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a sundae. Frankie lets go. “Okay, maybe I do like him a little.”
    â€œUh, yeah,” I say, brushing biscotti crumbs off my jacket and hoping it’s still too cold for ants.
    â€œWell, if I do, I’m not the only one with a cooking class crush,” Frankie says, giving Lillian the one-raised-eyebrow treatment.
    Lillian turns as red as the marinara sauce on Frankie’s pasta. Even though she hasn’t told us, Frankie and I can tell Lillian likes Javier by the way she looks at him when she thinks he doesn’t see her, and how she gets extra quiet when he’s around.
    Frankie’s eyes light up. “Guys, I have a totally brilliant idea.”
    I check my phone. “Does it have to do with teleporting to Mr. Mac’s class?” I ask. “Because if we don’t get going soon we’ll be late.”
    â€œNo,” Frankie says, as we all start cleaning up. “It has to do with your birthday party.”
    â€œUgh. Did you have to mention the not-mitzvah?”
    â€œYes, I did,” says Frankie, dumping what’s left of her half-eaten pasta into a trash can, “because the party is the perfect opportunity for me and Lillian to get to know a certain pair of boys a little—or maybe even a lot—better!”
    Lillian drops the bag of cookies she was about to shove into her backpack. “What? Frankie, do you lie awake at night thinking up evil boy-related plans?”
    Yes, probably, I think.
    â€œCalm down, Lils, I’m not talking about doing anything creepy or stalkerish,” Frankie says, picking up the broken cookies. “I’m not even suggestingthat we ask them to the party ourselves . Nana Silver’s going to do it for us—from Liza, I mean. What do you think, Lize?”
    â€œGuys, I’m sure they’ll be on the list,” I say. “I mean, I don’t really know Tristan, but he’s Errol’s nephew and I’m planning to invite the whole class.”
    Frankie looks pleased with herself. Lillian looks ill.
    Lucky for Lillian, the two-minute warning bell rings, and the three of us make a mad rush for the door along with everyone else who decided to have lunch in the quad. As I’m absorbed into the mob of middle school bodies, I replay our conversation in my head. Suddenly the party that I wish I’d never agreed to has become an event my two best friends are looking forward to (or at least one of them, anyway). This probably sounds selfish, but I realize that I don’t want Frankie and Lillian to be excited about my party—I want them to totally dread it, just like me!

CHAPTER 7
Lillian

    Now that we’ve been taking cooking class together, every once in a while my mother lets me help out in the kitchen at home. Tonight is one of those rare occasions: she’s making a shrimp dish, and it’s my job to peel them. I’m not going to lie, peeling shrimp isn’t exactly my favorite kitchen chore, but there is actually some skill involved, so my mother asking me to do it is kind of a big deal.
    The shrimp peeler is really sharp, and slicingopen the shell while also removing the vein along the shrimp’s back takes practice (I know that sounds totally gross, but it’s really not that bad once you get used to it). The trick is to do it quickly, without cutting off your finger in the process. Having to be rushed off to the emergency room for a kitchen accident would definitely not increase my mother’s confidence in my skills. Luckily, she bought enough shrimp to feed the whole block, so I’ll have plenty of time to perfect my technique.
    I’m just getting into a good peeling rhythm when Katie comes in the back door. She’s been out running, and there are damp spots darkening her tank top under her arms. Even sweaty, she’s practically flawless. Her cheeks are flushed and her ponytail is still perky. If it wasn’t for a few flyaway hairs and the faint sweat