I quickly got Gatsby his kibble and some water. When the cat was happily eating, I turned my attention to Gabe. "What ya got there?" I sat on a bar stool and swiveled closer.
He glanced around sheepishly before heaving the book on the counter. Moments before I saw the cover up close, I'd imagined it to be a book from Professor Pops' Museum of the Supernatural, and worried Gabe stole it. Turned out to be nothing mystical. Just a book of dresses by the designer, Vera Wang.
I wasmost definitely not a fashionista. On the contrary, I didn't even really know what the word meant, only that Cindy used it a lot when showing me clothes from her magazines, but I had heard of Vera Wang, and knew she was a big time designer.
Whoa!
"Professor Pops asked me to bring this to you so that you could go through it and pick out a dress."
I laughed, uncomfortably. "A dress, for what?"
"Your birthday party, silly," Bart said, pulling my hair.
"Dude," Gabe yelled.
"Boys, chill," I said, putting a hand on each of their chests. The individual beating of their hearts momentarily distracted me. It didn't make my mouth water, just caused me to pause.
Interesting, my inner voice said.
Focusing my attention on Bart, I asked, "Why do I need a fancy dress for my party?"
He snickered as he pulled an envelope from his back pocket, and handed it to me. "You've created a monster by allowing Pops to be in charge of your party, and there's no turning back. Salvatore is taking three hundred of these to the post office as we speak."
I took the envelope. Glancing at each of the boys, my emotions spiraled from curious, to concerned, to downright freaked. "What is it?" I asked, though I figured it was an invitation to my birthday party. My hands shook as I turned the envelope over. Sealed with red wax, a SW was stamped in it. "Cool," I mumbled, breaking it, and removing the thick, white cardstock. Emboldened in black, and lined with silver were these words:
You are cordially invited to attend a
Masquerade Ball
Honoring the sixteenth birthday
Of
Snow White
On
November 17th
Beginning at 7:30 pm
There will be dinner and dancing.
Formal dress required.
... and some other stuff. My mind couldn't get over the words, Masquerade Ball.
Chapter 2
See, I didn't dance. The last time I tried, I tripped over my partner's feet, and ended up breaking his wrist. Needless to say, we still weren't speaking, and thenot-so-graceful event happened in fifth grade.
At the idea of dancing in front of a bunch of people, terror caused my upper lip to tremble. "A Ball? What is Professor Pops thinking?"
They shrugged, grumbling incoherent words that I took to mean they weren't excited about the party concept either. With petulant faces, and irritated glares, they shuffled around, getting mugs for the coffee, creamer, and sugar. The kitchen smelled divine-not that I was ever a real big coffee drinker. More of a hot cocoa girl. But the aroma filled me with nostalgic memories of my mom, making me miss her all the more.
"Here you go,"Heathcliff said, setting a mug of murky liquid in front of me.
I was about to decline, but got a whiff of it. It wasn't coffee, but tea. My bloodlust tea.