Maggie’s parents have just split up, and she’s moved from New Jersey to New York City with her mom. Desperate to make new friends and to distract herself from troubles at home, she falls in with a group of social butterflies at the ritzy private school she now attends. These girls keep a top-secret record of their classmates’ most intimate details on a wall in one of their apartments. Maggie’s friends insist they are collecting the truth—not gossip—about the lives of today’s teenagers. But she soon learns that certain information in the wrong hands can do irreparable damage.

This is the second novel from Publishers Weekly “Flying Start” author and literacy legacy Lizabeth Zindel.

Chapter Two

Caterpillars eat voraciously and grow quickly. In only ten to fourteen days, depending on temperature, the caterpillar will grow to more than 3,000 times its hatching weight. During this time, a caterpillar can shed its skin up to five times. Caterpillars should never be disturbed during this process, as they are extremely vulnerable to stress and injury.

The first week and a half at Berkeley, I am on the outside looking in. I can’t decide which sucks more—being at home or being in school. My mom is a mess. She closes herself in her room early at night, and I can hear her crying behind the door. I want to knock and see if she’s okay, but I also know she doesn’t want me to see her like this, so I respect her privacy. Knowing she’s so sad makes me feel sick inside. And the stuff I found out about my dad before we left New Jersey makes me feel even worse. I can’t decide if I should tell her what I know about him.

I wish I could turn to my brother, Jason. I call him in his dorm room at Tufts and he doesn’t even call me back. He’s probably busy with his film classes and hanging out with Chloe, his girlfriend. Still, I can’t help but wonder if he’s avoiding me. Things between us seemed ice-cold the last few days before he left for school. Jason probably thinks I’m selfish and manipulative just like my father does. But then again, dad seemed to think women in general were selfish and manipulative, starting with his own mother and continuing on to Mom and me. It was like he thought all females were controlling him, even when they weren’t.

Now my dad and I mostly keep in touch over e-mail. Right after my mom and I moved out, he sent a note yelling at me for leaving my room at our house a mess. Sometimes you don’t think enough about other people, he wrote. Sometimes, I just hate family, I think to myself.

At Berkeley Prep, the cliques seemed sealed tight with crazy glue. despite the fact that there are forty-three girls in my grade, I often sit alone at a table in the cafeteria.

On a few occasions, I grab lunch with Anne Marie and her two best friends, Grace Mills and Robin Waldron. But that’s only when they poke their buried heads out of their textbooks like prairie dogs. Most of the seniors aren’t around, because you’re allowed to leave school and eat anywhere in Manhattan as long as you’re back in forty minutes. Meanwhile, I am stuck in the cafeteria eating French-bread pizzas, sloppy joes, baked ziti, and meat-loaf casseroles, and drinking syrupy-sweet lemonade. I sit all by myself in the corner and probably look like a hardcore dorkilingus.

Since Berkeley is located on some of Manhattan’s prime real estate, there’s no room for baseball diamonds or football and soccer fields. So for phys ed, the school herds us off in orange buses to Randall’s Island, a big city park, which is a fifteen-minute ride away over the Triborough Bridge. Anne Marie tells me that lots of the New York City prep schools use this place for sports and gym classes.

Anne Marie always sits on the gym bus with her best friend, Grace, and I often get stuck alone, or sitting with Anne Marie’s second-best friend, Robin, who seems to have zero personality and no sense of humor. Victoria and her two best friends, Lexi and Sydney, squeeze into one seat in the back of the bus and I can faintly hear them whispering and giggling.

I have so much homework to do and I do it on the bus. I also finish reading the student handbook, which ends with the school’s Credo:

All members of the Berkeley community are expected to live honestly, with appreciation and respect for the feelings, needs, and activities of others. In keeping with the tone of community life that we wish to establish, we should be conscious to exclude abusive language in our interactions with one another. These expectations are based on the values identified by the community as essential to ethical and responsible behavior: courage, respect, fairness, responsibility, caring, and honesty.

Who the hell actually sits down and writes the student handbook? I wonder if the person who wrote it thinks she’s like a female George Washington making a constitution for all Berkeley Prep girls to follow.

It’s during the second Thursday of school on the bus for gym class that I finally get wind of Victoria Hudson’s back- to-school party. I’m sitting alone in my seat, leaning my head against the window, watching the city skyline over the Triborough Bridge. I overhear two girls sitting diagonally behind me whispering. The girls’ names are Olivia and Fredrika, and I recognize them as two members of a clique that’s on the fringe of Victoria’s A-group. These girls wear mostly worn flannels, jeans, and just a little makeup. They spend a lot of time on the stoop around the corner from school smoking cigarettes.

