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table near the podium. “That’s where you’ll be sitting. There are name cards at each place setting.” Then she points to a counter manned by another tuxedoed man. “Why don’t you guys grab a drink and some appetizers? I’ll catch up with you later.”
    She air-kisses me goodbye. “You’ll hear me screaming for you, Sherry.”
    Junie’s staring at the room through her camera’s viewfinder.
Click. Click. Click.
    â€œWho’s the band?” Dad asks me.
    â€œCamel’s Breath,” I say. “They’re pretty up-and-coming.”
    â€œHmpf,” he says. “I can think of some music that would really get this place hopping.”
    â€œDad, Céline Dion is not the musical answer to all situations,” I say.
    Smiling, Junie snaps the cover back over the lens. “Those are some decent photos.”
    We head to the middle of the room, where there’s a mountain of cheese with a bunch of different crackers, along with grapes and olives and mysterious little spreads. Not to mention other finger foods. We load up small plates, then hit the drink guy for a soda with a mini umbrella. I’m sniffing for my mother and keeping an eye out for Lorraine and Stef. Negative on both counts.
    At the head table, we check for our names onembossed cards with gold letters. On my right will be Dear Elle! On my left, Gloria Vasquez, a reporter for
Hollywood Girl.
    â€œLet’s take a load off,” Dad says. He can’t wait to dig into his plate of high-cholesterol, trans-fatty snacks.
    I’m sniffing for coffee. By the appetizers. By the drink bar. By our table. Where is my mother? I want her here for the ceremony.
    â€œSherry, are you getting a cold?” my dad asks.
    Junie watches my face.
    â€œNah,” I say to them both.
    Dad bites into a drumstick. He chews slowly, savoring. “Deep-fried chicken. How I have missed thee.”
    My cell rings. “It’s Paula. Across the miles, she can sense what you’re eating, Dad.”
    He wipes his mouth with a napkin.
    I put the phone to my ear. “Hi, Paula.”
    â€œSam and I are calling to wish you good luck tonight,” Paula says.
    That woman has a memory like a steel trap. “Thank you.”
    â€œMake sure Junie and your dad take pictures. Maybe with their phones? So they can send them to us while the event is still going on. It’ll be as though we’re there with you.”
    â€œSure,” I say.
    â€œHere’s your brother,” Paula says. “He wants to talk to you.”
    â€œWas I supposed to feed your fish today?” Sam asks.
    â€œNo! Not until tomorrow. Sam, do not overfeed Cindy and Prince. You’ll kill them. The feeding schedule’s on the fridge under the Pets Galore magnet.” How can he be such a math brainiac, but incapable of following a simple chart?
    â€œHey, did you know I’m spending tomorrow night at Joe’s?” Sam says.
    â€œSam, get Paula to help you with the fish.”
    â€œWe’re going cosmic bowling first,” he says.
    â€œSam, listen to me. Do not let anything bad happen to my fish.”
    I hear The Ruler’s muffled voice in the background.
    Someone taps my shoulder. I turn my head. Yet another guy in a tux.
    â€œSam, promise me—”
    â€œBreak a leg, Sherry.” Sam disconnects.
    â€œExcuse me.” The guy taps on my shoulder again. “Are you Sherlock Baldwin?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThey need you at the entrance. There’s a problem.”

chapter
eight

    â€œH i, Sherry!” Lorraine and Stef say in unison. A little too brightly.
    They’re standing outside the entrance to the Blossom Ballroom.
    â€œThese two girls said you gave them tickets,” says Garrett, the guard.
    Lorraine and Stef are smiling way wide at me, their eyes pleading, “Help us. Don’t leave us stranded.”
    â€œI did give them tickets,” I