Chapter Nineteen
Flora
“Look, I need your help.”
A few days after our inconclusive revenge convention, Sean finds me at my locker.
I didn’t think he’d come to me again so soon; we just completed our history presentation this morning.
Josie absolutely crushed it as the prophet.
She threw on an oversized black hoodie that hid her face, and every time she slammed her cane against the ground, the room erupted with laughter.
(We’re all getting As, by the way.)
“Do you think we could plan something for Lindsey’s birthday?” Sean rocks back on his heels, eyes scanning the corridor. “She’s still upset even though she won’t admit it.”
“Obviously!”
“You throw such great parties. You did it for Dylan last year—”
“Did I?” I tilt my head, pretending not to remember.
He averts my eyes and mutters, “You did tequila shots off my stomach?”
I bite back a smile. Oh, we’re bringing that up now?
Sean clears his throat, shifting his weight. “Anyway. How about a surprise party?”
Something about him standing here, needing me, asking for my opinion fills my chest with warmth. He’s so self-conscious about it too.
“You’re such a softie. Awww.” I stretch out the word, watching him squirm. “You sweet, sweet child. What’s next, are you going to start a Pinterest mood board too?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s stupid, right?”
“Are you kidding? I’m going to throw her the best party ever.”
Sean looks up, a smile spreading across his face. “You will?”
“The end of September is less than two weeks away, though. We’re on a tight schedule, and keeping this a secret makes everything doubly hard. Let’s begin with the end in mind and work back from there.” I whip my phone from my back pocket and open a new note.
Sean reaches out, pressing a hand over my forearm. “Wait. Before we start, can we go over some ground rules? No alcohol, no drugs, no noise complaints—”
“No fights, no summoning demons. Great, let’s throw a lame party. If you want my help, then I’m going to call the shots.”
“Sure, but you also need to know my budget.”
“Budget?” That’s one word I loathe, along with phrases like garage sale, thrift store, and economy class.
“Can we keep it under a few hundred bucks?” He winces as he says it. “That’s all I have.”
“But a good DJ costs at least a hundred per hour, plus a caterer, and decorations. Wait.” I squint at him.
“You’re not thinking of opening a few bags of tortilla chips and playing music from your phone, are you?
With all due respect, what’s the plan—attract people with your charisma? Maybe five people will show up.”
Sean leans against my locker door. “How dare you. I’d estimate about a dozen. Look, the point is to get her mind off the rumors, it doesn’t have to be a huge thing.”
“Then maybe you should invite a couple of girls over, have them braid each other’s hair, and call it a night.”
“Fine, Flora. Do it your way. Work your magic.”
That’s a supercute smile.
Don’t get distracted. Now’s not the time to marvel over his hotness. Sean wants a favor, and I need to milk his desperation for all it’s worth. “Hold on a second. Why am I doing this for you?”
“Because you care about Lindsey too.”
“I do, but this will take up a tremendous amount of my time. I’m retaking the SAT, I have cheer practice, and my schedule is dreadfully packed. If you want to hire me, you have to pay a price.”
Sean’s eyes widen. “You want to charge me? There’s no way I can afford you.”
As Joker says, if you’re good at something, never do it for free.
But there’s no point in taking advantage of Sean’s measly budget.
Before I can answer, a student trips nearby, sending a pile of books and documents flying.
Sean steps back as a pencil rolls toward him.
I bend down, gather the scattered papers, and hand them back. The girl hurries off.
Straightening, I smooth the front of my skirt and face Sean. “I want . . . three wishes. You have to do whatever I ask. No objections.”
He studies my face to see if I’m kidding. When he sees I’m not, he says, “You can get one.”
“Then ask someone else. Raymond throws a banger too.”
He flinches. I wonder why. Ray’s parties are legendary, and they’re also the only ones Sean ever goes to. He exhales and says, “Fine, you get two wishes. Take it or leave it. I don’t want to throw Lindsey a party that badly.”
“Deal.” I hold out my hand to shake on it, but he keeps his at his side.
“No loophole wishes that multiply into a thousand ones, like I have to do whatever you say for the rest of the senior year.”
“It goes without saying.”
“And no illegal stuff or anything that’ll get me expelled. Also, nothing embarrassing like asking me to wear a costume. I’d like to keep the five fans I have.”
“Honestly, Sean, if there’s this little trust between us, why are you even asking me for help?”
He grabs my hand and gives it a quick shake. “Forgive me for being wary. I tend to be cautious when I’m making deals with the devil.”
* * *
At lunch the next day Sean and I take the corner table. I unveil the master plan—my vision: the ultimate birthday bash, not only an event, but an experience.
Guest List: Carmen got Lindsey’s list of favorite people by pretending it was for a sociology project. Genius.
Event Coverage: Daniel, Madison’s boyfriend (newly onboarded and fresh off his ninety-day probation), will take photos of Lindsey under the excuse of a photography contest. Let’s hope he understands the assignment and meets management expectations.
Theme and Dress Code: Winter Wonderland, because it’s easy. Light blue, white, and silver. Not the most original, but I like fairies in snow, and that’s enough reason.