Olivia has thick, long blonde hair, a perfect body, and nice features, except for her strange nostrils that are big and curved up like a horse’s. She acts like she’s older and more mature than the rest of us. I’ve seen her skateboard to school a few times. Fredrika is pretty homely and tries to pretend she’s a hippie sometimes. I remember trying to say hi to her on the first day of school, but she just looked away.

“I got the details for Vic’s party this Friday,” Olivia says.

“Nice work,” Fredrika says. “Where is it this year?”

Olivia pulls a red piece of paper from her grungy blue gym bag. “The garden at her dad’s new building on Thirty- Ninth at the East River. Eight o’clock sharp. BYOB and your own flashlights.”

Olivia notices I’m watching her. She flips her hair and quickly turns into the seat, hiding behind Fredrika’s big- boned, flannel-coated body.

I blush, embarrassed that she caught me eavesdropping, but at least now I know this Friday’s the date and it’s on East 39th Street. The only problem is I’m not invited. Shit. Plop. Suck. Poop. Blow.

As the bus pulls up to Randall’s Island, the girls from my grade pile off the orange bus that smells of salt, sweat, and vanilla body spray. The gym teacher, Mrs. Foster, makes everyone line up and picks two team captains for a game of softball. As usual, she chooses Victoria’s jock best friend, Lexi, as one of them.

Lexi stands confidently before our grade picking members of her team. She picks Victoria and Sydney first—as always—even though they are definitely not the top athletes. Lexi grins at them as she calls them over to her team.

Anne Marie was right—Victoria definitely is the most powerful girl in our grade. I’ve been watching her closely to try to learn the secret to her success. She always seems in control and never seems mean, but rather, exclusive. If you aren’t in her tight group of girlfriends, she won’t give you the time of day, unless she has to. There’s a rumor she dated a baseball player on the Yankees, and I never see her wearing the same outfit twice. Whenever I spot her in the hallway, she is looking straight ahead with her chin slightly lifted. It doesn’t seem like she’s ignoring me, but rather like she has something more important on her mind that’s distracting her from seeing me.

I end up on Lexi’s team. I make sure to stand next to Victoria while Lexi assigns positions. I wish I could ask her for a red party invite, but I feel too intimidated. The words just won’t come out of my mouth.

“Go play left field,” Lexi says, pointing to me.

I grab my mitt and run out into the field. I spend the next ten minutes poised and ready to catch a ball that never comes.

When Friday night rolls around, I throw on a casual floral sundress and flip-flops. The only problem is I’m not heading to Vic’s big, hot back-to-school soirée. I’m going out with my mom for dinner at her old friend Karen’s house. All week, I never got my hands on a red flyer, and I don’t have the guts to crash without being invited.

Karen’s my mom’s best friend from high school and she still lives in Manhattan, but now with her sexy husband, who is an attaché for the Turkish embassy. My mom stands at the door holding her purse. I notice she has white roots growing in on the side of her hairline by her ears. She’s usually so on top of getting her hair colored every three weeks.

“I’m not really in the mood to go out,” my mom confesses to me in the elevator down to the lobby. “But when I tried to cancel, Karen wouldn’t let me get out of it. She said she had a million stories she wanted to tell me about their trip to Istanbul.”

“Why’d you want to skip out?” I ask my mom, surprised. “You haven’t seen her since we moved here.”

“I guess I’m rundown from unpacking all those moving boxes and learning the ropes at the new office. Frankly, I’d prefer to stay in bed and watch the Jane Austen miniseries on PBS.”

When I started school, my mom began her new job working at a district public health office that handles East and Central Harlem. She’s a health-promotion coordinator, which, from what I understand, means she helps oversee a wide range of programs for nearby schools on stuff like asthma, vision, fitness, and mental health.

My mom certainly seems lower on energy lately and not herself. She’s usually what she would call “a live wire.”

In the cab on the way to Karen’s, my mom points to the identification card posted on the glass partition behind the driver’s seat. “See that? If you ever take a cab alone, I want you to call me with the driver’s name and his medallion number. I don’t care what time it is, you can wake me up. I like having it for safety.”

“Sure, Mom,” I tell her. Now if a deranged cabbie tries to kidnap me or take me hostage, she can track him down and rescue me. Since moving to New York, she has been a walking almanac of caution. don’t go into Central Park after sundown or you might get mugged. Stay away from dark and empty streets. If the elevator door opens and there’s a weird-looking stranger standing inside it, pretend you pressed the wrong button and don’t under any circumstances step inside. My mom wasn’t as safety-conscious back in Montague. I guess she had less to worry about back there.

