“Stanwich Academy is on spring break. Tell your mom to stop putting me in her stupid comic strip.”
“You’re not in the strip,” I said automatically. This was the Grant family mantra. Never tell anyone they’re represented in the comic. Even if you think they are. Even if it’s obvious that they are. Before I even knew what litigation was, I was aware that it was a thing you shouldn’t ever give anyone the chance to do, and I knew the words “plausible deniability” before I started preschool. “Plus, it’s ending on Sunday.”
“Oh.” Sarah braked and dropped a foot to the ground. “Well—tell your dad to stop complaining about me.”
“Start delivering our paper,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, “and we will.”
“I delivered your paper,” Sarah said, her voice rising.
“Uh-huh,” I said, looking a little dramatically around the empty driveway. “Wow, how could I have missed it?”
“I’m required to deliver all the weekday papers no later than six a.m., and the weekend editions by eight. So I did deliver it this morning. Like, three hours ago.”
“Well, we never got it.”
“That’s not my problem,” she said, starting to ride off again. “I did my job.”
“Give us our newspaper!” I yelled at her retreating back, but she just lifted one hand off her handlebars to make a very rude gesture at me. Cassie, my Grant Central Station character, would have had the perfect snappy retort to this, but I just turned and headed back to the house.
“So tell me,” J.J. was saying to Bill as I walked into the kitchen. “Is Bill a nickname for something? It’s not short for Billiam, is it?”
I could practically feel Rodney’s reaction to this; it was like he was doing a mental double take. “Billiam?”
“It’s a name,” J.J. said, taking a sip of coffee—it looked like he’d finally gotten his own.
“I really don’t think it is.”
“It is,” J.J. insisted. “It’s a thing. I got my master’s with a guy named Billiam.”
“No, you didn’t,” Linnie said.
“Oh yes, I did,” J.J. said, and I exchanged a look with Rodney. J.J. always did this—he would dig himself into increasingly deep holes, always steadfastly refusing to back down. “You want me to prove it to you?”
“I do,” Rodney said.
“Me too,” I added.
“Fine!” J.J. yelled as he got down from his stool. “In that case, I will!” He stormed out of the kitchen in what I knew my dad would have described as “high dudgeon” before returning a second later, retrieving his coffee cup, and then storming off again.
“Uh . . . it’s short for William,” Bill said a moment later, clearly not sure if he should answer the question, now that the person who’d asked it had left. “But I was named after my uncle, and he goes by William, so . . .” His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat. “Okay. So I heard from my uncle. He wanted me to just go over some stuff with you two so when he gets here, he can jump right in.”
“Sounds good,” Linnie said, as J.J. wandered back in, like I had a feeling he might—he’d left his donut on the counter.
“So,” Bill said, “your guest list is capped at one twenty, right?”
Rodney nodded, and Linnie started to, then stopped, mid-nod, and whirled around to face J.J. “Who are you bringing?”
J.J. choked a little on his donut. “Bringing?”
“As your date,” Linnie said, raising an eyebrow. “Because you RSVP’d for two. And apparently you’re both having the steak.”
“Ah,” J.J. said, blinking a little more than usual. “Right. About that. So when I RSVP’d—which was months ago, by the way—I was certain that I would have a serious girlfriend by now. There were many promising ladies who were in consideration. But then . . . uh . . .”
“Pay up,” Linnie said, turning to Rodney.
“Thanks a lot, J.J.,” Rodney said as he reached for his wallet.
“For what?” J.J. asked, frowning.
“Yeah,” I said, slightly hurt that I hadn’t been a part of this.
“I didn’t really think you’d be bringing a date, when you hadn’t mentioned anyone in months,” Linnie said, as Rodney handed her a twenty.
“I believed in you, though,” Rodney said, then sighed. “For all the good it did me.”
“You guys had a bet?” J.J. asked, sounding scandalized. “About my future potential love-slash-possible heartbreak?”
“And you didn’t even involve me?” I added.
“I just can’t believe the lack of faith,” J.J. said, his voice rising. “From my own sister no less.”
“It’s fine,” Rodney said, looking at Bill, clearly trying to get things back on track. “So, you mentioned the guest list?”
“Yes,” Bill said, flipping open the binder. “The list is capped—”
“Wait a second,” J.J. said, smacking his palm down on the kitchen counter like he’d just thought of something. “I don’t think it said anywhere that this was going to be a binding thing, if I was going to bring a date or not. It didn’t say anything about that on the STD.”
We all just stared at him for a moment, and I noticed that Bill was looking fixedly at his shoes. “What?” Linnie finally asked.
“When you and Rodney gave me the STD,” J.J. said, shaking his head, clearly impatient that we weren’t keeping up. “There wasn’t any disclaimer that—”
“You mean the save the date?” Rodney asked, and J.J. nodded. “Dude. Acronyms aren’t always a good idea.”
“I’m just saying, if you’d put anywhere on any of the invitations that I would be held accountable for what I wrote—”
“J.J., just admit you couldn’t get a date,” Linnie said, shaking her head. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Well, I don’t think you should say for sure I can’t get a date,” J.J. said. “I mean, I don’t want your guest count to be off, after all.”
“Don’t worry about the number of guests,” I said quickly, since I had a feeling I knew where this was going.
“Linnie, give Rodney his money back,” J.J. said grandly. “I’ll get a date yet.”
“By tomorrow?” Linnie asked. “To a wedding? No way.”
“Do you not think I can do it?”
“No,” Linnie said, shaking her head. “That’s literally what I just said, Jameison.”
“Well, then, another challenge accepted, Linnea,” J.J. said, pulling his phone out of his pocket with a flourish. “I will bring a date to your wedding. See if I don’t!”
“Guys,” I said, trying to head this off. J.J. showing up with whatever rando he could get to come to a wedding with him on one day’s notice really didn’t seem like the best idea, and certainly didn’t fit in with my plan for the weekend. “Let’s not—”
“Fine,” Linnie said, talking over me. “And if you can’t, which you won’t—”