She had been looking forward to the party all day, had run home to go through every outfit in her closet, holding up dress after dress to see which shade of blue looked best. Azure? Periwinkle? Turquoise? She had settled on a dark midnight-blue lace mini-dress and matching high-heeled boots. She’d been extremely late to the party, as her mother had insisted on giving her a three-hour makeover. Not that it mattered, because she was now locked in a closet alone. She wasn’t just imagining it—Mal really was out to get her, most likely for not having been invited to Evie’s birthday party when they were six years old. But it wasn’t as if it was her fault! Evie’d been just a kid. It had been her mother who hadn’t wanted Mal at the party for some reason. Mal couldn’t hold it against her, could she? Evie sighed. Of course she could. Evie still remembered the hurt and anger on six-year-old Mal’s face, looking down from the balcony. Evie supposed that she’d probably feel the same way—not that she could see it from Mal’s point of view, or anything.