Karen lives in a brownstone on 43rd Street between First and Second Avenues. In the distance, I see a hundred world flags blowing in the breeze outside the United Nations. As we walk up the front steps of the townhouse, I notice how much bigger Karen and Omer’s home is than the squishy apartment where Mom and I live. Their place is three stories tall with flower boxes filled with magenta azaleas outside the windows.

“Wow, do they own this place?” I ask my mom as she rings the doorbell.

“No, the Turkish government does,” my mom says. “Since Omer is a member of the consulate’s staff, they provide them with a place to live.”

“Nice gig,” I say.

“And technically, once we step inside, we’re on Turkish soil. It’s pretty wild, but Omer has diplomatic immunity. Even U.S. law enforcement agencies aren’t allowed in.”

“That’s crazy,” I say.

A moment later, Karen answers the door. She has light brown hair to her shoulders, big blue eyes, and an open smile. I like the lemon dress she is wearing.

“How good to see you!” she says, greeting my mom and me with big hugs. It’s been about two years since I last saw her, and she looks like she hasn’t aged one bit. I wish my mom looked like that, too. Not for superficial reasons, but because it worries me that she’s getting older.

“We just got back from Istanbul last night! I had to see you right away. Welcome to New York!”

“It still hasn’t hit me yet that we’re really here,” my mom says.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you and I are in the same city again.” Karen puts her arm around my mom’s shoulders as we walk into her living room. “We haven’t been in the same place for more than a few days since Hofstra. Your mom and I in college were something else,” Karen says, looking at me.

I smirk. “Really?” I ask. “What did you guys do?”

“Oh, your mother was a real beauty. All the boys loved her.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say, smiling.

“Please, stop.” My mom shakes her head. “Little did they know what a chubby frump I’d grow into.”

“No, you look fantastic,” Karen says. I wonder if she’s just saying that to be nice. Since my parents separated three months ago, my mom’s gained at least twelve pounds, and the skin under her eyes looks droopier.

“Anyway, Omer wanted me to order in Thai from this place we love up on Forty-Seventh, but I insisted on making some traditional Turkish food. I’ve learned to cook a few dishes, and I thought, no better time to show off.” Karen turns to me. “Your mom knows. I used to be a horrendous cook. Almost poisoned us with a batch of lemon chicken when we were roomies in college.”

“It’s not your fault the supermarket mislabeled cow brains,” my mom jokes.

Omer waves to us from where he stands, opening a bottle of red wine. I notice he has black cuff links that look like delicate knots on his crisp, white shirt. He kisses my mom on the cheek and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Nice to see the both of you,” he says.

I look up at his face. He is very handsome, at least for a member of the Older Man Crew, with short brown hair, olive skin, and almond eyes that seem to wink at you as he talks. He has a refined and charming quality about him, like he could moonlight as a maître d’ at a ritzy restaurant. If I were from Turkey, I would certainly be very proud to have him representing my country.

Omer pours three glasses of cabernet and hands them out to my mom and Karen while keeping one for himself.

As Karen and Omer tell my mom all about their recent vacation in Istanbul, I notice a side table filled with a collection of kaleidoscopes. I glance out the window, spot the sign for 43rd Street, and remember how close I am to Victoria’s back-to-school party. It’s only four blocks downtown and one avenue to the east. I wish so bad that I was there. I lift up one of the kaleidoscopes and turn the tube. The street sign outside spins and turns into patterns of green and white light.

Karen announces it’s time to sit down to dinner. She and her hubbie take the far ends of the table, while Mom and I sit across from each other. My mom picks up her wineglass and takes a sip. I try to figure out what she’s feeling as she swirls the red liquid. It must be strange hanging out with these married types, while she’s separated. I imagine it’s one of the few times in the last eighteen years she has gone to a dinner party without my father. It must feel weird being dateless. Even though I’ll be the first to admit that my dad can act like a dickwad, I kinda wish he was here. He always tells such great jokes and stories at dinner parties. Besides, I got kinda used to having him around.

As Omer helps serve the food, Karen looks at me. “So the million-dollar question,” she says. “What on earth are you doing hanging out with old fogies on a Friday night? You should be out having a blast with your friends.”

I laugh, surprised by her directness. “I, uh, wanted to see you,” I said.

“There must be something more fun going on, no?” Karen looks at me and raises her eyebrows.

