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painting of a single dandelion gone to seed. The guest room, I assumed.
    The line moved, and I started to turn away but caught a glimpse of the opposite wall, which housed a bookcase full of trophies. An image of a curvaceous, scantily clad female wastaped to the closet door. Unless the Steeles’ guest room was frequented by teenage boys, I had to assume the room was Ryan’s.
    The room slid out of view as I moved on, but it didn’t stop me from basking in his pseudo-nearness. While maintaining an air of normalcy, of course. No need to alert the others about my obsession. Ryan’s room was so close I could’ve reached out and touched it. Good thing I was surrounded, or I might’ve succumbed to temptation and stepped inside the private world of my fantasy guy to explore. Just for a minute.
    Later, as I lay wrapped in my fuzzy blanket in the rec room, I replayed the image of Ryan’s room. In an instant, my mind had memorized the details. I tried to picture him in it, wondering what he thought about when he turned off the light. But eventually, days of cramming for finals did me in, and I drifted off to sleep, hoping to dream about Ryan and a pair of tasty lips locking with mine.
    Sweet bliss.
    *   *   *
    Long before it was light out, I woke up after having one of those dreams where I had to go to the bathroom really badly, but everywhere I went, the bathroom stalls only had little half walls around them and no doors. Plus, the stalls were outside on a patio in the middle of a party, and I was completely mortified that I couldn’t find anything to shield myself with while I, you know, did the business.
    I think that’s supposed to mean I felt vulnerable in my real life (that’s what my dream encyclopedia says, anyway), but as I lay there wondering why I was dreaming about toilets instead of about Ryan, my bladder suggested it might just be because I had to pee.
    I tiptoed through the sleeping masses, careful not to step on anyone in the dark. I crept up the stairs into the kitchen and made a beeline for the hall bathroom. I was washing my hands and admiring one of the worst cases of bed head ever when I heard voices outside the door.
    “Chill, you guys. Cass, where are the candles?”
    “I think—”
    “I’ve got ’em. Ouch!”
    “Shhh!”
    “That was my foot, Cherie. Are you trying to cripple me before camp?”
    “Give me a break. We’re working like it’s the Dark Ages in here.”
    I opened the door, wondering what the heck was going on. “What are you guys—?”
    “Geez.” Sarah Jane slapped a hand to her chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack, Jess!”
    I stepped out, keenly aware of my crazy-haired look in contrast to the girls in the hallway. They looked radiant, decked out in long white dresses that definitely weren’t nightgowns.
    I looked at them.
    They looked at me.
    Some of them looked to Cassie for guidance, but she was frozen in place. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t know what protocol is. No one’s ever caught us mid-setup before.” Her eyebrows knit together, which I hoped meant she was thinking hard and not trying to decide if a family of canaries had built a nest in my hair. “You guys take Jess downstairs and wake the others. Just give us a few extra minutes to finish up.”
    Sarah Jane herded me down the stairs, while a fewother girls in white followed. Quietly, they woke the sleeping beauties.
    My eyes snapped to the high heel I’d pinned to the corner of my pillowcase so I wouldn’t lose it. If this was the “special” part of the night, why couldn’t they have given us some warning? I gave my hair a quick brush while Sarah Jane helped someone find her contacts case, but I still felt way underdressed and undercoiffed for whatever they had planned.
    Once everyone was fully awake, we single-filed it up the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back doors onto the Steeles’ massive deck. I don’t know what I was expecting, but a full-on ceremonial setting