You’re Invited Too (17 page)

“RSVP!” I shout.

“RSVP!” they echo.

“We just have to set limits, that's all,” Sadie says as she stands up. “Somehow.”

“I think she's stuck with us, no matter what.” Becca hands the bucket of flashlights to Lauren. “It's too late for her to find another wedding planner now.”

“Okay, so the next time she makes some outrageous demand, we have to talk her out of it. Right?” I wrap my arms around myself as Lauren clicks off all the flashlights and stows them on the
PPE
's countertop. Becca's right. It is freezing in here. I guess that means fall has finally arrived in Sandpiper Beach.

“Right,” Lauren says. She leads the way up the narrow stairs. “No more running when she calls. Okay, Sadie?”

“Well, I mean, if it's not a big deal, and I'm not doing anything anyway, I don't mind, really.”

“Sadie!” Becca stands on deck with her hands on her hips. “The whole point of this going-to-church—”

“Come-to-Jesus,” I correct her.

“Yeah, that. The whole point was to make it clear that things have to change! And it has to be all of us making the change. Including you.”

Sadie hops off the
PPE
onto the dock. “Okay, I promise.”

“All for one, and one for all, y'all,” Becca says with a big grin. The second she smiles, the wind gusts. “Oww.”

•  •  •

The sun has warmed everything up and the wind's died down by the time the game against the Live Oak Beach Coquinas starts. Our Pirate Pelican mascot is dancing along the sidelines. I always thought he was one of the worst mascots in the history of team mascots—until I saw the Coquina. At least the Pirate Pelican can look a little fierce. The Coquina just sort of . . . stands there. Because it's basically a clam in a shell, it doesn't really have legs or arms or anything. At the bare minimum, they should have stuck an eye patch around its shell. At least the Coquina is so big that it hides the one person I really don't want to see—Linney. But I know she's back there, probably moving a single strand of honey-gold-highlighted hair back into place and glaring at everyone.

As I take my position on the field, I scan the bleachers for familiar faces. There, right in the very front, are Lauren, Sadie, and Becca. And Dad. I wave at them, giving myself a second to enjoy the fact that Dad is here to watch me, and then I get my head into the game. We win the coin toss and give the Coquinas the kickoff to start.

I move through the actions, focusing on the ball and the strategy. At one point in the first half, I've got the ball. I keep it close, moving straight toward the goal. I have one focus, and that's to make that ball connect with net. Nothing else matters.

Even though I'm zeroed in on where I'm going, I'm still completely aware of the guy next to me in his purple Coquinas uniform. I maneuver this way and that to keep him away from the ball. But just as I get into kicking distance to the goal, he leaps in front of me and steals the ball away. I kick out to get it back and completely wipe out, landing smack on my back as he moves away with the ball.

“You okay?” Lance reaches out a hand. This summer, he would've cracked some joke about me tripping over my own feet. And then I would've said something really smart-alecky back. But now he just asks if I'm okay.

I kinda miss the old Lance.

“Yeah, just give me a second.” I lie there on the grass, trying to catch my breath as the referee blows his whistle for play to stop. I roll my head to the right, just in time to see Dad stand up, looking really concerned. My friends stand too—until Sadie pulls her phone from her purse. Then she sits down. It's probably Miss Worthington, asking if we can relocate the entire wedding to Outer Mongolia or someplace.

One of the referees comes jogging over to me. I'd better get up before they think I'm really hurt.

“Let me help you,” Lance says, sticking his hand out again.

“I'm fine. I don't need any help.” I dig my palms into the grass and push myself up. I know he's my teammate and is supposed to show concern and all, but I'm not falling for it. Especially since he's already turned away from me and is looking right at Linney in her Pirate Pelicans cheerleading outfit. She's leading some kind of chant, out in front with the other girls behind her.

I don't really care what Linney's doing or not doing, so I nod to the referee to show him I'm okay. I'm just about to wave to Coach Robbins when I hear it.

“Kick that ball! Don't fall!”

No way is Linney directing that cheer at me. She couldn't do that, not here, in front of everyone.

“Hey,
boys
!” she shouts, looking directly at me.

“Hey, what?” the other cheerleaders yell back.

“Kick that ball! Don't fall!”

I'm pretty sure my cheeks are going pink. Lance is still watching her. I can't see what he's doing, but he's making some kind of motion with his hands. Probably clapping or something.

I really can't believe that I ever liked him like that, even a little.

The referee blows his whistle again, and the game swings back into action. I'm so focused on playing that I don't hear anything beyond the shouts of my teammates until halftime.

I follow everyone over to the sidelines and grab a bottle of water. Up in the stands, Dad gives me a huge smile. I grin back. Even though no one's scored yet, it's still been a good game. It's nice to have him here, even if it means I have to see him in that navy-blue uniform tomorrow, sweeping the stairs at school.

Next to him, Lauren and Becca wave. Sadie's not there—she must've had to go to the bathroom or something. Since we agreed not to jump when Miss Worthington called, I know she couldn't have run off to do anything wedding related. My heart fills up when I realize that everyone I love the most is here, just to see me.

I'm leaning against the fence, talking strategy with Katie Asselin and the twins Ben and Jack Molanari, when the cheerleaders take the field. I have all the respect in the world for the girls who do crazy flips and stunts that I'd probably break my neck trying, but Linney is the
last
person I want to see. Especially when I've got half a game left to play.

Ben's showing Jack, Katie, and me how to do a Cruyff turn (using his fingers as legs) when the cheerleaders burst into another cheer.

“Two, four, six, eight! Who do we appreciate?” they all shout in unison.

