“What’s going on with you two?” my mom asks. “She hasn’t been around much lately.”
“Nothing. We’re both just busy.”
I can tell my mom was gearing up to ask another question. Time for a subject change. “Mommy, when you guys are in New York, can you pick me up some of that face cream I like from the spa you go to? The one that smells like sugarplums?”
“Maybe Santa will put it in your stocking,” my mom says with a wink.
So this is how I come to be having my first ever party party. I tell everybody at the lunch table on Thursday, and the sour look on Rennie’s face makes the whole thing worth it in advance. “Friday night, seniors only,” I say. “Super exclusive. I don’t want any random sophomores or whatever. Only the people we like.” Which means not you, Rennie.
“Your mom’s letting you have a party?” Rennie looks skeptical.
I’m about to snap at her, but then I realize that these are the first words Rennie has spoken to me in over a month. I force a swallow and say, “My mom won’t be here. Nadia, either.”
Rennie’s face gets pinched. “What about booze? Let me guess, this is going to be a dry party. Diet Coke and lemonade, am I right?”
I ignore her and touch Reeve’s arm. “Reeve? Can you ask one of your brothers to get me a few kegs for tomorrow? I can pay you after school.”
“No prob,” he says, gulping down a carton of milk. He wipes his mouth. “Tommy owes me for helping him move last week. Do you want some liquor, too? Something sweet for the girls, like peach schnapps or whatever?”
Hmm. I don’t want things to get too too crazy. But Rennie’s was watching so I say, “Maybe a bottle of tequila. For shots.” To the table I say, “But I don’t want it to get, like, out of hand. Can you guys please help me keep things under control? My mom will kill me if the house gets wrecked.”
Reeve nudges my foot under the table, his sneaker to my bootie. “I’ll be your bouncer,” he promises, giving me a look. “Only VIPs at Princess Lillia’s party.”
I’m tempted to sneak a peek at Rennie, to see the look on her face, but there’s no need. I know she’s seething inside. Guaranteed. To add more fuel to the flames I say, “And there won’t be a theme. Themes are so over.”
“Sounds good,” Alex says. “Let me know if I can help. Whatever you need.”
“Maybe you can pick up the pizzas?” I ask.
Alex nods. “No problem.”
After school Reeve texted me and asked him to help find an outfit for Rennie’s party, and I said yes, only because I hoped it would get back to her. So here we are at Second Time Around, a thrift store near Reeve’s house that his mom told him about. Reeve’s in front of a full-length mirror, trying on a double-breasted pinstriped jacket. “Um, I think that’s a women’s suit jacket!” I say, and I collapse into a fit of giggles.
“No way,” Reeve says confidently. “It’s definitely menswear. It just has a sleeker cut.”
I come up behind and get on my toes to check the label. Ann Taylor. “You’re right,” I say, trying not to smile. “Menswear.”
Reeve gives me a suspicious look and takes off the jacket. When he reads the label, he exclaims, “Ann Taylor! My mom shops there.” He tosses the jacket to me and I put it back on the hanger. “If I can’t find anything else, I guess it’ll work. The man makes the clothes; the clothes don’t make the man.”
I shake my head at him in mock wonder. “I can’t even believe how cocky you are.” I’m giving him a hard time, but the truth is, it’s nice to see him acting like his old self. I hand him a gray checked vest with buttons down the front. “You could wear this with a dress shirt and a tie.”
He unbuttons it and tries it on over his shirt. “Not bad,” Reeve says, checking himself out.
He does look handsome. Very GQ. I take a gray fedora off the hat rack and place it on his head. “Now you look perfect,” I tell him, tilting it just so. “Very jaunty. Very Gatsby-esque.” His cheeks are smooth; he shaved this morning. And he smells good—not like he doused himself in cologne, but clean, like Irish Spring soap.
“Cool, I’ll get it,” Reeve says. I can tell he’s pleased. He looks at himself in the mirror one last time, and then he takes the hat off and puts it on my head. He’s looking down at me, and then he gives my side braid a tug, and I have this strong feeling that he’s about to kiss me.
But behind Reeve, across the store, I spot two girls and a guy from our high school picking through the racks. They’re drama kids, probably looking for costumes or something. I don’t know their names, but I bet they know who Reeve and I are. And if they spotted us kissing, that kind of juicy gossip would be all over the school in a heartbeat.
Suddenly I feel dizzy. I take a quick step back and then dart away from him and head up to the register. Reeve follows, and I tell the girl at the counter, “We’ll take the fedora and the vest.”
Then Reeve pays, and we walk back toward his truck. The sun is bright out, but it’s cold. I tighten the scarf around my neck. I’m about to hop into the passenger side of the truck when Reeve clears his throat and says, “Would you want to come to my family’s open house?”
“What’s an open house?” Is he moving?
“It’s a thing my parents do every December,” Reeve explains. “My mom cooks a bunch of food, and people stop by all day. Mostly family and neighbors. It’ll be, like, my brothers and their girlfriends and my cousins. We watch football and decorate the tree, hang lights on the garage, nothing special.”
I wet my lips nervously. “When is it?”
“This Sunday. Drop by whenever. We’ll be around all day.”
“Okay,” I say. I’ve known Reeve for years, and I don’t remember him ever mentioning an open house. I can’t believe he’s actually inviting me. It’s really sweet. But it’s also really real. Like, hanging out with his mom and dad and brothers and their girlfriends? That’s something only a girlfriend would do.
Which I guess is a good thing.
Reeve’s face breaks into a relieved smile. “Yeah? Okay, cool. You can stop by whenever. I mean, people start coming in the morning, and my mom makes these kick-ass sweet rolls, so maybe come around ten before my brothers eat them all.”
