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Authors: Sara Shepard
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gives Garrett a pleading look. “Can you reason with her? I can’t do a roller coaster this morning.”
“You boys can roller-coaster all you want,” Madeline jumps in. “But Sutton, Laurel, Char, and I have other plans.”
She says it with such authority that we all stare at her. “And what would those plans be?” I ask.
Madeline flushes and fiddles with the tassel on her purse. “You’ll see.” Mads heads to the revolving doors. “Meet me outside!”
Garrett touches my arm. “I need to take care of some trouble the boys and I got into last night.”
“What did you guys do last night, anyway?” I cock my head at him, imagining a Hangover -style scenario.
“We ended up playing poker out by the pool. We joined a game and this one”—he jerks his thumb toward Tucker, who has now collapsed on the chaise—“put up his father’s watch for collateral after he ran out of cash. We should go hit an ATM and get it back from those guys.”
I twirl my locket between my fingers. “You know you’d have more fun with me.”
He holds my gaze and smiles. “Trust me, I know. But we’ll catch up with you later. How about a one-on-one swim at the pool this afternoon?”
“Deal.”
He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. There’s a sniff behind me and, out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlotte adjusting her tank top, pretending not to watch.
The boys head off. Now it’s just the four of us again, wandering down the strip, Madeline in the lead.
“Where are we going?” I call out to her.
“It’s a surprise,” Madeline trills. She shoots a naughty smile to Charlotte. Laurel smiles, too. Does she know? She’d better not, if it has to do with a challenge.
A bright white party van speeds past, house music pouring out of the tinted windows. A sweaty, red-faced woman with crimped blonde hair peeks out of the sunroof, a plastic tiara attached to a mesh veil trailing behind her in the van’s wake. It’s obviously a bachelorette party, getting an early start on the day’s festivities. We walk for a while, and then Madeline stops short in front of a wild, over-the-top costume shop. The windows are crowded with headless silver mannequins draped in tutus, feather boas, and enough sequins to make a stripper call “uncle.”
“Here’s the place, girls,” Madeline says slyly, a small smile on her face.
I frown. “Here? Why? It looks like Mardi Gras threw up inside.”
Madeline taps her lips. “Let’s just say I feel a little late-morning challenge coming on.” Her eyes glimmer.
I eye a pair of thigh-high black vinyl boots with a fuchsia lace-up design. They’re paired with a plunging, open-front leotard that reveals fuchsia tiger-print pasties capped in silver-fringed tassels. “What do you want us to do in here?” I ask.
Charlotte takes a swig from the plastic water bottle she’s been carrying and nods excitedly. “This, girls, is a race. You have five minutes in the costume shop. The girl who comes out in the best costume wins.”
I scoff. “That’s the dumbest challenge I’ve ever heard.”
Laurel gives me a warning glance. “Does that mean you forfeit?”
“No,” I say toughly, turning toward the store. There is absolutely no way I’m losing another challenge. “Bring it on.”
Charlotte glances at her slim, gold Movado watch. “Time starts . . . now!”
Laurel and I bolt inside. The room smells like mothballs, and the aisles are a jumble of showgirl-ready metallic lamé, lace, and satin. Fortunately, there are no other customers in here this early in the day. At least we can do our extreme shopping in peace.
I spin around the place, trying to decide what the “best” costume might be. Something garish? Scary? Slutty? Just over-the-top? I survey a wall of rainbow-colored fishnet tights, flapper dresses, Elvis masks, costume jewelry, and ball gowns, and then I spy it: a gloriously retro, puffed-sleeve explosion of a Queen of Hearts costume. Between the sweeping, ruffled,
“You boys can roller-coaster all you want,” Madeline jumps in. “But Sutton, Laurel, Char, and I have other plans.”
She says it with such authority that we all stare at her. “And what would those plans be?” I ask.
Madeline flushes and fiddles with the tassel on her purse. “You’ll see.” Mads heads to the revolving doors. “Meet me outside!”
Garrett touches my arm. “I need to take care of some trouble the boys and I got into last night.”
“What did you guys do last night, anyway?” I cock my head at him, imagining a Hangover -style scenario.
“We ended up playing poker out by the pool. We joined a game and this one”—he jerks his thumb toward Tucker, who has now collapsed on the chaise—“put up his father’s watch for collateral after he ran out of cash. We should go hit an ATM and get it back from those guys.”
I twirl my locket between my fingers. “You know you’d have more fun with me.”
He holds my gaze and smiles. “Trust me, I know. But we’ll catch up with you later. How about a one-on-one swim at the pool this afternoon?”
“Deal.”
He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. There’s a sniff behind me and, out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlotte adjusting her tank top, pretending not to watch.
The boys head off. Now it’s just the four of us again, wandering down the strip, Madeline in the lead.
“Where are we going?” I call out to her.
“It’s a surprise,” Madeline trills. She shoots a naughty smile to Charlotte. Laurel smiles, too. Does she know? She’d better not, if it has to do with a challenge.
A bright white party van speeds past, house music pouring out of the tinted windows. A sweaty, red-faced woman with crimped blonde hair peeks out of the sunroof, a plastic tiara attached to a mesh veil trailing behind her in the van’s wake. It’s obviously a bachelorette party, getting an early start on the day’s festivities. We walk for a while, and then Madeline stops short in front of a wild, over-the-top costume shop. The windows are crowded with headless silver mannequins draped in tutus, feather boas, and enough sequins to make a stripper call “uncle.”
“Here’s the place, girls,” Madeline says slyly, a small smile on her face.
I frown. “Here? Why? It looks like Mardi Gras threw up inside.”
Madeline taps her lips. “Let’s just say I feel a little late-morning challenge coming on.” Her eyes glimmer.
I eye a pair of thigh-high black vinyl boots with a fuchsia lace-up design. They’re paired with a plunging, open-front leotard that reveals fuchsia tiger-print pasties capped in silver-fringed tassels. “What do you want us to do in here?” I ask.
Charlotte takes a swig from the plastic water bottle she’s been carrying and nods excitedly. “This, girls, is a race. You have five minutes in the costume shop. The girl who comes out in the best costume wins.”
I scoff. “That’s the dumbest challenge I’ve ever heard.”
Laurel gives me a warning glance. “Does that mean you forfeit?”
“No,” I say toughly, turning toward the store. There is absolutely no way I’m losing another challenge. “Bring it on.”
Charlotte glances at her slim, gold Movado watch. “Time starts . . . now!”
Laurel and I bolt inside. The room smells like mothballs, and the aisles are a jumble of showgirl-ready metallic lamé, lace, and satin. Fortunately, there are no other customers in here this early in the day. At least we can do our extreme shopping in peace.
I spin around the place, trying to decide what the “best” costume might be. Something garish? Scary? Slutty? Just over-the-top? I survey a wall of rainbow-colored fishnet tights, flapper dresses, Elvis masks, costume jewelry, and ball gowns, and then I spy it: a gloriously retro, puffed-sleeve explosion of a Queen of Hearts costume. Between the sweeping, ruffled,
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