“Lance, Lance, goooooo, Lance!” And
that
would be Linney.

From over by the water bottles, Lance's face goes beet red. I smirk—just a little. Totally serves him right.

“Vi, what do you think?” Ben asks.

“Oh, um, that's good,” I say, even though I wasn't paying attention to him at all. Which is So Not Vi. Why I am more concerned with Linney than I am with the game?

I try really hard to listen to Ben, Jack, and Katie debate more strategy, but I keep getting distracted. After embarrassing a bunch of other guys and girls on the team, the cheerleaders move on to something about . . . violets?

I slowly turn my head until I can see Linney leaping around in the middle of the field.

“Why have a violet when you can have a rose? Cheer for the Pelicans from your head to your toes!” Linney shouts. Then she jumps up and touches her toes. Because obviously. “Roses are so pretty, and they always win. Violets are the last pick, and they stick like a pin. Cheer for the Pelicans to score a ten!”

I can't believe it. She totally made that cheer up. Besides being really bad and not making any sense, it's so clearly about me. I'm the violet and she's, what, the rose? It almost makes me want to laugh, except I wonder if anyone else has gotten it.

Lance looks right at me. He gets it. He frowns and shakes his head.

Please.
I don't need his pity. Being pitiful is So Not Vi. I look back up into the stands, at the people who really matter. Dad's watching Linney too, and he doesn't look all that happy. Maybe this is good. . . . After seeing how awful Linney's being, in front of everyone from parents to the team from Live Oak Beach, maybe he'll finally get how hard his job is making school for me. And maybe he'll quit.

That itty-bitty glimmer of hope makes me just a tiny bit happy—for a second. Then I remember that if Dad didn't have this school job, he wouldn't be here at my game. And we wouldn't get to take the kayaks out as much as we can now, and I'd go back to eating a lot of dinners by myself.

Linney repeats the whole entire awful violets/roses cheer. I'm not so sure now that I want Dad to go back to construction. Having him here—with me—is one of the best things ever. I love that he's sitting there, with my friends. Except, wait . . . I look to Dad's left again, where Sadie, Becca, and Lauren should be.

They aren't there.

Even as halftime ends (complete with Linney shouting, “Don't fall again, okay, Violet?” as she runs off the field), my friends still aren't in their seats. As I move into position with my team, I finally remember why.

Alexandra Worthington. Who insisted that today was the only day she could get to the church to plan every millisecond of the wedding ceremony, from how many seconds need to be between each bridesmaid's walk down the aisle to testing how far the musicians will have to sit from the guests so the music will be the perfect volume.

I hate that my friends aren't here to see the end of the game, but at least Dad is. And so I ignore Linney's smug face, try to bury my annoyance at Alexandra Worthington, and just concentrate on playing for Dad.

I don't think about Lance at all. Not one little bit.

TODAY'S TO-DO LIST:

■
 confirm dress pickup

■
 make candles in vintage teacups

■
 finish tying labels on key wedding favors

■
 fold old-fashioned paper fans out of the printed wedding programs

■
 call caterer and check on whether their forks have three tongs or four, and report back to AW

■
 e-mail directions to hotel to AW's third cousin

■
 see how much Zach will charge to drive us to the mall in Wilmington to pick out bridesmaid gifts for twelve

■
 get Vi to bake Zach some s'mores bars to bribe Zach if money alone won't do it

■
 talk Lauren into stealing Zach's game controller if food and money aren't enough

■
 finish math homework

■
 find binders to organize all wedding documents/contracts in—one copy for each member of RSVP

■
 put all papers in binders, color code red for Becca, yellow for Lauren, green for Vi, and blue for me

■
 EVERYTHING ELSE (AND THERE'S SO SO SO MUCH!)

I
zzy, you are the absolute
best
sibling anywhere. Seriously. I mean it.”

My little sister goes all pink. “You're just saying that because I'm helping you tie tags around all these old-timey keys.” She threads a piece of brown twine through the hole in the top of one, slips on a tag that says
LOVE IS THE KEY TO EVERYTHING
, and ties them off.

“Maybe. But you have to admit, these are awesome, right?” I'm super proud of myself for coming up with this idea for wedding favors. Way better than the dolphin bobbleheads we returned. They're perfect for the vintage theme, and best of all, Alexandra Worthington loves the idea. Which means I love it doubly much.

Izzy shrugs. “If you're into this kind of thing.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I am.” I only have twenty-seven pages of Pinterest ideas on my Alexandra Worthington Vintage Wedding board, so I'd say, yeah, maybe.

Izzy picks up another key and begins the process over again. “How come the other girls aren't here doing this with you?”

I jostle my shoulder into hers. “You're the one who was complaining I didn't spend enough time with you. I thought you might find this fun. Besides, you said you wanted to help, remember?”

Izzy nods and adds another finished one to the pile. “I'm not complaining. Geez. I was just asking.”

The truth is I really did want to spent time with Izzy, because I'm trying hard to be the big sister I promised Dad I would be and also because I sort of, kind of, even like hanging out with Iz sometimes. But the rest of the truth is that I was a little bit afraid to invite the other girls to help. I don't want them to have so much to do that they reconsider their vote to keep going with the wedding planning. No one was happy when we could only stay for part of Vi's soccer game before we had to meet Miss Worthington at the church. Now we're only two days away from the big day, and they each have lists of their own to work on. Becca's already in charge of putting together a playlist for the bands (note the plural
s
on that), Vi has to round up some of her teammates from soccer to help us hang these cool mason jars wrapped in lace doilies at the ceremony site, and Lauren is crunching numbers on the budget big-time. Everyone has something to do. So what if I have a few extra somethings?