I shrug my shoulders. “Well, I guess, tonight, there is a party that one of the girls from my school is throwing.” I take a bite of the lamb shank that Omer put on my plate. “In fact, it’s just a few blocks away, I think. On Thirty- Ninth Street.”

“And why aren’t you there . . . ?” Karen says, wiping her mouth with a red cloth napkin.

“She’s not invited. Mags has been having trouble making friends at Berkeley Prep,” my mom announces. “It was hard moving her to a new school for senior year and asking her to adjust. I feel bad for putting her through it. Maybe it’s all my fault.”

I throw my mom a shut-up look. “I’m doing just fine,” I say. “I have tons of friends. In fact, I can hardly make time for all of them.”

Karen leans her elbows on the table and holds her head in her hands. I feel like she’s looking right through me.

“You know, sometimes you just have to go for it and put yourself out there.” She smiles at Omer across the table. “Eight years ago, I was out to dinner with a girlfriend of mine at Cipriani. We heard there was a private party in the back room, and after dinner, we decided to sneak in. Minutes later, I met the love of my life beside the dessert buffet of miniature éclairs. Now look where we are today.”

Omer nods and his eyes wink. “Except they weren’t mini éclairs, they were vanilla cream puffs.”

Karen rolls her eyes as if they’ve already been through this many times before. “Maggie, you have plenty of time in this life to stay in on a Friday night eating lamb shank,” she says.

I look at my mom, hoping she’ll give me advice. “Honey, it’s up to you,” she says. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I guess . . . I would really like to go,” I admit.

My mom nods at me slowly while she chews. “All right,” she says. “Then I’ll walk you over there right after dinner.”

“No, I can go myself,” I say, looking at my watch. It’s eight thirty. “And I should probably leave now. The party started half an hour ago.”

My mom smiles at Karen. Then fiddles with the napkin on her lap. “It’s dark out, and I don’t want you walking alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say. Then I stand up from the table. “If I’m old enough to have my driver’s permit, I really think I can walk six blocks.”

“Magpie,” my mom says. “Please don’t cause a scene. I’ll walk you over when we’re done with the meal and then come right back.”

“It’s not fair,” I say. “I want to go alone. If anyone sees I’m being chaperoned, I’ll look stupid.”

Karen clears her throat. “Sarah, I think you should let her go by herself,” she says.

I stare at my mom and raise my eyebrows, waiting for her response.

She looks down at her plate and then lets out a loud breath of air. “Okay,” she says. “But be careful.”

I smile big. “Always am,” I say. Then I turn to Karen and Omer. “Thanks for dinner!” I say. But deep down, I want to thank them for much more. Like helping to get my neurotic mother off my back a little bit.

“Our pleasure,” Omer says.

“Come back anytime,” Karen says.

“And thank you, too, Mom,” I say, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek good-bye.

“Be home by midnight,” my mom says. “And take a cab.”

“I will,” I call, as I grab my pocketbook and head out the door.

I feel the three of them watching me. Maybe this was just the right kind of nudging I needed.

Chapter Three

Upon completion of the caterpillar’s growth, which is mediated by hormone balances, the caterpillar leaves its host plant and crawls around to locate a place where it can begin to build its cocoon, which is also known as a chrysalis.

Nerves fill my stomach as I walk toward 39th Street and the East River. I look around for where the party might be. I finally spot what seems to be a newly constructed building. Through the windows, it appears as if there’s no one living there yet. Parts of the lobby are full of paint cans and are covered in tarps.

I notice two girls from my grade dressed in short black skirts, tight tops, and high, stiletto heels, clanking along the pavement. I’ve noticed these girls at school hanging out in Olivia and Fredrika’s clique and I’ve overheard their names in the hallway. One girl is called Sadie, and the other, dakota. They look like clones of each other, with dark hair and smoky eyes.

The two girls stop at one of the side doors of the vacant building. They look left and then right before quickly opening the door and running inside. Bingo. I hurry over to the side entrance and put my hand on the doorknob. To my relief, it opens. As I step inside, the girls are now out of sight, but I still smell the lingering scent of their mango perfume.

The room I’m standing in now looks like it’s a side foyer of the building’s main lobby. There are marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and black leather couches. I notice a huge mirror hanging against one of the walls and straighten my sundress in the reflection. Back in Jersey, we dressed super casual for a night out on the town—not in lycra miniskirts and high- heeled shoes. I’m wondering whether I should’ve worn something more sophisticated when out of nowhere, I hear a guy’s voice.

