He gasps and chokes on a few cupcake crumbs.

I pat his back and nod. “Kiera might just kill her mom for asking me to go.” I shrug. “She’s got nothing to worry about. I’d never go anyway.”

“Or you could,” says Oscar, taking a swig of his lemonade. “We both could.” It’s hard to ignore the hope in his voice. Kiera may not be his biggest fan, but if he skips out on this party, it’ll be my fault, not hers.

“I’m not that desperate.”

He nudges me. “Forget desperation. What better way to stick it to Kiera than to crash her perfect birthday party?”

If my life was a movie where I always had the best ideas and knew the perfect thing to say, I’d say Oscar was right. But the whole thought of it makes me uneasy. No way am I cool enough to pull off crashing Kiera’s birthday party without making myself look like the loser—or even getting kicked out! Talk about mortification to the billionth power.

Something about the whole idea, though, is hard for me to shake. It would be kind of great to go to Trampoline Zone. “I’ll think about it.”

“Sleepover at your place tonight?” asks Oscar.

“Sure.” I polish off the rest of my cupcake and check out my reflection in the window looking out onto the after-school pickup lanes outside. Yup, I look like I just ate a fistful of charcoal right out of the grill.

“Wait,” says Oscar. “Your mom’s or your dad’s?”

“Dad,” I say.

Greg walks past us with a cupcake iced with a big heart eye, handpicked by Kiera, I’m sure. He points to his teeth and says, “Zombie teeth. Nice.”

“It’s the latest trend. It’s to die for.”

He laughs. “You’re pretty funny, Sweet Pea.”

Not even the thought of my stained teeth can wipe the smile off my face.

Chapter Nine

The Witching Hour

Dad’s usually a rule follower, but there are certain things, like scary movies (and America’s Most Haunted), that he loves so much, he doesn’t want to keep them from me. Which is why Oscar and I are curled up beside my dad, watching a movie called Jaws. I keep pulling my T-shirt collar up over my eyes. Something about seeing the shark lurk through the filter of my threadbare T-shirt makes this slightly less scary.

“How is this even scary?” I shout over the dramatic music as the shark prepares to attack in the murky waters below an unsuspecting boat.

“I don’t know,” says Oscar as he takes the popcorn bowl from my dad. “It’s not even a real shark. Like, it is so obviously a fake shark. This movie is so old it might as well be in black and white, but—” He shrieks and jumps in his seat, sending the popcorn into the air.

“Oh my god, oh my god. What did I miss?” I ask, my hands safely covering my eyes as the music reaches an earsplitting pitch.