The Excerpt

Check out the exclusive excerpt of The Cinderella Society, in stores on
April 13, 2010!

There are moments in life when you know things will never be the same. When you’re called to the edge of adventure and given the chance to break free, uninhibited by your past, and claim the life you were meant to live.

Relax. This was totally not that kind of day.

Everyone around me was either scribbling furiously to finish their advanced algebra final, talking quietly until Mr. Norman gave them dirty looks, or texting each other on cell phones discreetly tucked into pants pockets and Prada totes. Me? I was mostly trying to be invisible. Praying to end my heinous year without drawing more negative “new kid” attention from my cohorts at Mt. Sterling High.

The last bell finally rang, and the rest of the class rushed the door in hot pursuit of a summer of freedom. In two seconds flat, it was just Mr. Norman and me gathering up our stuff.

“Great job catching up, Jess,” he said as he shoved our exams into his battered briefcase. “Transferring mid-semester is tough, but your grades are top of the class. Your last math teacher would be proud.”

Super.

Don’t get me wrong. Usually, a teacher’s compliment is not something I’d scoff at. I work my butt off to keep up my GPA. But right then, being a brainiac was about the only thing I had going. And when the one person who bothers to engage you in conversation is a fortysomething who reads The Calculus News cover to cover, you know you’re inches away from rock bottom on the social barometer.

I waved my thanks—not wanting to alienate a teacher I’d have for trig next year—and headed for the door.

By the time I hit the hall, it looked more like a frat house than a high school. Or what I imagined a frat house would look like. High fives were being exchanged, and many a folder’s contents had been unceremoniously dumped in the nearest trash. Kids raced outside, throwing confetti laced with M&M’s and shouting reminders of upcoming parties to friends, while Janitor Joe bellowed about messes and respect and proper receptacle use. Even Rick, the hottie assistant janitor, was shaking his head, and he couldn’t have been much older than we were.

And then there was me, silently making my way through the madness. I reached my side hall, but couldn’t get to my locker because of the couple making out in front of it. Classy. Now I had to stand there looking like a gawker or find something to do, quick.

I leaned against a standard-issue gray door a few lockers down from mine and started doodling on my folder, keeping the writhing couple in my peripheral vision until I could make a play for my locker.

The bane of my existence walked by, flanked by her cronies, and slowed to look into my locker alcove. Lexy tossed her straight jet-black hair over one shoulder and whispered to her gang. They stared at me with undisguised contempt while Morgan, Lexy’s chief suck-up, cackled with laughter.

Subtle, my enemies were not.

You’d think Lexy would’ve gotten bored of tormenting me after two months, even though I made an easy target. I’d only been there a couple of weeks when they’d had cheerleading tryouts for next year’s team. Cheering was the one thing I looked forward to no matter how many times we moved. I loved it. The precision, the creativity, the high of nailing the perfect stunt. The problem was that by adding me—an outsider in the MSH cheer ranks—to the varsity team, there was one less spot for the insiders. Namely one Alexandra “Lexy” Steele. A defeat she did not accept gracefully. Or quietly.

So now, most people knew me by face, though I’d usually be referred to as “That New Girl.” Spoken with disdain. That New Girl who stole super popular, nasty-as-a-Rottweiler Lexy Steele’s spot.

Sometimes invisibility is bliss.

Knowing she had my full attention, Lexy turned into my alcove. She bumped past the heavy breathers and stopped inches away from me. “Rumor has it you’ve got big plans for the summer. Hanging with our Beaumont besties, are we?”

Lexy’s sidekicks snickered at the infamous rumor that I’d wanted to cheer at rival Beaumont High because I thought the MSH team was “a bunch of stuck-up divas who wouldn’t know a handspring from a hand-me-down.”

I considered ignoring her, but it was kind of hard to do when she was close enough to smell the Tic Tac on my breath. I tried to sound bored. “Why would I do that when I’ve never met them? The rumor doesn’t even make sense.” Not that any of my teammates seemed to notice.

“Funny thing about rumors,” Lexy said. “They don’t have to be true, now, do they? They only have to be believable enough to make an impact.” A self-satisfied smile hinted at her lips. “Tell me, Thief . . . did it make an impact?”

And there you go.

I’d always suspected Lexy had to be the source of the rumor—given her personal vendetta against me—but I’d never expected her to own up to the lie so willingly. Or be so proud of it. Then again, what good was her power if she couldn’t flaunt it when the mood struck?