“Like what you see?” he says.

I jump, startled. To my right stands a boy about my age in jeans, a black Izod shirt, and trendy-looking tan sneakers with blue and white stripes. He’s finger-licking cute, so I can only glance at him for a few seconds. Keeping prolonged eye contact with hot guys makes me nervous. He has brown, slightly messy-styled hair, bright green eyes, and a confident smile. Plus, he seems so comfortable here, with one of his hands tucked inside a front jean pocket.

Play it cool, Maggie. You can swing this. “I’m just checking this place out, that’s all,” I say.

He raises one eyebrow, inquisitively. “didn’t you read on the invite to make a sharp left as soon as you get inside the door?”

“Oh, yeah, I, uh, must’ve overlooked that part,” I say.

“Take out your flyer,” he says. “It’s right there.”

“I, um, didn’t bring mine,” I stammer. “Left it at home.” It’s hard to look at him without blushing.

He takes his own crumpled flyer from his back pocket.

“See, it says it right here.” He gestures with his head toward the center of the building. “There’s a security guard in the main lobby. If he hears us, he’ll call the cops and that girl Victoria will get in huge trouble with her dad. Even though he’s the real-estate developer, no one’s moved in yet, and he wouldn’t want her here. Or us.”

Anne Marie mentioned to me during the first-day-ofschool assembly that Victoria’s father was a big real-estate mogul in New York, and now I’m starting to put things together. Victoria’s throwing a party in one of her daddy’s skyscrapers before any of the tenants have moved in yet. dangerous, but also kind of genius.

“Good thing I snuck back here to take a leak and saw you,” the cute boy says.

“Yeah,” I said. “Seriously.”

“Are you and the hostess with the mostess good friends?” he asks.

“Oh, no,” I say. “Just acquaintances from school. And you?”

“don’t really know her. One of the guys from my soccer team had a few extra invites and he gave me one. Come on. Follow me,” he says. “The party’s in what’s going to be the vegetable garden. This building’s green, and I heard the plan is to have a small organic farm for the tenants.”

“That is so cool,” I say. There are a bunch of farms out in Montague, but none that sound as sophisticated.

The cute guy leads me down a long corridor. As I walk behind him, I can’t help but notice how tall he is, almost six feet.

“So what do you think of Berkeley Prep?” he asks, glancing back at me.

“Still getting used to it,” I say. “I’m new. Just started this year as a senior.”

“That’s kinda weird,” he says. “Why so late?”

“Long story,” I say. I don’t want to get into all the gory details. “My mom wanted to move. She grew up here and missed it tons. Plus, my grandpa lives here still, and now that he’s older, she wants to be closer to him.” I speed up so I’m walking right beside him now.

“Gotcha,” he says. “I moved here two years ago, but from Lancaster, Pennsylvania. You know, Amish country?”

We make a left turn and head down another hallway. I notice a silver door at the end of it.

“Wow, are you Amish?”

“You should’ve seen me when I moved here. I wore suspenders, rode a horse, and had one of those cool black felt hats,” he says seriously. Then he laughs. “No, I’m not Amish.”

I suddenly feel stupid. Why on earth did I ask that? Of course he’s not Amish. He looks like he just stepped out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. “Well, what I meant is maybe your grandmother is or something,” I say, trying to recover quickly.

“Far from it,” he says, staring straight ahead. “When I was born, my dad’s mom was my only grandmother still alive, and she was a country-club socialite.” His voice grows quieter.

We arrive at the silver door. He turns the knob and we take a few steps outside. “By the way, my name’s Connor. What’s yours, redhead?” he asks.

I stop in my tracks. “Maggie. And my hair’s not red,” I correct him. “It’s strawberry blonde.” God, I hate being described as a redhead. There were those annoying jokes I endured in middle school about being a mutant. Kids called me “Bozo the Clown,” “carrottop,” and “Cheeto crotch.” And there are all those stupid stereotypes about redheads having huge tempers, major mood swings, and small boobs. Plus, my dad has balding red hair and although I like being smart like him, I don’t want to look like him.

Connor stops in front of me and jabs me lightly on the shoulder. “Oh, easy there, tiger. I see I pushed a sore spot.”

“I don’t like thinking of myself as a readhead, that’s all.”

“Well, just so you know, I’ve had a thing for redheads since the girl I dated in kindergarten.”

