Free Great by Sara Benincasa

she handed it back to me. “And look at that gorgeous handwriting.”
    I looked. She was right. There on the front of the pale pink envelope was my name in the most exquisite cursive. It looked as if the writer had used a calligraphy pen, but the handwriting was so lovely that I wondered if it had been done professionally. Every Christmas, my mother throws an eggnog soiree at her big Manhattan apartment, and she always hires this fancy stationer, Dolores Weathers, to address the invitations and fill out the place cards. The writing on this pink envelope was even prettier than anything Dolores had ever cooked up.
    My mother’s eyes lit up. “Perhaps Delilah is having a party!” she said excitedly. “I’d think Merilee would’ve mentioned it to me—we met up for lunch today, it was wonderful—but it’s possible she wanted it to be a lovely surprise for you.” I was intrigued, for sure. I tore open the envelope (“You’re ripping it up!” my mother scolded me. “This might be something you want to keep!”) and unfolded the white note inside. It was a substantial piece of card stock, the sort of thing one might print a wedding invite on, and it contained the same elaborate handwriting:
    Dear Naomi:
    Hello, love! We’ve never met, but I’d love to remedy that situation by welcoming you to my carnival party this evening. You’re welcome to bring anyone you like. The party begins at 7 and should conclude around 1. Please give your mother my apologies for any inconvenience it may cause her—I’m afraid I’ve been a terrible neighbor and haven’t found the time to introduce myself yet. I’ll admit, I’m a bit shy! Rather appropriate for a blogger, I should think. Anyway, I admire her so much and hope to meet her in person soon. And I really hope to make your acquaintance tonight. Come ride the Ferris wheel—it’s going to be so beautiful under the moon.
    Best regards,
    Jacinta Trimalchio
    I scanned down to the bottom of the page and read the small print there: ARE YOU WANTED? THEWANTED.COM .
    â€œOh, wow,” I said. “This is that girl.”
    â€œWhat girl?” my mother asked eagerly, snatching the invitation from my hand. She scanned it quickly, her mouth curving up into a smile when she read the part about how much Jacinta admired her. Then she seemed to notice what was at the end of the note.
    â€œTheWanted.com!” she gasped. “Isn’t that the online internet website Delilah was talking about?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “I am pretty sure that is the online internet website Delilah was talking about.”
    My mother’s eyes lit up. “Ooh,” she said. “Let’s look at it, darling. This girl is famous!” I could tell any resentment she held toward the new neighbor was gone forever.
    I popped open my laptop and went to TheWanted.com. The pink background matched the pink envelope, and the header displayed “The Wanted” in Jacinta’s distinctive handwriting. The site was designed with a simple elegance—no bells and whistles, no distracting pop-up ads (God, I hate those). The navigation bar below the header displayed the categories: Parties, Fashion, Beauty, Models, and What’s Jacinta Wearing? I clicked on the last category and brought up a seemingly endless page of daily posts of Jacinta from the neck down.
    â€œShe’s so thin ,” my mother said admiringly. “Is she a model?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” I said, scrolling through the entries. “But she sure seems to have a lot of clothes.” I paused on one post from the previous October entitled “Birthday Suit.” In the photo, Jacinta’s lithe frame was outfitted in a lavender bouclé pantsuit with bright gold buttons down the front of the jacket and a bold, showy white lace ruffle encircling her long, swan-like neck. The hem of the pants stopped