And yes, of course it was a total lie. But it was also a lie I hadn’t known about until the damage was done. With no one to back up my side of the story, the cheerleaders were keeping their distance.

I might’ve beaten Lexy for a spot, but she’d made sure they wouldn’t accept me as one of their own.

“Why don’t you just quit and save yourself the misery?” she asked, a mock sadness enveloping her. “Don’t you ever get tired of being around people who think you’re nothing?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying one of the thousand rude things screaming through my mind. And to keep my emotions under wraps. I’d never yet let her get a rise out of me, but I suspected we both knew that day was coming. Cornered at my locker on the last day of school, however, wasn’t the time or place.

Instead, I stared straight back at Lexy, giving her a carefully schooled expression of self-assured indifference. I’d perfected that look a long time ago to guard against bullies. You couldn’t look angry or threatening (that only engaged them), and you couldn’t look intimidated (a massive bully turn-on). It was a fine line to walk, but you couldn’t afford to overstep it if you wanted any chance of being left alone.

“Not up to a challenge today, huh?” She gave a pouty frown. “You disappoint me, Parker. I’d lower my expectations of you, but they’re already six feet under.”

Smug in the knowledge that she’d won another round, Lexy about-faced and headed for the main hall. She said something under her breath that prompted her whole crew to swivel their heads in my direction. They looked down their surgically sculpted noses, dismissed me as meaningless, and strolled out of sight.

Relief bubbled up, followed by a depressing sigh. After nine moves in sixteen years (thanks to my dad’s environmental-consulting assignments) this was the worst case of new-kid-itis yet. Most people thought being a cheerleader made you an automatic insider, but no. I only skirted the edges of popularity by association. I’d spent most of my existence so close to the in crowd I could smell their designer perfume, but I had never once crossed the threshold of acceptance. It was like living with your face pressed against the window, your breath steaming up the glass, while the world twirled on without you. If I didn’t love cheering so much, I’d walk away from that window and never look back.

I’d built houses for Habitat for Humanity, ladled out scoops of chili at soup kitchens, and taken countless pictures of abandoned animals to put on local adoption Web sites. I was the quintessential Volunteer Girl. Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of karmic payback for being a decent person?

My already sagging spirits were dangerously close to zeroing out when I heard the voice that made me swoon even on the worst day. I looked up, waiting for Ryan to turn the corner into the alcove across from mine.

“No way, man,” Dale Boone was saying as he and my future husband came into view. “I heard Frau Gardner’s given out the same German exam three years in a row. That’s the only way Mike could’ve aced it. His sister had the Frau last year.”

“The vocab killed me,” Ryan said. He shook his head, spun the combo, and opened his locker. “She didn’t pick anything from the first eight chapters.”

I watched Ryan’s dark hair flick out from under his Braves hat. So silky, so dreamy, so perfect for running your fingers through. My yummy Ryan Steele. If only he knew my name.

Or at least knew me as something other than his sister’s archenemy.

Ryan and Dale continued their German commiseration, and I let myself drink in the sight of him. Tall and muscular, with the chiseled jaw of Jake Gyllenhaal. Toss in major sweetness (even to the geeks and nerds) and good old-fashioned Southern charm, and he was 100 percent fantasy-worthy. The kind of guy who made me wish I were five-eight, blonde, and leggy, not five-three with a baby face, freckles, and a dull brown mop for hair.

The fantasies rolled free in my mind. If only Lexy weren’t bent on destroying my best shot at belonging here. If only the cheerleaders had tried to get to know me before Lexy got her claws into them. If only Ryan knew I existed.

If only I could break out of my crushing social jail. Then my life would be perfect.

Ryan tossed his things into his Nike duffel, and as quickly as he’d arrived, he was on his way out. Out of school, out of my life, for an entire summer. I wondered if the world would swallow me whole from Ryan withdrawal.

And then, it happened. Just as Ryan turned toward the main hall and a clean getaway, he looked across into our alcove.

I froze. How could anyone’s eyes be so mesmerizing? Even from twenty feet away, they made my breath hitch.

In one of the most shocking turn of events since I’d moved—and that was saying something—Ryan’s face broke into a dazzling smile when he saw me. He lifted a hand in a half wave and called out a baritone “Have a good summer” that nearly melted me into a puddle.