Hmm. All right, fine. I guess that makes things a little better. We continue along the outdoor redbrick path. As we head into the main garden area, I realize it’s a stroke of luck to enter the party by his side. At least this way, it may seem more like I belong. The garden area is a large rectangle, with paths of trees and wooden benches swirling around a central gazebo. The lights of flashlights moving back and forth illuminate the gray of night a little, but it’s pretty dark out here. Once my eyes adjust, I can make out groups of prep-school boys and girls hanging out in clusters, posturing, flirting, laughing. I notice that Sadie, one of the girls I saw enter the party from the street, is now perched on a guy’s lap, nibbling on his neck.

Victoria, Lexi, and Sydney are lounging inside the prime gazebo area. Victoria’s in a black-and-blue-striped dress and motorcycle boots with several black and gold chainlink necklaces. Lexi wears a pair of dark jeans with a black sequined tank top and headband, and Sydney’s in a floral dress with snakeskin boots. They’re chatting with a bunch of good- looking guys who look like grungy, intellectual rock stars that could’ve stepped out of Rolling Stone magazine.

“Come meet my buddy Teddy,” Connor says to me. “We play on the soccer team together at Chesterfield.”

“Where is he?” I ask, making sure he’s not one of the boys on the gazebo. The last thing I want to do right now is walk right up to Victoria.

“Over there by the cooler,” he says, nodding at a boy with round glasses who’s standing by a white plastic trunk filled with ice.

The cooler isn’t on the gazebo, thank God, but it is pretty close by. I decide it’s probably best to stay near the door where Victoria won’t see me. “I’ll just hang out over here,” I say.

“don’t be silly. Come hang out with us.” Connor grabs my hand to pull me along. I feel the warmth of his palm next to mine, and part of me doesn’t want to let go. It’s like my body is turning into Laffy Taffy.

Connor introduces me to Teddy, who’s kinda cute, but pretty short, with a big nose, brown eyes, and curly brown hair. He’s wearing a burgundy polo and a pair of khakis. As he talks he likes to play with the bottom of his shirt and lift it up slightly to expose his abs.

“Hey, whaaat’s up?” Teddy says, slapping me a high five. Then he turns back to the girl he’s been talking to and puts his arm around her shoulder. I recognize her from my school. She’s a member of my grade’s jock clique. She’s short, with big boobs, and eyebrows tweezed too thin. I can hear her laughing really loudly at whatever Teddy is whispering into her ear.

“That’s his girlfriend, Nikki. They started dating when they were counselors at this sports camp in New Hampshire,” Connor says. He dips his hand into the white cooler and takes out two cans. “Want one?” he asks.

I haven’t drunk much before, but I am curious. There was just that one night back in Montague when Kelsey and I shared a six-pack with her older sister, got a teeny bit buzzed, and mooned her sister’s cute friends Pete and Trevor. I wish Kelsey was here right now. Although we still e-mail and text, it’s not the same as having her around as my day-to-day, living-and-breathing partner in crime.

“Sure,” I say.

I glance over at Victoria and her friends. They look too busy flirting with their group of guys to notice me. Connor flicks back the beer top and hands it to me. “Here ya go, me lady,” he says.

“Thanks.” I look down at the huge pile of cans in the ice chest. “How did they get so much?” I ask.

“There’s a bodega on East Eighty-Third Street, and this guy who works there, Tomiko, sells beer to underage kids. You just slip him your backpack and the money, and he takes your bag behind the cash register and sticks the six-pack or whatever you’re getting inside.”

Connor and I sit down on a bench. As I take a sip, I can’t help but feel a little guilty. I know my parents wouldn’t be too happy if they knew I was drinking. My grandfather on my father’s side who died before I was born was an alcoholic, so they’re always extra strict about letting me try any booze.

Teddy walks by us holding Nikki’s hand. He shines his flashlight into our faces. “Hey, sexy people. Nikki and I are gonna take a walk and find some privacy.”

“All right there, man,” Connor laughs, then turns back to me. “I swear, he’s one of my best friends, but he’s always causing trouble.”

I laugh, then glance over at Victoria again. This time, she’s looking in my direction. I flip around and focus back on Connor’s yummy-looking profile. He’s got the cutest little sideburns, small ears, and kissable lips.

He turns and catches me staring at him. Who knows what kind of silly, orgasmic look was plastered on my grill as I studied his features? I feel so nervous that I lose my balance and rock backwards. Connor sticks out his arm and grabs on to me so I don’t fall off and land on my head in the grass.

“I’m so clumsy,” I say, shaking my head.

“Near miss,” he says. “But I got you.”

