If you recognise a character, it's Ann M Martin's. If you don't recognise a character, it's either mine or you haven't read enough BSC books.
Laine Cummings was sipping a Watermelon Guava smoothie, perusing old books outside a second hand book store and generally just minding her own business when Sam Thomas was literally thrust upon her.
His sneaker's shoelace had been his undoing. He threw his arms out in front of himself as he fell, almost tackling her to the ground in the process. They corrected themselves and Sam offered hasty apologises that died abruptly when he recognised her.
"Lainey," he whispered. She had both loved and hated to hear him call her Lainey.
She was silently stony. A tiny voice in the back of her head reminded her that she had no reason to be angry with him – she was the one who'd done the wrong thing – but fortunately, that voice was too small to carry much weight. Finally, Sam sighed, turned away. She remained rigid as she watched him disappear around a corner.
She wanted to chase after him. She never wanted to see him again.
One of the maids has placed the wrong centrepiece in the middle of the table. Laine corrects the mistake hastily, sparing a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure her mother hasn't seen. Mrs Cummings is nowhere to be found and Laine breathes a small sigh of relief. Crisis averted.
Laine is fifteen and this is the first of her parent's dinner parties that she has been allowed to attend. It is a big deal for Laine, akin to her first bra or her first drink. She knows that the night will be a practice run for the life she is to inherit.
Guests arrive and she greets them graciously, taking coats and offering glasses of champagne. She takes a glass for herself and sips it by the living room window, looking out at New York City in all its glory. She is wearing a black Versace cocktail dress – "Baby's first Versace," her mother had wept emotionally when they'd purchased the gown – and her grandmother's pearls. She feels beautiful and proud, like she is capable of taking on the entire city.
"Ed!" Her fathers booming voice floats into the room. Laine raises her eyebrows with mild surprise. Only one person can bring out that creeping note of gratitude in Mr Cummings voice - Edward McGill. And it's been a long time since any of the McGill's have stepped foot inside the Cummings apartment.
"Stacey, so good to see you!" Laine's head whips around. Craning her neck, she is just able to see her former best friend in the foyer. She's a lot taller than Laine remembers, and her previously permed hair is short and straight ("Great minds," Laine thinks with amusement as she touches her own now-straight hair.)
Laine guzzles the last of her champagne and moves into the foyer.
She and Stacey eye each other warily. They haven't spoken since Laine's disastrous trip to Connecticut. Not verbally, anyway. Laine had written an apology letter several months afterwards, penning a rough draft before committing anything to stationary, desperate to find the right mix of words to properly express her regret.
In the end, she had only needed seven:
Dear Stacey, I'm so sorry. Love, Laine.
Stacey had never replied.
There is a third person with them, a tall, attractive guy who looks a few years older than Stacey. He is introduced to Laine and her father as Sam Thomas, Stacey's boyfriend. Laine had listened to Stacey babble about Sam throughout eighth grade and now she understands why.
Mr Cummings and Mr McGill decide to 'leave the kids alone to talk'. Sam offers to get drinks and Stacey and Laine are alone for the first time in two years.
Conversation is attempted tentatively, with the same hesitance as one summoning the courage to plunge into icy waters. A few glasses of champagne take the edge off and by the time they are called in for dinner, they are laughing like old friends.
Later, as the party becomes more rambunctious (or as rambunctious as a Manhattan society dinner party will allow), Laine sneaks into her fathers study and fixes herself a scotch.
"Can you make me one of those?" a voice from behind queries. Laine spins around and finds Sam sprawled out on her fathers couch.
"The scene out there isn't for me," he says, addressing her quizzical look. "So… how about that drink?"
She pours another drink and they clink their glasses in a toast. He studies her seriously as they sip the fiery liquid. Her face reddens. She tells herself it's a result of the booze.
"What?" she finally asks when the gaze becomes too much.
"You're…" He pauses, searching for the right word. Laine suspects he will say 'beautiful' or 'sexy' or one of a million clichéd adjectives that have been used to describe her. She is surprised with his choice.
"…Interesting."
She doesn't get a chance to question him. Mr McGill is calling out, announcing that they are about to leave. Sam downs his drink and leaves.
Had he winked at her? Yes, she thinks, uncomfortably pleased. He had definitely winked at her.