Since I was a kid, allMadison family meals were spent at the dinette-a small, rectangular wooden table with matching chairs. A few scratches and stains showed its age, like rings around a tree. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner; homework; and many school projects took place on this table and chairs. The dining room, however, was reserved for holiday and extended family meals. Suddenly, fancy tablecloths, sterling-silver candle holders, crystal salt and pepper shakers, linen napkins, and china flew out of the china cabinet.
"We don't have any black lace tablecloths," I called to my mom, who was in the kitchen preparing dinner. I searched through the cabinet drawers for Sterling-like decor. All I found in our possession was a pale crimson, a white lace, and a plastic floral one.
"Why would you want a black tablecloth?"
"Do you even know who you are inviting over?" I settled for a brown cloth with embroidered leaves and began setting out my grandmother's china.
"I can't remember a time when you set the table without being asked," my mom said, holding a glass vase with fresh flowers. "I'll have to invite the Sterlings over more often."
I positioned six plates evenly, measuring their distance by the width of my hand.
"You don't want to set it too early. It might collect dust," she advised.
"I want to make sure it's perfect."
Henry and Billy Boy ran up from the basement like an incoming army. "When's dinner?" Billy asked.
I was aghast. "He's not going to be here, is he?"
"Of course; he's part of the family."
"But I only set six."
"Then set eight. We have twelve place settings."
I imagined the conversation switching from talk of life inRomania to talk Star Trek conventions.
Rage raced through my blood. Billy Boy knew it, too. He raised his eyebrows in victory, and he and Henry took off for his room.
I followed the nerd-mates upstairs. I found my new Purse Party messenger bag on my nightstand and knocked on his door.
"No ghouls allowed," he hollered to a few boyish giggles.
I pushed the door ajar. I opened my wallet and flashed him a five-dollar bill. "You'll ask to eat at Henry's?"
His face lit up as if I'd just shown him a mint condition Luke Skywalker action figure. "Sure."
"You promise?"
"Cross my heart."
I gave my brother the bill.
He held it tightly in his hand. "That was to ask," he said. "Not to actually stay."
My instinct was to hit him over the head with my purse. However, he had been trained by the best, so I refrained.
I dug back into my wallet. I had three singles left. "This is *to stay,"' I said, handing him a single. "This is 'to eat.'" I handed him another bill. "And this is to 'not come back until late.'" "We'll need money for a movie, then." "And nachos," Henry added. "I always eat nachos at the movies."
"I bet you do. Would you like money for video games, too?"
They both nodded eagerly.
"That was a rhetorical question." I snarled. "This is all I have." I handed him a wadded ten and twenty and lint-filled change, "But you can have my firstborn if you spend the night."
"That I'll pass on," he said as I blasted out the door.
"I thought we were going to have steaks!" I said when I returned to the kitchen. I was missing the aroma of marinade and instead saw scentless water boiling on the stove.
"I decided to make pasta instead," my mom said.
"The Sterlings can't eat that. They have to eat meat. And they like it rare."
"Why- are they animals?"
I bit my black lip.
"Are you sure we can't still get a catering company?" I asked. "Or at least help in serving? They're used to having a butler."
"We are who we are-we don't change for other people. You know that. I think cheese tortellini with salad will be great. Besides, your dad is trying to cut back."
"This isn't about Dad. We are hosts."
"I'm sure they love Italian."
I imagined a bloodthirsty and starving-to-the-boneSterling family leering at my parents for their real meal.
"Doesn't anyone in this family listen to me?" I stormed around the kitchen and opened the fridge. I didn't expect to see blood-filled smoothies, but a girl can always hope. "They don't like garlic, remember.
No garlic bread."
"I know, you've told me a thousand times."
"Well, you didn't remember I requested steaks," I mumbled.
"I'll need your help with the brownies," my mom nudged.
Jameson served flaming pudding. Sarah Madison served microwave brownies.
I zapped the dessert and realized I'd spent so much time figuring out what to wear to the Sterlings', I hadn't even begun to pick out what I'd wear tonight.
I raced upstairs and obsessed about what was the perfect attire to wear as one of the Sterlings ' dinner hosts. I changed outfits at least five times and, naturally, I settled on the first outfit I originally had on-a frilly black lace skirt, white bodice, black-and-red-striped stockings, and Mary Janes .
I was exhausted by the time the doorbell finally rang.
16