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Annie
"Pen,there’s a giant cupcake on my head." I stare in fascination at my bedroommirror.
"Super hot," my friend insists through my cellphone.
My once-over starts with my green-and-white striped tights and frilly dress and ends on the stuffed cupcake I found in the kids’ toy section at a thrift store and stitched onto my hairband. The mutant pink pastry lists drunkenly every time Imove.
“The goal isn’t to pick up. It’s to win this costume contest. But I’m starting to think this eighties toys concept was badjudgment.”
The highlight of Carly’s birthday party, to which the entire junior and senior classes are invited, is the costume contest. The queen bee’s minions go around like maniacal elves with bingo dabbers, stamping people to eliminate them until only one is leftstanding.
“One of us could win. Imagine how good it would feel,” Pen presses. “I get that when one of Carly’s dickwad friends does, there’s a halo effect for the rest of the year. The cool get cooler and all that. But what do you think would happen if one of uswon?”
“A glorious reprieve,” I say immediately. “No more shit rained down from thetop.”
I don’t need to be cool, but I’d settle for not being hated on for the remaining five months of junioryear.
Fitting in has always been tough for me, even before transferring into private school. I have a handful of friends—thank fuck for Pen—but I’d rather spend my weekend volunteering than shopping. I read too many books by dead people for fun. And I definitely don’t use my family name to get specialtreatment.
Though it’s hard toavoid.
Still, in another year and a half I’ll leave for college and make my own place in theworld.
It can’t come soonenough.
Pen’s voice brings me back. “What if we go to this party and you meet some undiscovered hottie who’s been flying under everyone’sradar—”
“And has a thing for toys from two decades before we wereborn?”
I turn sideways and tug on the skirt, frowning into the mirror. This dress looks way shorter on my five-eight than it did on therack.
“He’d be tall and smoking hot and drive a classic car instead of some Porsche off the line and keep his mouth shut except to make you very, veryhappy.”
I finger the lace edge of my skirt and bite my lip. “Sold.”
But the chances of any guy like that showing up at Oakwood are slim tonone.
The boys that stalk those halls are loaded and entitled. Every one I’ve met has had more money than decency. So I’ve stopped holding out hope for someone I can be myselfwith.
My phone buzzes with atext.
Dad:Come downstairs. There's someone you'll want tosee.
Must be Pen,anticipating I might be having second thoughts about the costume and coming in person to head me off at the pass. The girl’s intuitive, I’ll give herthat.
I turn off my music and head down the stairs toward the front door, phone still pressed to my ear as my cupcake bobs from side toside.
The front door's open, and I stalk outside. "The tights are fine, but this headband is going todecapitate—”
I stop so fast my cupcake lurches forward, ripping the entire headband off my head and bouncing on the slate in front ofme.
There’s no Penelope insight.
There is, however, a guy on a motorcycle, dressed in dark jeans and a black leatherjacket.
In my haste to retrieve the cupcake headband, I drop myphone.
