Cam stood. “I have a boyfriend. We’re going to Winter Formal. He might stop by later for cake, if there’s any left.” She grabbed her plate and glass. “You can have my place,” she told Phoebe.
Phoebe perched nervously at the edge of the chair. There was another awkward silence—almost long enough to make me wish Yarb would start hacking again.
“Winter Formal is a lot of fun,” Arden said with a faint air of desperation.
“High-school dances,” Neill scoffed, still working on his lukewarm fondue nuggets.
“You went to a lot of them?” Phoebe asked sweetly. Jasper grinned at her in open-mouthed delight.
“Jeff,” I said, before another fight could break out. “That’s the name of Cam’s date. He’s very environmentally conscious.”
Mom’s lips pursed with interest. “Hmm.”
“We set them up,” Arden confided.
Pittaya turned to Lydia. “Do you have a date?”
She folded her napkin before setting it down. “Are you asking?”
He nodded.
“Okay.” Lydia tried to sound casual, but a smile was about to break free, despite—or perhaps because of—the death glare she was getting from Anjuli.
“But ... just like that?” Arden looked as stunned as I felt, though I doubtedshe’dmentally penciled Pittaya in as a date for Terry. “After all the times I tried to set you up?”
Lydia moved a few leaves of salad around her plate. “Maybe I didn’t want a pity date.”
Oh no,I thought desperately, clutching the edge of the table.Not them too!
“We should go together,” Terry said, throwing me a lifeline. “Since we don’t have dates.”
“That’s hot.” Neill spoke through a mouthful of bread and cheese, making the words even more distasteful.
My parents turned to him in unison, smoke all but billowing from their ears. “I was talking about the fondue,” he choked, reaching for his glass.
“Well, this has been unexpectedly fun.” Jasper folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Is it time for cake?”
Dear Diary,
I wish I could afford to visit amodisteto design the gown for my first dance. She would hold up the fabrics one by one—shot silk, crushed velvet, sprigged muslin—until she found the perfect material to transform me into a more radiant version of myself.
But then I’d also need a maid to do my hair, and a carriage to get me there. Not to mention a dancing master to keep me from making a fool of myself.
M.P.M.
Chapter 23
I thought the aftermath of my birthdaywould resemble a war-torn landscape: the rubble of buildings, scorched earth, hollow-eyed survivors staggering through the ruined streets. Instead, the ensuing weeks were marked by a climate of remote politeness. It was as if the annual quota for soul-baring had been met and exceeded in that one night, leaving everyone shaky and subdued.
Arden made no further mention of Neill, beyond adding an entry about Egocentric Scoundrels with Poor Table Manners to our guide. Nor did she press Terry and me to find other dates, or demand details from Lydia about her plans with Pittaya. I attributed Arden’s diminished enthusiasm to the pressures of school and being on the dance committee, plus the general frenzy of December, all of which must be exacerbating her scheduling difficulties with Miles. It was no wonder she seemed distracted.
At home, the rest of the family tiptoed around Addie and Van. Mom filled the tea cabinet with herbal blends that prominently featured words likesoothing,harmony,andpeace. When there were no further explosions, and Cam didn’t rattle the household with additional revelations, we cautiously resumed our normal routines. Dad said hopeful things at the dinner table about clearing the air, prompting Jasper to volunteer, “That wasn’t me.”
This was followed by a gaseous noise we all knew and dreaded.
“Wait.” My brother held up a finger. “That one was.”
We all covered our noses.