Venue and Logistics: Sean’s house. His parents will be conveniently busy that night because I got them tickets to a jazz concert. My parents happened to have these, but tragically can’t go, so the Fosters—being the kind, selfless people they are—agreed to take them off my hands. Genius, again.
Décor and Atmosphere: Ice sculptures on the back patio, silver streamers, white and blue balloons, a disco ball, lanterns, and a projector casting snowflakes and stars.
Entertainment: Josie’s band, Fishnets, will be performing live. We’ll also have a Polaroid station because nothing says elite party like instant-film proof you were there.
Food and Drink: A white-chocolate fountain, designer cupcakes with sprinkles, cookies with frosting, some light-blue drinks like Calpis and sparkling soda water, and maybe a cotton candy machine.
Signature Mocktail: A stunning, elegant, one-of-a-kind creation called The Arctic Kiss of a Frostbitten Celestial Goddess (or Arctic Kiss for short). It’s basically blue lemonade with edible glitter, but branding is everything.
“I kind of want pizza at the party.” Sean glances at the cafeteria line, but he takes one look at me and clears his throat. “Never mind. Doesn’t go with the theme colors.”
“Now we’re on the same page.” Scanning the room, I take in the glorious display of high-school cohabitation.
Plastic chairs scrape against the floor and people shuffle in and out.
“I’m breaking stereotype cliques and including everyone, regardless of race, religious beliefs, and whether they look good in khakis. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like there’s going to be a lot of people.” Sean dips a potato wedge in ketchup. “How many are we talking?”
“Oh,” I say airily, “around a hundred.”
He stops midbite. “I said thirty, max!”
I wave a hand. “Please. A tight dance floor is crucial. Otherwise, people won’t let loose without alcohol. Thirty people staring at each other from across the room won’t cut it. We need density. Flow. Energy.”
He takes a long sip from his apple juice. “How can you keep this a secret with a hundred people involved? And you seriously know a hundred people well enough to invite them?”
“You have to know someone well before you can invite them to a party?”
“You’re not using this as an excuse to invite all the guys you like, are you?”
I put down the celery stick I’ve been chewing. “Sean Foster, I’m putting serious effort into making this a memorable event, and you don’t appreciate it. I don’t know which is more insulting, that you think I’m using this for my own benefit or that I need to throw a party to get a guy’s attention.”
“I apologize. That was a bad joke.” When I don’t smile he tugs on my sleeve, first downward, then side to side. “Forgive me. Please.”
I chuckle uselessly. “Okay, I like it when you grovel.”
“I’m really sorry. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your help.”
“Now stop before you get grease on my clothes.” I shove him lightly on the shoulder, and he goes back to chomping on his potato wedges.
“By the way, I found a way around the DJ and caterer. I know this guy, Xavier, whose mom is a caterer, and then there’s this other guy .
. . anyway, I’m pulling strings to fit everything under your budget, so don’t worry. ”
“Hmm.” He tilts his chin up, then wipes his hands on a napkin. “On second thought, I’d rather we pay. I’ll get the money.”
“Oh Sean.” I rest my chin in my palm. “You sound so cute when you’re jealous.”
He fidgets. “I’m not. But it feels like I’m hosting a Flora Morgan ex-boyfriend support group.”
“They’re not my exes.”
But you are. The only boyfriend who shattered my heart, and I keep forgetting I’m throwing this party for revenge, not because I enjoy it.
I cross my arms. “Two jokes about my dating life in under a minute?”
Sean leans back, sighs, and bites his lip. “Fine. I admit I’m a little jealous.”
A flush creeps up my skin. Before I can reply, the click of a camera shutter distracts me.
Madison and Daniel are a few tables away.
Daniel is adjusting the settings on his DSLR, pointing it at a sad-looking plant near the window.
He’s quiet, eccentric, and plain weird, but Madison excuses everything by explaining he’s an artist.
Over the summer, he even rented an exhibition space downtown, and Madison dragged us to see his work. All his paintings were aggressively abstract, and at one point she proudly announced that she was his muse and had posed nude for him.
We nearly died laughing.
“I feel so much closer to Daniel now,” I’d said, wiping away tears. “He’s an average teenage boy after all—”
“Who would say anything to get you naked,” Josie had finished, and Carmen lost it. We pointed at random circles and kept bugging Madison to tell us which one was her nipple, then took selfies with the painting (obviously tagging her).
Ah, good times.
I still don’t know how to respond to Sean admitting he’s jealous, so I whisper this anecdote to him instead.
My elbow rests on the table, my other hand on his shoulder as I lean in, and his laughter shakes his body beneath my fingers as our heads bend close together. It feels divine to make Sean laugh.
Then click.
Madison stands before us, and Daniel snaps a few more pictures of her and of me and Sean.
“Taking some shots of the planning committee,” Madison says. The audacity. The only thing she’s planned so far is what she’s wearing, but at least she’s convinced Daniel to help. “What are you two laughing about?”
Sean and I exchange a look. “Nothing,” we say in unison. Then he catches my eyes and smiles.