‘Pep talks?’ Olivia was still trying to process this sudden turn of events.
‘Check it out.’ Charlotte opened her tote bag and let Olivia peek inside, where a well-thumbed hardback of Stand Up for Yourself (And Don’t Take any Garbage) was hiding, speckled with a dozen colourful post-its. ‘Taught me everything I know about life.’ Charlotte slid the tote back over her shoulder.
That book explains Charlotte’s attitude? Olivia didn’t know what to say. Charlotte may have been a bit, ahem, overzealous with her confident attitude in the past, but as Olivia looked at Jenny squaring her shoulders at the Terrible Trio, she thought the strategy seemed to be working quite well for Jenny at least.
‘Lucrezia, Melinda, Veronica.’ Jenny’s voice didn’t wobble once. ‘I have news for you. You may not be in charge of the dance. But . . .’ she paused, ‘you can be in charge of the dance refreshments. After all, your drink mixes were to die for last year. The committee would love you to whip up something similar for the dance this year. How does that sound?’
‘You mean it?’ Melinda asked.
Lucrezia’s perfectly pink lips pulled into a genuine smile. ‘We came up with that recipe all by ourselves last year.’
Olivia couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Was that all it took? All this time and the only thing those girls needed to feel valued was an area of responsibility? Olivia had made a rookie mistake, and she was usually so good with people! Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe this whole Jackson issue has been distracting me more than I thought.
In a snap, Jenny had zapped the problem. She came over to Olivia. ‘I’m sorry for unloading so much responsibility on you. It wasn’t fair, but now I’m here to help. OK?’
‘Thank goodness.’ Olivia blew out a sigh of relief.
‘Great.’ Olivia noticed that, for the first time, Jenny’s mousy-brown hair was pulled back away from her face. ‘And now that I actually have an opinion, the first thing I can help with is the theme.’ Not this again, thought Olivia. ‘Do you really want to impose a barn-dance theme on everyone?’ Jenny asked. ‘Wouldn’t you rather make sure everyone dressed how they wanted? The whole point was to make sure everyone was happy and comfortable, wasn’t it?’
‘You’re right!’ Olivia’s heart sank. ‘Oh my goodness.’ She really had been a dictator. And worse, she hadn’t even been trying!
‘May I have your attention?’ Olivia rapped her knuckles on one of the tables, trying not to cringe at the collective groan that rippled through the room. She noticed some of the committee members were already wearing cowboy hats. She didn’t want to disappoint them twice. She took a deep breath. ‘What about a barn dance, but with a pink-and-black theme?’ she proposed. ‘The girly girls can be pretty in pink and the goths can feel included, too. Plus, everyone can have fun with gingham!’
The committee broke into whoops and squealing; a big step up from the ghostly silence following Olivia’s last announcement. As people started texting their friends in excitement, Olivia felt her cheeks blush with a new burst of energy. She was back on track.
‘Much better!’ she beamed. ‘Next thing on the list: how would you guys like to come back to my house so that we can hammer out the finer details over pizza? Sound good?’ The room erupted into cheers.
Olivia led the way out to the parking lot, walking ahead of a pair of girls planning their outfits. ‘OK, which earrings will go best with my pink hat – the pale crystal hoops or the chandelier earrings?’
With a quick stab, Olivia remembered the French accent in the background during Jackson’s call advising him that something would match the colour palette better. What colour palette? And, more importantly, what could her boyfriend be up to?
When no one answered at the Abbotts’, Ivy jiggled the doorknob and let herself inside. She wiped her boots on the cheery ‘Welcome’ mat before stepping on to the plush white carpet of the Abbotts’ foyer. If Ivy’s house had a polar opposite, it was Olivia’s. Where the Vega house had curtains made of dark velour, the Abbotts’ drapes boasted a bright floral pattern. And unlike the deep crimson of Ivy’s walls, Olivia’s were painted a pale sky blue. Ivy sometimes wondered how the Abbotts ever got any sleep at all, what with their whole decor theme reminding her of a dazzling summer morning.
‘Olivia?’ she said, rounding the corner. ‘Oh. My. Darkness.’ Bunny-mania had taken over the Abbott residence. There were pink-clad girls everywhere! A clump of girls was crowded on to the sofa, squashed one against the other, making paper chains and bunting out of scraps of gingham.
Ivy was even more shocked to see the Terrible Trio sitting at Olivia’s kitchen table, sipping from etched glass cups and diligently taking notes. Who tamed those beasts? Ivy wondered.
She spotted Olivia sitting on the floor, surrounded by committee members, patiently making decorations out of hay and pink-and-black papier mâché. Olivia glanced up. ‘Hi!’ She beamed, standing up and picking her way through the various dance-related obstacles. ‘Welcome to the mad house!’
‘Olivia, I don’t know how to tell you this, but . . .’ Ivy eyed her sister seriously. ‘There is hay in your home.’
‘I know!’ Olivia led her sister into the entryway, one of the only chatter-free zones in the house. ‘Isn’t it crazy? New plan: we’re going to have a pink-and-black theme for the barn dance. Isn’t it perfect? Even you will be happy. Pick any fabulous black outfit in your wardrobe and you can wear it, no problem.’
Ivy let her head droop to the side. ‘Great,’ she said drily. ‘Thanks for that. I’m, like, so excited to indulge my inner goth.’ Ivy displayed wiggling jazz-hands with zero enthusiasm.
Olivia’s smile fell. Even her hair looked flatter. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Look, you know I love you and I’m glad you’re having fun on the committee, but honestly, do Brendan and I look like the type of people who would enjoy a school dance?’
‘Er, Ivy?’ Olivia chewed her fingertip. ‘I think you might have yourself a Brendan-sized problem.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, don’t you remember how Brendan looked like he’d sucked a lemon drop when you dissed the school dance?’