O. M. G.

Long, excruciating months of new-kid-ness were wiped away in a glorious instant. Despite all of Lexy’s slander, the eternal optimist in me still held out hope that someone—anyone—would recognize I wasn’t a complete waste of oxygen. And for it to be Ryan? My heart morphed into a thousand butterflies, fluttering joyfully in my chest.

His grin was contagious, and my answering smile was so huge it made my cheeks ache. I waved back, butterflies soaring in formation. “You too, Ryan!”

Just as a male voice behind me shouted, “Back atcha, dude!”

The butterflies were flying in chaos as I choked down bile. Had he noticed? Had anyone else? Where was an invisibility cloak when you needed one?

But alas, Ryan looked at me. Actually looked at me, I mean, and now I could see the difference. He gave me a faintly apologetic smile before exchanging good-byes with another guy and heading off toward Jock Hall with his posse at his back and a crowd of admirers parting like the Red Sea.

At which point all the butterflies fainted.

The only saving grace was that someone shouted a party invite to the lip-attached couple, so I took advantage of their momentary pause for air and lunged for my locker. I nudged their intertwined bodies out of the way and quickly spun the combination, thanking everything holy that this was the last time I’d ever have to fight with the metal beast. I turned the knob, crossed my fingers and blew on them for good luck, and pulled up on the latch.

Nothing.

Now, I’m not someone who goes around damaging school property. I’m pretty much the poster child for good girls. But at that point, I had so many emotions clawing their way to the surface that I had no problem whatsoever taking it out on the piece-of-crap locker from hell. If Satan existed, I’d be pretty sure he, Lexy, and my locker were in cahoots.

With the halls rapidly clearing out, I showed the contraption no mercy. I gave it a kick, a yank, and a kick-yank combination. Pulled while kicking three times in the bottom corner to jar it loose, which sometimes worked. Not loud enough to call attention to myself, I hoped. Just loud enough to shake it out of Sticksville. Not that it did.

I glanced around to make sure everyone wasn’t staring at the dipcrap soon-to-be junior who couldn’t open her own locker. Thankfully, everyone was otherwise occupied. My invisibility had belatedly returned, a single bright spot in my otherwise hideous day. On top of being tortured by She Who Must Not Be Named, the last thing I needed was to draw attention to myself while I clanged around with my locker like Neanderthal Jane.

I gave my locker one more swift thump with the side of my foot, which caused it to pop open and nearly bounce off my head. I cursed under my breath—words that would not make Coach Trent happy—and threw everything into my well-worn CHEERLEADING IS LIFE bag as fast as humanly possible. Folders, pens, the eye pencil I’d lost two weeks before—all went tumbling into the bag. With a firm slam and a barely restrained desire to flip off an inanimate object, I kissed my sophomore year good-bye.

The last day of school is always cause for celebration. That was true in my case too, though not for the usual reasons. Instead of looking forward to a summer of lying by the pool, hanging with friends, and ogling cute guys in board shorts, I was destined for a summer filled with work, work, and—did I mention?—more work. Working at Celestial Gifts with Nan, helping Mom get the nursery ready for the twins, volunteering. Cheerleading camp was a bonus, but this summer was all about keeping me busy while I maintained a low profile.

When you get off on the wrong foot at a new school, the best strategy is usually to go underground for a while until some new drama grabs everyone’s attention. That was Master Plan à la Jess for the summer. Then I’d slide back into the mainstream come fall and hope I could fly under Lexy’s radar for a while. Goal number one was to find somewhere—anywhere—I might fit in. Thanks to Lexy, that wouldn’t be with the cheerleaders.

I pushed open the doors to the main drive and took a deep breath despite the oppressive late-May Georgia heat. My stomach loosened its knots as the end to my horrific year came into view. The relief lasted all of seven seconds, until the engine of the bus at the end of the line roared to life. I looked up in time to see the first in the long line of buses start to pull away.

My bus? Second in line.

I weighed my options in that split second and decided walking the mile and a half home was infinitely preferable to sprinting around the bend inhaling bus fumes and flailing my arms in hopes of getting the bus driver to stop. A few miles of exercise was way better than being known as the freak girl who steals cheerleading spots and can’t tell time.

