“But then Jack started putting these thoughts in your father’s head. The same thoughts I can see him trying to put in yours — ones designed to make you afraid and anxious. It got to the point where Jack would question everything and everyone who came into the diner, and soon he was making your father paranoid, too. The more I think about it, I can’t help but feel that if Jack hadn’t been getting under your father’s skin, then he wouldn’t have been so quick to believe that man was a dangerous intruder that night at the diner.”
“And he wouldn’t have shot him,” I finished coldly. “I don’t know if you can blame that on Jack.”
“He gave your father the gun.”
“He wanted him to protect himself,” I countered. “They’ve always looked out for each other.”
She scooped a tomato wedge onto her fork. “You’re right,” she replied quickly, shaking her head. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up on your birthday. This day should be about all the good things in your life.”
Suddenly the air between us was awkward and strained. I took a gulp of my Diet Coke and let my eyes wander back to the Priestlys, who had become uncharacteristically silent. Gino sat with his head in his hands, and Dom was leaning back, staring blankly at the ceiling. I knew how they felt.
I examined myself in my bedroom mirror, making sure my mother’s tinted moisturizer had blended into my skin. I applied some of her bronzer to the high points of my face and added some blush to my cheeks. I rifled through her makeup bag and fished out a deep kohl powder, sweeping it across my eyelids, before applying gooey black mascara to my lashes. Then I stood back and appraised my reflection, marveling at what the wonders of modern cosmetics could do for sun-starved skin.
My mother shuffled into the room and my gaze fell on the gift in her hands — a large rectangle covered in Disney princess wrapping paper. “Is that from Millie?”
My mother put the gift on the bed. “She dropped it off when you were in the shower. Open it. The suspense is killing me.”
I didn’t have to be asked twice. I ripped open the wrapping paper to find a gray shoe box. CARVELA was scrawled across it in neat black letters.
“How did Millie afford those?” My mother echoed my thoughts.
I shook my head in disbelief. How was it possible to have such an amazing best friend? I eased the lid off the box and pulled the tissue paper away to find a pair of patent leather nude stilettos. The heel, which was at least five inches high, was coated in a subtle gold gloss, while the front of the shoe slanted downward into a perfectly rounded peep-toe.
“I think I’m in love,” I groaned.
My mother sighed. “I’ve never been so disappointed to have smaller feet than you.”
I slipped my bare foot into the left shoe and teetered upward. “How am I going to walk in these without falling on my face?”
My mother grinned as she handed me the second shoe. “No one really walks in high heels. They just get by.”
After fifteen minutes of practicing, I shimmied into the gold dress. Twirling in front of my closet mirror, I pulled out the pin that I’d wedged into my hair so that it tumbled down my back in waves. I barely recognized my reflection, but I had a feeling she was going to have a whole lot of fun.
* * *
When we pulled up outside Millie’s house, I could hear music blaring through the walls. Cars lined the streets and crammed into the driveway. I climbed out onto the curb.
“Are you sure Millie’s parents are OK with this?” I watched my mother survey the cars warily.
“Yup.” I turned away from her so she couldn’t see my brazen, lying face.
“OK …” she relented. “Have a blast.”
I watched the car until it shrank to a small blue dot.
When I turned around, Millie was standing at the front door, wearing a short black dress that accentuated her bust and bandaged her in around the waist.
“Mil!” I exclaimed, making my way toward her in high heel–induced slow motion. “Thank you so much for the shoes!”
“Holy crap,” she shot back, her red-lipsticked mouth agape.
I hunched my shoulders and covered my dress with my arms. “Is it too much? Should I change?”
She gestured at my dress, moving her finger up and down in several slow flicks. “That dress really shows off your best assets!” She made a botched attempt at a wolf whistle and then wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“Pervert,” I teased, reaching her.
“What?” She raised her hands in a gesture of feigned innocence. “I meant it really brings out the blue in your eyes … So vivid …”
“Who are you talking to?” Alex arrived behind Millie at the door. His blond hair was styled in perfect spikes and he wore dark-rinse jeans paired with a tight blue shirt. He was smiling goofily and clutching a red plastic cup. When he noticed me hovering in the doorway, he let his jaw drop so that, side by side and wearing the same expression, he and Millie looked like twins.
“Sophie Gracewell,” he spluttered.
“I know,” Millie murmured. “I know.”
* * *
Millie and I danced like maniacs across her hardwood floors, throwing our hands in the air and whipping our hair in circles, both of us teetering precariously on our respective sky-high heels. All around us, couples gravitated toward each other like magnets, pushing up against one another or peeling off to other rooms to make out. I barely recognized most of the people — the majority were Alex’s college friends, and those who heard about it from Millie were ignoring me, as usual. It didn’t matter. Everyone was laughing and having fun, and it was contagious — I was relaxed and energized. But more than that, I was eternally grateful to Millie, who had converted the entire downstairs of her impressive family home into a hub of energy, which meant I could spend my birthday having some much-needed fun.