Free A Novel Idea by Aimee Friedman Page B

sonnets—just to make sure my note was doing okay—when the doorbell rang. “Nors, can you get it?” Audre hollered from the kitchen. Assuming it was Tuesday or Olivia—or maybe even Scott, sneaking away from the Spring Formal—I tucked the book under my arm and hurried across the living room.
     
    “Who’s up for a party?” I asked, flinging the door open.
     
    My entire book group was standing on Audre’s doorstep.
     
    “Uh, I am?” Neil offered, grinning. He seemed more relaxed than usual, and didn’t look half bad, in a yellow Polo shirt and jeans. He gestured to Francesca, Griffin, and (gulp) James beside him. “Hope it’s cool we all came together.” Neil added. “I figured you, Audre, and Scott would do your own thing, so I e-mailed everyone else.”
     
    “That’s fine,” I said, my cheeks already hot. No! Not fine! James wasn’t supposed to show up now . I needed more time to rehearse and get tipsy on white wine before I whipped out some love letter action.
     
    Then I noticed that there were a few new faces among the four I already knew. Standing next to Griffin was a petite girl with a shiny black bob, short bangs, and pearl-framed vintage-y glasses. She had the hipster look of most NYU students, so I figured she was a college friend—or more, perhaps? Standing behind James was a chubby, teddy bear-ish boy who I recognized from the pool game James had pointed out at Art House.
     
    “This is our friend Theo,” Neil said, pointing to the new guy as everyone came inside.
     
    I nodded, smiling, but Theo was too busy staring at Francesca, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth.
     
    Francesca had also brought a friend along; she was linking arms with a girl who had a mass of curly dark blond hair and wore a metallic silver strapless dress under a furry black shrug—a Plum all the way.
     
    “And this is my friend,” Francesca said smugly, stepping past me into the foyer. “Mimi.”
     
    Mimi rolled her eyes as a way of saying hello. “Why did you drag me out to Brooklyn?” I heard her whine to Francesca, who immediately starting apologizing.
     
    I can’t even tell you how freaky it was to see Francesca at her most glam—silky, spaghetti-strap tank, sleek cropped black pants, long silver earrings—and remember the awkward girl in the photo. Were they really the same person? How had she changed so much? And why? I observed Francesca carefully as she followed Mimi to the food table, asking, “What can I get you?” in a breathless voice. It was obvious Mimi was the queen bee, and Francesca her little lapdog. Audre was going to love seeing Francesca act so wussy.
     
    And then I got it—or at least some of it: Mimi must have been a brand-new friend, part of the trendy crowd Francesca had fought to join after she’d shed her turtlenecks and glasses—and, most likely, her old friends. I suddenly recognized Francesca’s type—we had them at Millay, too: Wannabe Plums, girls who’d managed to pull themselves out of the unpopular pit but still remained on the outskirts of the cool clique. It made me feel almost sorry for Francesca; there had to be heaps of insecurity beneath her bitchy attitude.
     
    “Here ya go, Norah,” Griffin said, breaking into my thoughts and handing me a six-pack of Stella Artois. “This is Eva, a friend of mine from school,” he added, lightly touching the petite, dark-haired girl on the small of her back. She nodded at me. So she is an NYU student , I thought. But was she really just a “friend”? Hmm. With Griffin, one never knew. I’d have to alert Audre about this latest development.
     
    “I’m glad you could make it,” I told Griffin truthfully, accepting the beer. Audre had been crushed when her crush had replied to her Evite with a “maybe,” claiming he had to cram for an art history exam. His being here would make her night, even if this Eva chick was in the picture.
     
    He shrugged. “Hey, dude. Naturally. I couldn’t pass up