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she said.
    “Working on it,” I mumbled. A bat cracked against a pitch, thankfully drawing everyone’s attention to the field.
    Nikki stepped up to the plate, then turned to look at us. “Hey Homos! And non-homos!”
    “What!” Bella yelled back.
    “If I don’t hit this one home, I have to buy the straight girls a beer after the game.”
    Audrey shouted back at her. “And if you do?”
    “They have to kiss me!”
    Oh shit. I glanced at Fern, who seemed amused. I clutched the rim of the bench as the first pitch went wide.
    Fern laughed. “You look horror-struck.”
    The bat cracked as Nikki pegged the ball, but the hit went foul.
    “Don’t worry,” Bella said. “Nikki’s just a flirt. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”
    Nikki swung again, this time connecting neatly with the ball, which headed to the outfield. She scrambled around the bases.
    “Is she going to make it?” I asked.
    “I don’t think so,” Bella said. “Here comes the ball.”
    Nikki stopped at third base. She looked up into the stands and shrugged.
    “Your virgin lips are safe,” Fern said.
    “I’ll make her buy you that beer,” Bella said. “You will come to the pub after, right? Bradford will want to meet you. He’s handling all the wedding details.”
    “Bradford of Brad’s Salon?” Fern asked.
    “That’s the one,” Bella said. “So will you come?”
    I’d had enough stress for one day. “Oh, we couldn’t possibly—”
    “Miss it,” Fern finished. “We couldn’t possibly miss it.”
     “Awesome!” Bella said. “We go straight after the game.”
    “If the straight girl is game,” Fern said.
    “I’m game,” I answered. Like a one-winged duck during hunting season.

 
    Chapter 8: Bottoms Up
    I just wanted to show up at the pub, meet Bradford, get some information on the dresses, and escape unscathed. But as we neared the patio, I despaired. I had no idea how to handle the scene. Boys leaned on boys. Girls kissed. Hortie in her red vinyl had arranged herself dramatically along the fence rail, vying for attention.
    I clung to Fern. “Don’t you dare desert me,” I warned.
    She laughed. “You are out of your element, aren’t you?”
    Bella waved madly. “Zest!” she shouted. “Over here!”
    I swung beneath the beam of the wood fence surrounding the patio rather than walk around. I turned to Fern, who stood primly by a post.
    “Coming?” I asked.
    “You’re shorter than me.”
    “You can’t duck?”
    She continued to stand there, batting eyelashes like a 30s starlet into the crowd. I followed her line of sight to a tall dark-haired man in a chambray shirt, who finally noticed her distress. I walked toward Bella, shaking my head. That girl could flirt a spot off a dog.
    The man crossed under the fence and picked Fern up, setting her easily on the other side.
    “Does that one like girls, at least?” I asked Bella, not disguising my annoyance.
    Bella threaded her arm though mine and led me over to the bar. “Actually, no. But she’ll figure it out when he asks her for a recommendation for face cream.”
    I glanced back at Fern. She was talking frenetically to the man.
    “Look who I found!” Bella called.
    “The paparazzi!” Nikki shouted, hoisting a bottle in the air. “What’s your poison, straight girl? Fireman’s Four? Shiner?”
    “Shiner’s good,” I said.
    I stood there awkwardly, not daring to say a thing. Was lesbian even the right word? Or gay? What would they call themselves at the wedding? Partners? Brides? Civil union…ists? I longed for duct tape. Anything to keep me from opening my stupid mouth.
    Nikki handed me a beer. I glanced back at Fern, who was fading into the distance, sitting on a rail with the boy. We approached a long table tucked in a dim corner of the patio, full of red Hoebag uniforms.
    Mary passed an iPhone to Nikki. “You gotta watch this.”
    Nikki took the small screen. “Uggh. Palin again? Spare me the conservative bitch-spawn.” She contorted her