Mick's grandparents live in a hilly part of Greenvale, about half an hour from Stoneybrook. It's a long, silent drive. We go in Dad's car with Mom in the passenger seat and me sitting sullenly in the back. Mom and Dad aren't speaking at the moment. I don't know what it is this time, or even if they know. They gave up years ago, just stopped speaking and forgot to begin again, and now fall into these patterns with wordless days stretching on, moving into one another. They don't miss each other, I guess.

I smooth the skirt of my dress over my knees. It's a sleeveless violet silk with a soft floral-print and a lighter violet sash around the waist. It doesn't please Mom. Show everyone what you've got, Shanny, she says, I can't show you off if you don't cooperate. Mom wishes I were malleable like Meg Jardin. Mrs. Jardin has made her into a perfect little Meg mold. The Jardins will be at the party. At least I'll have Meg.

The Stones' house makes ours look like a broken-down shack. Acres and acres of rolling lush green hills surrounded by towering iron gates. Nine bedrooms plus guest quarters and a boat house out back. A private lake. Mom sighs when the house comes into view. "This could have been yours someday, Shanny. If only you'd kept your claws in Mickey."

"Who's Mickey?" Dad asks. "Mickey Mouse?" Dad chuckles at his own joke.

I don't answer. Instead, I gaze out the window as we pass through the gates, watching the silhouettes of the trees and the lake glistening in the moonlight move slowly past. Standing on the porch, waiting for the maid to open the door, Mom quickly readjusts her breasts, ensuring they are properly in place, on display. Then she reaches out and readjusts mine. I jump back, shoving her hands away. I can't believe her. My own mother, feeling me up on the front porch.

When the door opens, we turn ourselves on, smiling widely, pretending we glow. Matching fake smiles for a fake family. As soon as the maid takes our coats, Dad makes a beeline for the den, where the bar's set up. I can see Mr. Jardin already in there, throwing back his fourth or fifth martini. He and Dad work at the same law firm. They're best friends and golf buddies. They see each other more in one month than I see Dad in a year. They probably wish they could rent some bachelor pad together, spend all their time golfing and drinking, and forget about the rest of us.

"Kathalynn, my dear!" a voice bellows. It's Mr. Stone, Mick's grandfather, coming toward us across the foyer.

"Reg!" Mom exclaims in this false excited way she has. No one ever calls her "Kathalynn". She is simply Kathy.

Mr. Stone kisses Mom's cheek then turns to me. "Shannon, my dear," he says in a much less exuberant tone, clutching my shoulder firmly. "Tough luck, eh? Onto bigger and better things! For everyone!" And then he's gone, hurrying to the men in the den.

I keep my smile on. Nothing and no one will crack it tonight.

"Ah, there's Paula!" Mom cries, entwining her fingers through mine and tugging me toward the formal living room, where Mrs. Jardin and Meg are talking to a tall elderly woman. "Paula!" Mom drops my hand as she sweeps into the room.

"Kathy!" Mrs. Jardin exclaims, breathlessly, like Mom's appearance is a surprise. They greet one another with an air kiss.

"You look splendid," Mom announces. I guess "splendid" is her new word.

Mrs. Jardin has her black hair piled on top of her head. She's wearing a long champagne-colored dress with several ropes of pearls around her neck. Next to her, Meg has her black hair loose and fluffy. She's also wearing ropes of pearls and a white short-sleeved dress with tiny blue flowers and a barely there skirt. They look more like older sister and younger sister than mother and daughter. I hope no one thinks that of Mom and I. In fact, I hope no one guesses that we're related.

"You look lovely, Kathy," Mrs. Jardin gushes. "As do you, Shannon."

Mom smiles and smooths the front of her dress. "Dr. Irving works magic," she says. She and Mrs. Jardin share a knowing laugh. Dr. Irving is their plastic surgeon. He gave Mrs. Jardin and Meg a mother-daughter discount on their breast augmentations. Mom wishes I would agree to the same.

Mrs. Jardin introduces us to the tall, elderly woman, Miss Sherwick, who turns out to be a friend of Mick's grandmother. When the introductions are over, Mrs. Jardin smiles, slyly at me, "Now, Shannon, please share with us all the details of the big break-up."

Horrified, my smile almost falters. I shift my eyes toward Meg, who stands silently beside her mother, no help at all.

"This is the poor girl?" inquires Miss Sherwick, surprised. She looks at me, sympathetically. "You're all anyone is talking about."

"I'm sure that's an exaggeration," I reply, pleasantly, although I'm dying inside. Silently, I take back every kind word I ever uttered about Mick's grandparents. What horrid, horrid people! Sharing - and no doubt, delighting - in my humiliation and rejection. "It isn't a big deal," I insist. "The relationship ran its course. The distance, you know."

"Oh, yes, I imagine the distance was quite a strain," Mrs. Jardin agrees. "Especially on him. Young men are like that. Fickle and restless. That's why I tell my Meg, 'keep your legs together and don't believe them.'"

"Keeping her legs together isn't a problem for Shannon," Mom replies, like I'm not standing right beside her. "If anything, she needs to be a bit warmer. No eighteen-year-old boy wants to date a popsicle."

"I hear he already has someone new," