Page 139 of Rock Bottom Girl

He heaved a Hail Mary in our direction. In slow motion, I watched as Marley shoved me back onto the floor and caught the ball to her chest. She stuck her tongue out at me and slid onto Donkey Ote’s back. I lay there slack-jawed as her ass jogged down the court and Marley executed the perfect donkey-assisted layup.

It was pure pandemonium in the gym.

59

Marley

“We won. Get over it,” I told Jake smugly as we walked up the driveway.

“You cheated,” he argued.

“Listen, I don’t know how my team all ended up with cans of silly string. I’m completely innocent,” I lied. My team had squeaked by with a victory after we’d unleashed a silly string assault on the other team’s riders with a minute left in the game.

“You’re a Cicero. I should have known you’d take winning too seriously,” he teased. “I think my wrist is still sprained from Dutch Blitz.”

“It’s your own fault for assuming my family is normal. And you should see Zinnia play chess. She’s got a victory dance for a checkmate that is not safe for work.”

We stepped up onto the front porch, and I glanced around at the columns. Even the front of Amie Jo’s house was decked out for the party. There were balloons in Culpepper blue and white, hurricane vases with candles, and what looked like several large Barn Owl piñatas hanging from the rafters.

Living next door had given me a front-row seat to witness Amie Jo’s party preparations. The swan had been corralled in a white picket pen in the front yard where it squawked at the steady line of caterers and party planners and other strangers in uniform carrying mysterious boxes and bins. Vans and trucks drove onto the grounds in a steady stream starting at 10 a.m.

I couldn’t wait to see what was behind the large double front doors. On the other hand, I also couldn’t wait to go the hell back to Jake’s house. I was willingly going to a social event in Culpepper. At my sworn enemy’s house. Sure, I was interested in what was behind door number one, but I’d rather be getting naked with my boyfriend.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, tugging at his sports coat.

“Amie Jo hasn’t reported me to Principal Eccles in a few days,” I told him. It was a Culpepper miracle. Seemingly, her slide through warm donkey shit had, at least temporarily, dulled the woman’s hatred of me. I’d expected another conference with the principal when Floyd and I worked out a deal with a local barre studio to borrow their free-standing barres. We were in the midst of two weeks of clunky ballet moves and quivering thighs as we all held unnatural positions. The kids freaking loved it.

“Maybe she’s finally decided to grow up,” Jake said optimistically. He reached around me and pressed the doorbell I’d been working up the nerve to poke. “Relax, Mars. You look great, and I guarantee you’re going to have a damn good time.”

“I’m walking into the lion’s den, and you act like we’re going to an ice cream social,” I complained.

“Trust me. There ain’t nothing ice cream social about this party,” he promised cryptically.

The front door opened, and I could only blink at the camouflage tuxedo-ed man before us. “Welcome to the Hostetter Estate,” he said in a British accent. “May I please have your names?”

“Jake Weston and Marley Cicero,” Jake said with a straight face when I appeared to be incapable of speech.Where did one even find a camo tux?

Jeeves looked down his nose at the clipboard in his gloved hands. “Yes, of course. Welcome, Mr. Weston, Ms. Cicero.”

Jake pushed me inside, and my heels clicked on the marble floors. We were in a two-story foyer-like room. Jeeves was pointing out the coat check closet, an actual walk-in closet just off the front door with an actual attendant standing behind an actual Dutch door. I turned to roll my eyes at Jake and gasped when I realized the entire wall above the front door was decked out with dead animals. I’d forgotten Travis was a hunter. I wondered if there were any animals left in the Pennsylvania forests.

A server in a camo vest and black pants paused to offer us wine from his tray. “Boone’s Farm. There’s a fountain in the conservatory.”

I took a plastic glass and stared at Jake. “Did he just say there’s a Boone’s Farm fountain in the conservatory?”

“Yes. Yes, he did. But Mars, you’re missing the best part.”

He took me by the shoulders and turned me around.

Looming above us, was the largest family portrait I’d ever seen. Amie Jo, Travis, and the boys—all dressed in white, Amie Jo wearing a tiara—were immortalized in oil paints and accented by the largest gilt frame in the world. It had to be at least twelve feet high.

“Holy shit,” I murmured.

He clunked his plastic glass to mine. “Oh, baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

We checked our coats with the perky attendant, and I let Jake lead me further into the house, past the gold leaf, curved staircase. There was a formal living room with white leather furniture and more gold leaf. The walls were painted a fishy salmon. The art was a collection of pink and blue abstracts. There were more floating Greek columns and thick draperies over the windows. It was like 1980s wealthy Miami had thrown up in here.

There were a handful of guests here dressed to the nines, laughing and drinking.