To put the kibosh on my afternoon thirst, I decided to grab a pop for the road. Or soda, I corrected myself, since that’s what people called it here. One more entry on my “Things to remember to fit in” list. I spun around to head back into the building and walked right smack into a very broad chest.

Literally. Smack. Into a very broad male chest.

It wasn’t even one of those cute “oopsie” kind of bumps, where you both sort of laugh and do a little shuffle to the side. It was the major “oomph” variety, where you smack really hard and your breath rushes out sounding like a defective tuba.

I looked up, dread crawling over me as I recognized the Cool Water scent of my beloved. My waking nightmare was confirmed when my eyes met the gorgeous silvery-blue ones of the Adonis otherwise known as Ryan. Strike two against the Ryan-Steele-plus-Jess-Parker-equals-happily-ever-after equation.

“Sorry,” he said in that sexy Southern drawl. “I didn’t know this part of the sidewalk was taken.”

His voice was smelling salts for the butterfly brigade, and they started a new freak-out dance in honor of my latest disgrace.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I was just, um . . .”

But Ryan had already sidestepped me at the urging of his bleached-blonde arm candy of the week. “Come on, Ryan,” Fake Blondie nagged in her nasal, big-breasted way.

Yep, I know. Catty am I.

“We have to get to the lake before everyone else,” she whined. “I need a shady spot or I’ll freckle.”

My nose twitched in defense. Good thing my freckles were limited to that region instead of all over like my neighbor Mrs. Cleavis, or I’d have been battling a full-body convulsion.

I watched them as they rounded the bend into the upperclassmen’s parking lot. The irony that the first words Ryan spoke to me (actual words, not the imaginary, misdirected kind) were due to yet another social gaffe on my part was not lost on me. Why I couldn’t have a crush on a guy my own age and in my own social stratum—that is to say, bottom-feeders—was beyond me. The older brother of the founder of the We Hate Jess the Spot Stealer Club was my least promising choice yet.

Besides, I was practically a walking, talking stereotype: the cheerleader drooling over the quarterback. Except I wasn’t popular. At least I wasn’t a total cliché.

Not that it mattered, anyway. The heart wants what it wants. I knew that from experience. And I couldn’t seem to break my losing streak of crushing on unattainable guys. My heart currently wanted a certain hot quarterback with a movie-star face and delicious muscular chest to shower attention and kisses on me. If that wasn’t possible, I’d settle for him knowing me as something other than his sister’s nemesis. Or, dare to dream, that my name was not, in fact, That New Girl.

As standards go, those probably needed a little work.

I unzipped the bag over my shoulder and dug for my wallet, determined to get out of Dodge. I groped around but couldn’t find it in the clutter, so I swung the bag forward and held it open to peer inside.

The push from behind—more like a blind-side whack—sent me flying. My bag upended and hit the ground with a thud, scattering papers, personal junk, and the last few scraps of my pride across the sidewalk.

My first grab was for the envelope with my cheerleading camp itinerary. Thank God for quick reflexes, or I’d have lost two fingers by the heel of a very vampy sandal. Lexy’s foot came down solidly on the envelope and did a quick but meaningful heel grind on my cherished paperwork.

Lexy and her gang walked on without so much as a backward glance but made sure to kick and shred as much of my stuff as possible as they walked through the mess. Things had begun to roll down the sidewalk toward the parking lot, and I double-timed it to grab them before they got run over. I snatched up a roll of mints and an assortment of gel pens, barely catching the lip gloss that was heading straight for the main drive.

I scooped up bits and pieces as I worked my way back to the scene of the crime. And there, shuffling papers into a neat pile, was the only person at MSH who’d ever been nice to me. (Aside from Mr. Norman, who I’m not counting for obvious reasons.) Heather Clark wasn’t outwardly nicey-nice—I mean, we didn’t bud or anything—but at least she didn’t treat me like a social leper. Because she was one too.

As much as I appreciated the help, it really stinks when the only people who don’t snub you are the ones who are snubbed themselves. Once you make nice, you align with them and become one of them. I’ve never understood why, but that’s how high school politics works.

I grabbed the last of my stuff and shoved it into my bag as Heather handed me her tidy little stack. “I didn’t look at it,” she said by way of greeting.

“You didn’t miss anything.” I looked at her and she seemed more, I don’t know, open than usual. Like she was waiting for me to say something else.

