“Exactly. After that she’d officially be ‘out.’”
Terry’s mouth opened in an O of surprise. “Out as in—?”
“Letting down her skirts, changing her hairstyle, going to grown-up social events. Once you made your debut, you were eligible for courtship, so your chaperone would plan a ‘season’ to introduce you to everyone, mostly in hopes of finding you a husband.”
“So pretty much like high school,” Arden said.
Lydia raised a hand, index finger extended. “Except for the teen bride part.”
“Obviously,” Arden retorted, rolling her eyes. “That’s just how they did it back in the day. They were probably in a hurry to lock it down before they lost their teeth. We can focus on other things. Personal growth. Fixing your skirts, like Mary said. Which I totally love, by the way. It feels”—she cupped her hand as if summoning the right word—“classy.”
Lydia stood and began gathering her things. “You know what’s not classy? Pit stains. We better start walking so I don’t sweat all over myself.”
“I can’t wait until Thursday,” Arden sighed as we began the return journey. She must have seen the consternation on my face. “It’s my birthday. Sweet sixteen. And I think we all know what that means.”
“Limousines and a DJ?” Lydia teased. “A sheet cake with your face on it? Renting out a hotel ballroom?”
“Yeah, no. Great-Aunt Aggie’s birthday is the same day, so we’re going to her house for dinner. It’s a whole thing. But onFridayI get my license.” She waggled her brows. “Just in time for the party at Kaitlynn’s.”
Lydia pinched the pink fabric of her T-shirt away from her chest, fanning it for air flow. “So we’re going?”
“I think we should. It’s the first big event of the school year, and everyone will be there. What better way to kick off theseason?”
There was a beat of silence before Lydia spoke. “What’s with the TV announcer voice?”
“I’m in my feelings, okay? This is going to be epic.”
“It’s not going to be that epic,” Lydia tossed over her shoulder, to where Terry and I were walking side by side. “My curfew is eleven.”
Arden shushed her, thumb and fingers clamping together like a sock puppet. “Don’t spoil the moment.”
Dear Diary,
Parties at my old school: The same minuscule guest list every time. Allergen-free snacks. If things got wild, magic tricks.
Parties in books: Gossip and games of whist. Piano ballads. If things got wild, rolling back the carpet for a quadrille.
Parties at Millville High: ???
M.P.M.
Chapter 7
The thumping bass seemed to emanatefrom inside my bones. The sternum, to be exact. It was Friday night, and we were standing in front of a two-story house on an otherwise quiet cul-de-sac, preparing our souls for what lay on the other side of the door.
Arden looked nervously from me to Terry. “Um, yeah, so I thought it would be a little more chill.” Her smile lacked its usual wattage. “But don’t worry. If it’s a nightmare, we can leave. I havelotsof other things on my list for Lady Mary’s season. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? Like from Downton Abbey?”
I shook my head, dazzled by the prospect of such a glamorous nickname. Or any nickname bestowed by someone outside my family.
“Great! Okay then.” Arden paused in the act of turning to the door. “Listen, once we start meeting people, if any of them are bad news, pass it on. Dark secrets, evil tendencies, a twisted past. Whatever.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink before raising her hand to knock.
The door flew open before she made contact. The noise from the stereo punched the night, followed by a chorus of hyena-like shrieks. A guy in a dripping T-shirt staggered past, clutching a large athletic shoe (in addition to the two on his feet).
The music cut off abruptly. A few seconds later, a slower, smoother beat took its place.
“Right.” Arden straightened her shoulders. “Maybe it’s starting to calm down.”
“You’re a real glass-half-full kind of person,” Lydia murmured, following her across the threshold.
