Chapter 17
“You what?”
“I asked Conor to deliver Brett’s birthday cake today. I figured we’d be too busy blowing up balloons and so forth.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did,” Gretchen said.
“You asked Conor to deliver it here?” I nearly shrieked. “Gretchen! I could kill you right now.”
“Why?” she asked.
That’s when I remembered that she didn’t know about the whole Conor situation. All she knew was that I was going to the Snow Ball with Sean, and she was beside herself with excitement about that.
Wait until I told her we were going away for the weekend together. I hadn’t told her yet, because I was dreading her reaction. She knew I had plans to go on a trip with my friends that weekend, because I’d arranged that as soon as I got to her house.
“Why are you going to kill me?” she asked. “I was trying to do you a favor by not asking you to go pick up the cake. I figured you’d be busy enough getting ready for tomorrow night.”
“Well!” I cleared my throat. “That’s just it. I mean, first of all, you’re taking over this whole thing and acting like it’s your party, not mine.”
Gretchen had been jumping for joy—almost literally, almost bouncing off her crutches—ever since I told her that Sean had invited me to the Snow Ball. She’d read about the party in the newspaper’s society sightings page and had been curious about it ever since.
“I knew he’d ask you. This is so perfect! This is great!” she kept crying when I finally told her about it.
I had to tell her to back off. “Gretchen! I’m not like your protégé. You’re living through me or something weird like that.”
“Can’t I be excited for my little sister?” She looked very hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I’m a little stressed out about all this.”
So today, we’d spent the morning at a few malls, searching for the perfect dress for me. Finally we’d found something we both liked: it was strapless, a cool gold color, very classic and wintry looking. And according to Gretchen and the saleswoman (basically clones of each other), it looked great with my hair and slightly golden skin.
Whatever.
Gretchen had sprung for the gown, to thank me for everything I’d done to help her out over the past few weeks. But of course she’d also sprung for new shoes to match it, and a wispy scarf to wear over my shoulders, and some new gold nail polish that would match it.
And of course, a gown for herself. She’d lost ten pounds and was pretty excited about it, not to mention the fact she couldn’t go shopping without buying something for herself.
“Come on, forget about Brett’s silly birthday cake. Let’s talk about the party some more. Right now I’m going to teach you how to waltz,” she announced.
“What?” I cried. “I’m not going to have to waltz!”
“Yes, you are,” she said.
“How would you know, you’ve never gone to this thing,” I snapped. “Sorry. I’m just feeling a little, um, stressed. I won’t know anyone else there, you know?”
“Don’t worry about it. But that’s why you should learn to dance, because it never hurts to be ready for any situation. Emily Post, page 341.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Well, it’s in there somewhere.” Gretchen put on a CD of classical music. Then she hopped over to me, swinging on one crutch. “Come on, take my hands,” she said.
“Gretchen, they’re going to have a band. Like, a band that we’d all actually want to dance to,” I told her. “Music from the twenty-first century. I’m not waltzing with my sister, on crutches no less.”
“Do you want to look silly, or don’t you?” she asked.
“Hello? Look at us right now,” I said, laughing.
“Come on. Follow my lead,” she urged. “One-two-three, one-two-three…”
Suddenly Gretchen’s eyes widened.
“What? Did I step on your toe?” I said. “Did I hurt your broken leg? Oh no.”
She shook her head, still staring over my shoulder.
I turned around and saw Conor standing in the doorway, large white bakery box in hand. “Sorry. I knocked. But no one answered, so…”
“It’s okay!” I said. “Gretchen was, uh, imparting some of her dancing wisdom.”
“Where should I put this?” He skillfully closed the door behind him with his foot.
“In the kitchen,” I said. “Come on, I’ll, uh, help you.”
“It’s all right, I’ve got it,” he said as I trailed him down the hall to the kitchen.
I didn’t care if he had it, or not, I wanted to talk to him for a second. “So. How have you been?” I asked.
“Busy,” he said. “You know.” He carefully set the cake box on the counter, sliding it toward the wall so it couldn’t be knocked off by a small child or a dog. Or a very klutzy eighteen-year-old named Kirsten.
“Can I look at it?” I asked.
“It’s nothing special.” He shrugged. “Kids’ birthday cakes, you put a big number on them, decorate a little…”
“Did you do the decorating?” I asked.
He nodded. “Check it out after I leave,” he said.
“Why—”
I heard Brett’s shrieking before I heard his footsteps thundering down the stairs. He was chasing Bear. And my new golden dress was draped over Bear’s back, and my scarf was wrapped around his neck tightly, like a fancy collar.
Brett, of course, was wearing one of my new shoes.
“Connnnnnoooorrrrrr!” he screamed, right before he slammed into Conor’s legs.
“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?” Conor asked.
“Let’s make a snowman!” Brett cried.
“I can’t today. I don’t have time. Sorry,” Conor said.
“Please?” Brett begged.
“Brett, I have to get back to work,” Conor said. “Anyway, aren’t all your friends coming over soon? For your birthday party? That’s why I brought the cake.”
Bear was still racing around with my gown on his back. Gretchen was hopping around after him on her good leg, trying to pull it off with one of her crutches.
“Bear. Bear,” I said. “Come here. Bear!”
Conor grabbed Bear’s collar on his way back down the hall. He got Bear to stand still, and removed the dress and scarf. He held them out to me. “Yours?”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” I was standing there, doing nothing, completely stupefied.
“Sure. Hope it’s still wearable. Well, good luck with the dancing. Rock on.” He tipped his baseball cap to me and Gretchen, and went out the door.
“How embarrassing,” I said as I peeked out the window to watch him drive off in the bakery’s delivery van.
“Who cares? It’s only Conor.”
Only Conor.
I walked back into the kitchen and went over to investigate the birthday cake. We hadn’t had cake in the house since I got here. If Brett’s friends didn’t show up on time, there would be a piece missing.
I opened the box. To my surprise, inside were two boxes: one large, and one small. I opened the large one first. It was a large layer cake with strawberry frosting and a snowman saying, “Happy Birthday, Brett!” and a giant number 4. It was perfectly decorated.
Then I opened the small box. Inside was a chocolate cupcake, with chocolate icing, and chocolate sprinkles on top. And a note that said:
Here’s your favorite, and Brett’s favorite.
See you at the party tomorrow night?
—Conor
I smiled and felt this incredibly happy glow come to my face. He didn’t hate me anymore. He was going to the Snow Ball, without me, but he was still going. So I’d know someone else—I’d have a friend there.
Or maybe more than a friend.
I quickly grabbed the little box and took it upstairs to my room without showing Brett and Gretchen, where I could gaze at—and eat—the cupcake later, while I reread Conor’s note a few more times.