You’re Invited Too by Jen Malone and Gail Nall Read Free Book Online

that birthday party.
    I’m almost there when “I’m a Hot Potato” ends and one of those slow Harry Hart songs starts. And I slow right down with the music. Now if I ask him to dance, it’ll have to be to this .
    I turn around—and the girls are right behind me.
    â€œGo!” Becca says.
    â€œDestiny!” Lauren adds.
    Sadie just grins and points at Lance.
    He does look kind of cute in his suit, with his short hair all spiked up. And I can’t believe I’m even noticing that, much less admitting it.
    I can do this. It’s just like asking if he wants to run soccer drills, or go surfing. It’s no big deal, really.
    I take one step forward, and Lance looks up and smiles at me.
    I’ve totally got this.
    And then a blur of white swoops in. Linney, all highlighted hair and enough meanness to scare off a pit bull, strolls right up to Lance, says something to him, and then pulls him toward the dance floor.
    â€œMr. Clean’s daughter can excuse us for a minute, right?” she says as she brushes past.
    Lance tries to catch my eye, but I turn away. My heart is sinking, sinking, sinking into my shiny shoes. I can’t believe he’d want to dance with Linney.
    I can’t believe I let myself like him.

Sadie
    TODAY’S TO-DO LIST:
    â–   return Alexandra Worthington’s call. Again.
    â–   fold place cards
    â–   practice calligraphy, especially J and S
    Y ou smudged the W ,” Izzy announces.
    Little sisters are such a pain. Even if she’s right. I don’t care that three of the last four presidents have been left-handed or that left-handed people are supposed to be more creative because we think with our right brains—sometimes it’s just plain annoying being a lefty. Especially when trying to master the fine art of calligraphy in order to write out 122 place cards for the Wedding of the Century (so termed by Alexandra Worthington at our last meeting).
    â€œIt would help if you weren’t hovering behind me and breathing in my ear!” I snap at Izzy, and then immediately feel bad. I turn sideways in my chair and manage a small smile of apology. She flounces into a seat across from me at the big wooden table in our kitchen/living room. And doesn’t smile back.
    Sigh.
    I’ve been trying to be better ever since Izzy told me how much she hated that RSVP was getting in the way of my big-sistering. Even if Mom did happen to pick us up after school a record four times last week, which basically hasn’t happened in years, she’s usually too busy to do stuff with us. Meaning we have to stick together, right? Except that’s easier said than done with little sisters who don’t even realize they’re being bratty half the time.
    Gah. Everyone’s annoying me lately. Wedding planning is hard . This must be why Mom is stressed out all the time. Either that or it’s my guilt eating away at me from the inside because I still haven’t spilled the beans to her about stealing her client. Every time Alexandra Worthington calls to give me some new instruction (which is pretty much all the time lately) I have to hide my caller ID and run for another room.
    She’s totally suspicious, too. At Founder’s Day, I overheard her asking Becca’s mom if Becca had mentioned me talking about a boy. If only she knew!
    My phone pings. “Oh for the love of peccadilloes! If this is—”
    I snap my mouth shut before the words “Alexandra Worthington” can escape my lips. If I let things slip to Izzy, I might as well tape a flyer to Mom’s forehead spewing every detail. Same difference.
    â€œWho?” asks Izzy. She slides forward in her chair and props her elbows on the table as I glance at the screen on my phone.
    â€œNo one,” I say, sweetly this time. “It’s actually Vi.”
    And it is. Her text reads: rehash dance 1 more X w/me? Lo says she can’t till 5:15, when