“I don’t why, but I always do stupid stuff like that. Knock my elbows into doorways, stub my toe on couches, and fall down on the street. Once I even hit myself in the eye with my hair dryer.” My mouth is jabberwacky.

“Ouch,” he says. “Were you okay?”

“Nope, I got a black eye.” Then I laugh at myself. “I don’t know why I just told you all that. Like, I mean, do you really want to hang out with klutz central?” I stop talking and listen to myself. Being within one foot of this guy’s adorableness is making me act like a colossal weirdo.

Just then, I feel a tap on my arm. I turn and the world freezes. There’s Victoria beside me and standing next to her are Lexi and Sydney. “Can we talk to you privately?” Victoria asks.

My heart is beating fast and loud like quarters dropping out of a slot machine. “Oh, yeah, sure,” I say, casually standing up from the bench. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Connor as cheerfully as possible.

My hands start to sweat as Victoria takes me over to a spot under a tree away from the rest of the partygoers. Lexi and Sydney stand around me, looking at Victoria, waiting for her to begin.

“I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of everyone,” Victoria says. “But what are you doing here?”

It’s like a searchlight is now pointed right at my face. “Um . . .” I say. It’s the only sound I can get out.

The girls stand there with their hands on their hips waiting for an answer.

“We’re just really confused,” Lexi says. “How’d you get here? We didn’t invite you.”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be a small soirée,” Sydney says, curling one of her long, blonde ringlets around her index finger.

“Look,” Victoria says, “I don’t want to sound mean, but we need to know if word of this got out. If it gets crashed by three hundred people, I could get in huge trouble with my dad. If he finds out, he’ll royally flip the crap out on me.”

“Uh, I, yeah, um,” I say, stammering. I look over at Connor. He’s sitting where I left him, but now he’s watching me. He raises both hands up in the air as if to gesture, Is everything okay? I flash him a small wave and a mini smile, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Come on. Out with it,” Victoria says.

“Well, I have to admit that, uh, because I never lie, that I did get wind of the flyer.” Somewhere in this response, I hope I’m giving them part of the answer they want to hear.

“do other people know?” Victoria asks.

“What are their names?” Lexi asks.

“Tell us everything,” Sydney says.

The trio fires off questions at me with a swift bang, bang, bang. I try to come up with the right words. “I was on the gym bus, and I overheard something. No one else knows. I swear. I’m sorry if I crashed, it’s just that—”

Just then, I see Nikki run out into the courtyard. Her overplucked eyebrows look arched in panic. Teddy quickly emerges by her side. “Victoria! Victoria! Where are you?” Nikki screams.

Victoria turns to Nikki. “What is it? Keep your voice down,” she says.

Nikki runs over to us. “Teddy and I were making out on the couches in the side lobby and—”

“Why were you in there? I told everyone explicitly not to hang out in that area and to come immediately back here.”

I look over and see Teddy talking with Connor by the cooler. He’s moving his arms frantically in the air.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, we just got carried away.” Nikki throws her hands down by her side. “Teddy stuck his tongue in my belly button as a joke and it made me laugh and the security guard must have heard ’cause he called to us so we ran back out here.”

“Nikki, I swear. Your laugh is way too loud for this planet,” Victoria says. “Now look what you did.”

“I’m sorry, Vic. I am. And the guard said he was gonna call the cops.”

Victoria covers her face with both hands and lets out a loud sigh.

“This party was just getting started,” she says. Then she turns to the center of the courtyard and calls out loudly, “Everyone! Get out of here! Pigs are coming! Someone grab the beer chest! Turn your flashlights off! And run for it!”

Just then, we hear the side door open. “Is that the guard?” Lexi says, squinting in the sudden darkness as everyone turns off their flashlights.

“I’m not sticking around to find out,” Victoria says.

I watch as kids start running down the courtyard toward the other end. I spot Connor and Teddy carrying the cooler between them. Connor looks back at me as they take off.

I find myself running away from the party with Victoria, Lexi, and Sydney.

“This is the fastest way out,” Victoria says, pointing toward a side wall. “We gotta jump over this.”

“But I’m in cobra-snakeskin boots with three-inch heels,” Sydney complains.

Victoria, Lexi, and I jump down the four-foot drop. I stumble when I land, almost twisting my ankle. “Just throw yourself over and I’ll spot you,” I yell up at Sydney, who’s looking down at me, panicking.

“Oh my God,” she’s saying over and over. “He’s coming! I hear him! The guard is coming!”

“Just start climbing over and we’ll help you the rest of the way,” I encourage her.

