“Oh my God,” Amory squealed as we attempted to hurry across the white marble floors toward the David Burke’s on the other side of the store. “Was I not just saying I needed a rabbit trim hat to go with the muff my sister gave me for Christmas? What are the odds? I have to see if they have it in black.” With reflexes like a cat, Camille snatched Amory by the scruff of her Tory Burch turtleneck to prevent her from diving face-first into the shockingly large rabbit trim section of the store. “Nuh-uh, A. You promised you would show some self-restraint,” Camille said, laughing. “We’re already late.” “We can be five minutes later,” Amory said, still pawing at the hat. “We told the boys we’d be there twenty minutes ago,” Camille said. “Camille’s right,” Harper agreed, checking her metallic red BlackBerry to see what time it was. “We don’t want Kennedy and Willa stealing our seats.” “What?” Morgan asked loudly, lifting one of her ear buds out of her ear to tune in to our conversation.
