sidelong glances, as if she wasn't comfortable staring directly at me.
"Come on!" her sister repeated impatiently, and she bolted for the stairs.
I rolled over, picked up the phone, and dialed Connor's number. "Hey," he said when he heard
my voice. "I guess I got a little drunk last night."
"Just a little," I said.
Music pulsed in the background, and Connor rapped along with it for a second before saying, "I
gotta make it up to you, Red. How can I make it up to you?"
Come over to my house and drive a stake through my stepmother's heart. "I don't know," I said.
"I bet it's gonna cost me." Somehow he managed to make the words sound a tiny bit like a threat, a tiny bit like a dare; either way, it was pretty sexy.
"I bet it is," I said. Did Connor like me enough to spend the rest of his life in jail for killing my stepmother? Maybe if I asked him while I was wearing that red dress....
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He lowered his voice. "Can I ask you something, or are you too mad?" I shivered. It felt like he was whispering in my ear.
"I don't know," I said, whispering, too. "That depends on what it is."
"Well, try this one on for size." He paused. "Think you might be willing to come to the prom with me?"
Aaaaahhhhh!
He'd asked me. He'd actually asked me. I shot up, miraculously managing to swallow a scream.
Then I made myself sit down on the edge of the bed, cross my legs at the ankles, and speak
calmly into the phone. "I think I might consider it," I said. But it was impossible to stay seated, and I jumped to my feet, hopping from one to the other.
"You kill me, Red," he said. "There's no one cooler than you are."
It was a good thing Connor couldn't see me, since I wasn't sure I looked all that cool leaping
around in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of thick orange socks with holes in the heels, my hand
pressed to my lips so no screams would escape.
I heard the click of someone picking up another extension. "Hello?" It was Mara.
Oh my god, now she was listening in on my calls to my father and my boyfriend.
"Yeah, hi, Mara. I'm on the phone."
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"Lucy, you're awake. Why don't you come upstairs and say hello?"
"Now," she said, and she hung up.
"I gotta go, Connor," I said.
"Call me later," he said. "Prom date."
I hung up the regular phone and grabbed my cell before Mara came down to confiscate it. Jessica
picked up on the first ring. She didn't even say hello.
"Did Connor ask you?"
"Just now."
"Oh my god!" she screamed. "Dave asked me, like, five minutes ago, and Madison's on the
phone with Matt right now."
"We're going to the prom!" I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but I kept my voice down. The last thing I needed was for my stepmother to know there was something in my life I was actually
looking forward to. It would just make her that much more eager to take it away from me.
There was a knock on my door. "Lucy, Mom says you have to come upstairs now."
I lowered my voice to a whisper. "I gotta go."
"We're going to the prom," Jessica whispered.
"Why are you whispering?" I asked, starting to giggle.
"Why are you whispering?" she asked, giggling, too. "I don't know," I said.
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"Me either," she said. Then she started laughing for real, and so did I. "I'll call you later," she said.
I was laughing too hard to say anything else, so I just hung up the phone.
The dining room table was elaborately set for twelve, and soft classical music played in the
living room, where Mara, my dad, and a woman I didn't recognize were sitting having drinks.
"Hey, honey," said my dad, spotting me. "Sure you got enough sleep?" I knew he was making a joke, and I forced myself to smile.
"I think so," I said. Then I walked over to the unknown woman and extended my hand. "I'm
Lucy," I said.
"I'm Gail," she said. Except for her dyed blond hair, she could have been Mara's clone. They
were both in dark silk skirts and pale fuzzy sweaters, and each held a glass of white wine in her
hand.
I wondered if Gail knew she was going to be sleeping in my room, but it seemed impolite to ask.
With Connor's invitation still ringing in my ear, I knew the last thing I could afford was for my
dad to think I was being rude to Mara's friend. Sorry, Connor, I know I said I could go to the
prom with you, but I'm grounded.
Forever
I smiled broadly and turned to Mara. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I'd dressed in a blue silk dress I
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hadn't worn since I was about twelve. It was ugly as sin, but it wasn't jeans.
"Everything that needs to be taken care of for now is done," said Mara, "but I think it would be really nice if you and the girls would help serve drinks and dinner when the guests arrive."
Help serve drinks and dinner? What was I, the new maid? I kept the smile plastered on my face.
Prom. Prom. Prom. You're going to the prom. "Sure," I said. "Glad to help." I started to feel silly just standing there in the middle of the room, so I excused myself. "I guess I'll drop this in the
den," I said, picking up the bag I'd packed for my stint as an actual guest in my own house.
"Lucy, I was telling the girls I think it would be just charming if you all wore black and white
tonight," Mara called after me. I turned back. "Don't you think that would look nice?"
"Oh, yeah," I said. "I think that would look really nice." Mara smiled at me like I'd just made all her dreams come true. I smiled back at her the same way. Actually, Mara had just made one of
my dreams come true. I was going to see the Princesses forced to get up off their little Princess
asses and help serve a meal.
Within two minutes of walking in the door, the Martins, the Aliens, and the Clurmans had clearly
gotten the idea that I was an employee as opposed to the daughter of their host, no doubt in part
because A) I was dressed like
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a waitress at a cheesy catering hall, and B) Mara, rather than introduce me, said only, "Lucy,
please take everyone's coats and put them on my bed." Despite Mara's saying that the Princesses
and I would be serving together, I was the only one dressed like I'd be collecting a paycheck at
the end of the evening. My stepsisters were sporting fashionable new black-and-white Petit
Bateau shirts (Princess One had a white-on-black pattern, while Princess Two had gone with
black-on-white) and tiny black miniskirts, ensembles no doubt purchased for this occasion. As
far as I could tell, they weren't doing much besides "helping" my dad bartend, a task that
involved little more than throwing the occasional lemon wedge or swizzle stick into the
occasional glass. I, meanwhile, spent the first part of the evening running back and forth to the
kitchen with plates of hot appetizers Mara had ordered from her favorite caterer. The platters
were heavy, the kitchen was hot, and before long I'd developed a fairly gruesome headache.
Mara, smiling and chatting with her guests, barely acknowledged me as I walked around the
room offering cheese puffs.