I could do that.” Her face falls again. “
But none of us have birthdays coming up.”

“But I know exactly who
could
use a little birthday-party-planning help.” Becca pulls a business card from her pocket and passes it across the flashlights to Sadie. “While I was watching the new guy scarf cheese and crackers at the social tonight, Mrs. Campbell was going on and on to my parents about booking the Poinsettia Plantation House for her daughter's birthday party, except all they had available was next Saturday afternoon, and how could she organize a party in that short amount of time, and blabbity blah blah. She seemed really freaked out about it. Of
course
Mom volunteered me to help with the kids during the party.” Becca rolls her eyes.

Sadie gazes at the business card. “I could plan that, if Mrs. Campbell would let me. But there's no way I can do it by myself.”

“We'll help.” Vi leans back to catch her water-bottle baseball. “Becca, can you call her now?”

“Really? You're all into this?” Sadie looks around the circle at us.

“Of course,” Vi says.

“Definitely.” I'm trying not to think of everything else I have to get done this week—SAT study class, working at the marina, volunteering at the homeless
shelter in Wilmington on Thursday, and playing Bunco with my grandmother and her friends at Sandpiper Active Senior Living on Friday.

But Sadie is my best friend. And if she needs help planning a party, I don't care how many things I have to move around in my schedule to make that happen.

The pink rhinestones on Becca's phone case sparkle in the flashlight beams as she punches in Mrs. Campbell's number. I reach over the flashlights and quietly pull the bag of pita chips back across the floor. That sea-salt stuff isn't so bad.

“Hi? Mrs. Campbell? This is Becca Elldridge. . . . What? Oh. Yes, Mom and Dad
are
godsends to this town. . . .” Becca's fighting another eye roll, I can totally see it. “Saturday at two . . . well, that's exactly what I'm calling about. . . .”

Vi's poking Becca in the knee with the end of her water bottle and mouthing
speakerphone
. Becca shakes her head.

“You see, I have this amazing friend, Sadie Pleffer . . . you know her? Yeah, she's pretty great, isn't she?” Becca smiles at Sadie, whose face is turning red. “So it turns out she's really awesome at party planning. Yup, just like her mom! I'm sorry, what?”

Becca's
nodding and saying “mmm-hmm” a lot. I'm dying to say “What?” already, but that's super annoying when you're trying to talk to someone on the phone. Not that Vi cares about that. She's poking Becca's knee again and whispering, “What? What's she saying?”

Becca swats at Vi's hand. “I think we can help you with that. Well, Sadie mostly . . . sure, you can talk to her.” She passes Sadie the phone.

Sadie's face changes into an exact copy of her mom's when she's in wedding mode. “Hi, Mrs. Campbell?” After a pause, Sadie launches into a description of all the things she used to do for her mother's business. “And we'll take care of the cake, the decorations, the entertainment, everything! All you have to do is show up with Molly. I just need to know how much we can, um, spend. Oh, wow, really?” She points at my backpack and mimes writing something.

I scrounge in my bag and pass her my lucky test-taking pen and a notebook. Sadie scribbles as she listens, and then she hangs up with Mrs. Campbell after telling her thank you about a million times.

“So? What did she say?” Vi's put the water bottle down and is twisting the damp ends of her ponytail around her finger.

“She said . . . yes!” Sadie couldn't smile any bigger if she tried.

Becca pounces on Sadie and bear-hugs her. “You're going to be a real, official party planner!”

“
We
are,” Sadie says.

“Of course!” I say. “Um, details, please?”

“Oh, right! So the party is at Poinsettia Plantation over on the mainland on Saturday at two. It's for Mrs. Campbell's daughter Molly, who will be nine. She told me to ‘have at it.' Her budget is . . . well . . .”

Becca waves a hand. “They're mega-rich, we know.”

“Right. And—get this—she's going to pay us!” Sadie's face is flushed red in the glow of the flashlights.

“Like, actual money?” Vi asks.