Sydney holds on to the top and throws herself over. “Oh, please God,” she says, dangling a few feet off the ground. Lexi and I help her down. Then the four of us start sprinting down the block.

As we run, I look over at Victoria. She’s shaking her head, breathing heavily, and moving her lips without saying anything. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her lose composure.

We are two blocks away when I look back and see a cop car pull up to the building. We turn around to see two officers get out of the patrol car and go inside.

“I’m fucked! I’m fucked!” Victoria says. “I can’t get caught. I just can’t. My dad’s gonna ground me forever.”

“Me, too,” Sydney says. “I told my mom I went to the movies with you at the AMC in Murray Hill. She’ll know I lied.”

“If I get arrested, I’ll never get to become a lawyer,” Lexi said. “Tonight could ruin my entire career.”

“I know where we’ll be safe,” I blurt out.

The girls look at me with curiosity. “It’s only a few blocks away. Follow me.”

“You’d better know what you’re doing,” Victoria says. “If not—”

“Trust me,” I say.

The four of us keep running. We pass a Chinese restaurant, a Bank of America, then a drugstore. “I’m getting blisters the size of gerbils on my big toes,” Sydney screams out.

“Almost there,” I say. As we run up First Avenue, I spot the flags from the United Nations getting closer. We turn down 43rd Street, and I lead the girls up the steps to Karen’s brownstone. Then I ring the doorbell.

“Where the hell are we?” Victoria asks.

“It’s this guy’s apartment. He works for the Turkish consulate,” I explain, in between gasping for breaths.

“Yeah, so what?” Lexi says.

“NYPd aren’t allowed to set foot inside. diplomatic immunity,” I say.

Karen swings the door open, smiling. “So I see you’ve found some friends, after all,” she says.

“Can we come inside?” I ask urgently.

“Please do,” Karen says.

The four of us run through the front door like we’re reaching home base. Karen gives us a funny look and then shuts the door. “Just in time for my favorite Turkish dessert,” she says, leading us into a salon area.

My mom and Omer are already enjoying spoonfuls in front of a window facing out onto the street. She’s telling him about her new job as we walk in.

“This week, it’s planning a vision screen follow-up at the public schools in my district,” my mom says. Then she turns and looks over at me. “You’re back. That wasn’t very long. I thought I’d lost you forever.” As she looks behind me and notices Victoria, Sydney, and Lexi, she smiles.

“What happened to the party?” she asks.

“Oh, it ended early,” I say. “I told my friends from school about Karen and Omer’s amazing brownstone and they were dying to see it.”

“Well, if you think this is more exciting, you’re welcome to stay,” Karen says, and motions us to sit down in the living room.

As I walk past Karen, she raises her eyebrows at me. I sense that although she might not buy my excuse entirely, she’s willing to play along.

I introduce Victoria, Lexi, and Sydney to the rest of the group.

“I hope we’re not imposing, though,” Victoria says.

“Shush, shush. So who wants baklava with scoops of pistachio ice cream?” Karen announces.

“Count me in,” I say, smiling at Victoria. She grins back at me.

“I just love baklava,” Victoria says.

“Me, too,” Lexi says.

“So do I,” Sydney agrees.

In the salon, the four of us squeeze together on a dijoncolored divan. Karen hands us dessert plates and we balance them on our laps.

It’s while Karen pours us tea that we noticed a police cruiser drive down the street. Lexi sees it first and nudges Victoria in the arm. We watch as it slows down for a moment, and then it drives off. Out of nerves, we burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” my mom asks me.

“Yeah, what is it?” Karen says.

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head, smiling.

“Girls will be girls,” Omer says. “You remember when you were that age.”

“I guess I do,” my mom says.

After we finish our plates, Victoria, Lexi, and Sydney excuse themselves and say they have to get home. It’s only ten o’clock, and I doubt that’s where they’re really going, but I imagine they must have something more fun to do than stick around the consulate.

I walk them to the door and after we say our good-byes, Victoria lags behind for a moment. “Thanks,” she says. “I really appreciate what you did tonight. You’re a lifesaver.”

“don’t mention it,” I say. “I’m happy it worked out.”

She nods and walk down the steps. “Cool,” she says. “Your number’s in the school directory, right?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“I’ll give you a call soon. We should all hang out again, Maggie.”

“That’d be great,” I say. And then it hits me. Although I never told it to her that night, she already knew my name.

I watch Victoria, Lexi, and Sydney take off down the street and hail a cab. Tonight was big-time, I think to myself. I did exactly what Karen told me to do, and now, look how it’s paying off.