“Nothing. We’re both just busy.”
I can tell my mom was gearing up to ask another question. Time for a subject change. “Mommy, when you guys are in New York, can you pick me up some of that face cream I like from the spa you go to? The one that smells like sugarplums?”
“Maybe Santa will put it in your stocking,” my mom says with a wink.
So this is how I come to be having my first ever party party. I tell everybody at the lunch table on Thursday, and the sour look on Rennie’s face makes the whole thing worth it in advance. “Friday night, seniors only,” I say. “Super exclusive. I don’t want any random sophomores or whatever. Only the people we like.” Which means not you, Rennie.
“Your mom’s letting you have a party?” Rennie looks skeptical.
I’m about to snap at her, but then I realize that these are the first words Rennie has spoken to me in over a month. I force a swallow and say, “My mom won’t be here. Nadia, either.”
Rennie’s face gets pinched. “What about booze? Let me guess, this is going to be a dry party. Diet Coke and lemonade, am I right?”
I ignore her and touch Reeve’s arm. “Reeve? Can you ask one of your brothers to get me a few kegs for tomorrow? I can pay you after school.”
“No prob,” he says, gulping down a carton of milk. He wipes his mouth. “Tommy owes me for helping him move last week. Do you want some liquor, too? Something sweet for the girls, like peach schnapps or whatever?”
Hmm. I don’t want things to get too too crazy. But Rennie’s was watching so I say, “Maybe a bottle of tequila. For shots.” To the table I say, “But I don’t want it to get, like, out of hand. Can you guys please help me keep things under control? My mom will kill me if the house gets wrecked.”
Reeve nudges my foot under the table, his sneaker to my bootie. “I’ll be your bouncer,” he promises, giving me a look. “Only VIPs at Princess Lillia’s party.”
I’m tempted to sneak a peek at Rennie, to see the look on her face, but there’s no need. I know she’s seething inside. Guaranteed. To add more fuel to the flames I say, “And there won’t be a theme. Themes are so over.”
“Sounds good,” Alex says. “Let me know if I can help. Whatever you need.”
“Maybe you can pick up the pizzas?” I ask.
Alex nods. “No problem.”
After school Reeve texted me and asked him to help find an outfit for Rennie’s party, and I said yes, only because I hoped it would get back to her. So here we are at Second Time Around, a thrift store near Reeve’s house that his mom told him about. Reeve’s in front of a full-length mirror, trying on a double-breasted pinstriped jacket. “Um, I think that’s a women’s suit jacket!” I say, and I collapse into a fit of giggles.
“No way,” Reeve says confidently. “It’s definitely menswear. It just has a sleeker cut.”
I come up behind and get on my toes to check the label. Ann Taylor. “You’re right,” I say, trying not to smile. “Menswear.”
Reeve gives me a suspicious look and takes off the jacket. When he reads the label, he exclaims, “Ann Taylor! My mom shops there.” He tosses the jacket to me and I put it back on the hanger. “If I can’t find anything else, I guess it’ll work. The man makes the clothes; the clothes don’t make the man.”
I shake my head at him in mock wonder. “I can’t even believe how cocky you are.” I’m giving him a hard time, but the truth is, it’s nice to see him acting like his old self. I hand him a gray checked vest with buttons down the front. “You could wear this with a dress shirt and a tie.”
He unbuttons it and tries it on over his shirt. “Not bad,” Reeve says, checking himself out.
He does look handsome. Very GQ. I take a gray fedora off the hat rack and place it on his head. “Now you look perfect,” I tell him, tilting it just so. “Very jaunty. Very Gatsby-esque.” His cheeks are smooth; he shaved this morning. And he smells good—not like he doused himself in cologne, but clean, like Irish Spring soap.
“Cool, I’ll get it,” Reeve says. I can tell he’s pleased. He looks at himself in the mirror one last time, and then he takes the hat off and puts it on my head. He’s looking down at me, and then he gives my side braid a tug, and I have this strong feeling that he’s about to kiss me.
But behind Reeve, across the store, I spot two girls and a guy from our high school picking through the racks. They’re drama kids, probably looking for costumes or something. I don’t know their names, but I bet they know who Reeve and I are. And if they spotted us kissing, that kind of juicy gossip would be all over the school in a heartbeat.
Suddenly I feel dizzy. I take a quick step back and then dart away from him and head up to the register. Reeve follows, and I tell the girl at the counter, “We’ll take the fedora and the vest.”
Then Reeve pays, and we walk back toward his truck. The sun is bright out, but it’s cold. I tighten the scarf around my neck. I’m about to hop into the passenger side of the truck when Reeve clears his throat and says, “Would you want to come to my family’s open house?”
“What’s an open house?” Is he moving?
“It’s a thing my parents do every December,” Reeve explains. “My mom cooks a bunch of food, and people stop by all day. Mostly family and neighbors. It’ll be, like, my brothers and their girlfriends and my cousins. We watch football and decorate the tree, hang lights on the garage, nothing special.”
I wet my lips nervously. “When is it?”
“This Sunday. Drop by whenever. We’ll be around all day.”
“Okay,” I say. I’ve known Reeve for years, and I don’t remember him ever mentioning an open house. I can’t believe he’s actually inviting me. It’s really sweet. But it’s also really real. Like, hanging out with his mom and dad and brothers and their girlfriends? That’s something only a girlfriend would do.
Which I guess is a good thing.
Reeve’s face breaks into a relieved smile. “Yeah? Okay, cool. You can stop by whenever. I mean, people start coming in the morning, and my mom makes these kick-ass sweet rolls, so maybe come around ten before my brothers eat them all.”