“No, Monopoly money. Of course it's actual money, silly!” Becca teases. “So, what kind of theme, Sades?”

Sadie taps her hand on her knee. “Have y'all seen the porch at that house? It's huge, and they have all those little tables and chairs. It would be perfect for a fancy tea party.”

“Ooh, with all different kinds of tea and a big cake!” Wait, did that just come out of my mouth? Okay, maybe I'm a little more excited about this party-planning thing than I thought.

“I
love that place. It's like straight out of
Gone with the Wind
,” Becca says. “The porch reminds me of the very beginning, you know, where Scarlett flirted with those red-haired boys?” She waves a hand at her face, like she's Scarlett O'Hara fanning herself.

“Um, I've never seen
Gone with the Wind
,” Vi says.

“You
what
!? Okay, just trust me on this. That place is so
Gone with the Wind
,” Becca says.

“Yeah, I think it actually looks more like a haunted house,” I say.

“Haunted by the ghosts of Southern belles past, you mean,” Becca says.

“Murdered Southern belles. I swear those windows look like dark, empty eyes.” I actually kind of hate going by there at night, but I keep that to myself. I know ghosts can't really exist. It's not logical. But still . . . the ground lights they use make the house look all tall and twisted. And there are all these vines and Spanish moss. It's super creepy. As long as we have the party on the porch during the day, I think I'll be okay. Logical or not, I refuse to go inside. Period.

“Lauren, I can't believe you're not writing all this down.” Sadie picks the notebook and pen back up.

“If I wasn't
completely freaked out by the idea of Civil War ghosts crashing a birthday party, then maybe I'd be taking notes.” I shiver, even though it's still hot and stuffy inside the
Purple People Eater
, despite the open windows.

Sadie writes something and then lays the notebook down on the yacht floor next to the flashlights.

Vi leans forward to read, and her ponytail swings over her shoulder. “Tea, Southern belles, and murdered ghosts. Ooo-
kay
.”

“The murdered ghosts thing wasn't an actual idea. More like a reason I'm glad we're doing this during the day.” I reach for my pen to cross out the ghosts, but Sadie pulls it away.

“Wait,” she says. “This could work.”

We all just look at her.

“No, really!” Sadie's got her planning face on—the one that's smiles and concentration at the same time. “See, tea and pretty dresses go great together, but that's going to entertain nine-year-olds for what, like five minutes? But . . . if we turn it into a murder-mystery party . . .”

“Ohhh!” Vi says. “Like those games you can buy,
where someone's a ‘murderer' and everyone has to put the clues together and figure out who it is?”

“Exactly! And if we can act out the murder scene, they'll love it even more.” Sadie's already scribbling more notes.

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘we'?” I say. “There's no way I'm acting anything out. No, nada, uh-uh.”

Becca leaps up. “I call the part of the murdered person!” Becca mimes pulling a knife out of her stomach, rolls her eyes back, and collapses into a heap next to the warm water bottles. Then she sits straight up. “All I need is a cute someone who could catch me as I die and weep over my dead body.”

“Becca, you're definitely the most dramatic one here, that's for sure. Don't worry. We'll have a part for you,” Sadie says. Her brain is obviously in mega-organizer mode.

I cross my arms. “I am
not
acting anything. Y'all act. I'll be the narrator or whatever.”

“We'll figure that out later,” Sadie says. “Is everyone okay with a Southern murder-mystery tea party?”

We all nod, and Becca offers to call Mrs. Campbell to run it by her. Then Sadie makes a list of things to do and we split it up.

Becca's
phone buzzes just as Sadie checks off the last to-do assignment. “It's Daddy,” Becca says. “I guess he's all done tending to his sheep.”

Sadie looks at her sideways.

“All the business owners in the chamber of commerce. Dad says they're like his flock. Please, if he had real sheep, can you imagine the fabulous sweater collection I would have? Anyway, I gotta bolt. If I'm not home by nine thirty, he'll totally murder me and not even care that the crime would keep tourists away. Smooches!”