The few people still milling around were watching me with amusement, my stomach was in borderline vomit mode from the latest Ryan run-in, and there was Heather looking like it was a friends-forever bonding moment. Sixteen years of living in new-kid limbo, eight weeks of Lexy-induced suffering, and two embarrassing interludes with Ryan in less than five minutes all came crashing down on me at once.

I snapped.

Not on the outside, like a public meltdown that would fuel the grapevine for weeks, but on the inside, where it really counted. Everything I’d tried so hard to do to fit in one more time was reduced to a moment of pity help by a fellow outcast. Lexy was pure evil and yet surrounded by friends—or at least “friends”—and I was the loser du jour. Again.

Fate had a sick sense of humor.

I didn’t want to connect with Heather. I didn’t want her help or her pity or her bonding moment. I just wanted to go home and pretend tenth grade had never happened.

And I hated that I felt that way about someone who’d never been anything but nice to me.

I stared at the ground, feeling like a horrible excuse for a human. “Thanks.” I nudged a stray stone with my shoe, exhaling slowly to tamp down the wave of guilt. “For helping and stuff. You didn’t have to.”

Heather shifted her weight from foot to foot, probably waiting for more. I finally glanced up and saw some of the light fading from her eyes.

“No problem. I don’t have a bus to catch.” She turned to go. “Have a good summer, Jess.”

I squeezed the bridge of my nose to ward off the headache coming on, watching my only friend prospect walk away. Lots of watching other kids leave, sad little progress being made toward my own departure.

I stood there debating my options: catch Heather and apologize for acting like a jerk, or cut my losses and get down to the business of becoming a recluse for the summer. I was almost ready to go the way of the hermit—Heather was a regular customer at Celestial Gifts, so I could always apologize to her while I was at work—but Lexy wasn’t quite done stomping people into the ground.

“Where’s your boyfriend, Clark Bar?”

My eyes narrowed as I watched Lexy and her girls move in. Heather stood her ground, but the quiver of her shoulders gave away her fear. She said nothing.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Oh wait, I know what’s got your tongue.” Lexy cocked her head. “Or should I say ‘who’?”

I zipped my bag, eyeing the situation. Heather took a step back and stumbled off the sidewalk onto the asphalt.

Lexy’s gang circled Heather in two beats, and Lexy stepped forward, the sidewalk height enhancing her position of power. “We can either do this my way, or I can take you down and then we’ll do it my way. The second option is more fun, but I’m feeling generous, so I’ll give you a choice.”

Tears leaked out of Heather’s eyes, helpless tears laced with anger. Only someone who’d cried them herself could recognize them at ten paces. My feet moved before my brain could even engage.

“Offer stands until Monday. After that, I get to choose. And I’ll make sure my choice is one they’ll be talking about long after we’re out of this place.” Lexy crossed her arms. “You’re in this one alone, Clark Bar. And I come with backup,” she added, nodding to the crony parade.

“Ready to go?” I asked, finding my voice as I brushed past Lexy and landed next to Heather. “Sorry that took so long. You know how cheer business is.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lexy tense before she caught herself and resumed her haughty pose. “Well, this is interesting. I can’t decide which one of you is slumming.”

I glanced up at her. “Oh, hey, Lexy. I didn’t notice you behind the mountain of makeup.”

“She’s your backup, Clark Bar?” Lexy looked from me to Heather. “News flash: Two losers do not equal a posse.”

I’d been without backup my entire life. All it took was one person to step forward and give you a fighting chance against a bully, but that was about as likely as winning the lottery when you were an outcast. I might not have been much on the social power scale, but at least I could be a backup for Heather. Two was always better than one.

I squared my shoulders. “You’re not the only one with backup power. We’re sticking together, so you’d better get used to it.”

“Is that right?”

“Count on it.”

“You sure that’s how you want it, Clark Bar?”

When Heather didn’t respond, I stepped closer. She needed moral support, and I was more than willing to oblige. Anything to present a united front against the forces of evil.

Instead, Heather looked at me, tears dripping like apologies down her cheek. Her voice was barely audible. “I’m sorry, Jess.”

She turned and walked away.

I was so stunned I couldn’t move. I’d thrown myself on the social grenade, solidifying my status as Mt. Sterling’s Most Wanted to help a fellow outcast. Who’d snubbed me right in front of the people I was trying to save her from.

Worse, I wasn’t even sure I could blame her. Heather had helped me pick up the pieces when Lexy blasted through my life, and I’d shunned her. Now she was the target, and I was pushing my way into her life like she didn’t have a choice.

Here, hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite . . .

I could’ve ignored what was happening. Could’ve kept my distance like everyone else. But the breaking point Lexy had been pushing me toward for weeks had finally arrived. For my efforts, I saw the first genuine smile I’d ever seen on Lexy’s face. I’d given her a front-row seat to my ultimate humiliation.

“It must be hard to be you, Parker. Lucking your way onto varsity only to discover they don’t want you. Not a single friend to your name. Even the losers won’t give you the time of day.” Lexy turned to go, delivering her parting shot over her shoulder. “It must really make you wonder what’s wrong with you.”

By the time the humiliating fog cleared from my mind, Lexy was halfway across the parking lot. I stared after her, trying to erase the words ringing in my ears. But it was the car idling nearby that finally snapped me out of it. Fake Blondie’s voice reached my ears as she gossiped with another soon-to-be senior. A string of Populars lined the car on both sides. When the crowd broke and Ryan’s eyes met mine, I knew without a doubt that he’d witnessed my final downfall.

My misery was complete.

Drained by my lingering shame, I trudged back into school for my much-needed beverage of choice. I dropped my bag on a bench to dig one more time for cash. The sound of the bag’s thump against the wood echoed through the nearly vacant halls. Funny how a place could be so alive and kicking one minute and completely devoid of energy the next.

I fished around for the money I hadn’t thought to set aside while it was sprawled on the sidewalk. Since only a few people were hanging around, mostly outside, I dumped the contents of the bag in the corner near the vending machines. At the very bottom of the bag—big surprise—was my wallet. It came out almost dead last. Except for one small, lavender envelope that swept down to land on top of it.

In small, loopy letters it read: For Jessica’s eyes only.

Almost no one calls me Jessica. It’s always been Jess, except to Nan and receptionists in doctors’ offices. Whoever had left this for me must not have known me very well. Which, given the givens, wasn’t a shocking revelation. The fact this person knew I even had a first name gave them bonus points.

I turned the envelope over in my hand. It was sealed with one of those old-fashioned wax thingies. Where they drip wax on the paper and stamp it with a fancy seal?

I dropped it back on the pile, trying to process this latest development. Someone had given me a note that didn’t look like hate mail. Because, really, anyone who puts fancy wax seals on hate mail has way too much time on their hands.

But a fancy wax seal on an elaborate joke? That would be right up Lexy’s alley.

As tempted as I was to toss the stupid thing in the trash—that would show her—I couldn’t. I’ve always been too curious for my own good. I also knew myself well enough to know I’d never make it home before I gave in to temptation, so I plowed ahead, determined to get the joke over with once and for all. I tossed some coins in the machine and grabbed my pop (soda, whatever), gathered up my stuff, and headed straight for the girls’ bathroom.

I checked under the stalls to make sure they were free of witnesses before locking myself in one so nobody would have a prime view of my private episode of Punk’d. Because, let’s face it, that would’ve been on par with the rest of my day.

I peeled open the envelope, taking care not to break the seal in two. Somehow, the seal made the envelope’s contents feel important. And wasn’t it always the breaking of some seal that opened the portal to the seventh level of hell in movies? So yeah, case number two for keeping that baby intact.

My hand hesitated at the open flap. Part of me wanted to tear into it, but the bigger part of me—the one concerned with self-preservation—resisted. How had my life come to this? Where I feared opening random notes because they might be the latest in a long line of adolescent aggravations? Yes, there was a chance it could be a legit note, but the odds of that were miniscule. I might’ve been an optimist, but I wasn’t an idiot.

Still . . .

I reached into the envelope and withdrew the matching lavender note card, which sported the same swirly design as the seal. I opened the card, my hands trembling in dread and the faint remnants of what I used to call hope, as a tiny silver high-heel pin bounced into my hand.

What the . . . ?

I juggled the pin for a second, barely managing to keep it from falling into the toilet, and flipped open the note with my other hand. The words inside were written in the same girly handwriting. Not a message but an invitation, one that sent shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with the blasting AC.

Your presence is requested at The Grind.
Tonight, 7 p.m.
Wear the pin.
Discretion MANDATORY.

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April 13, 2010!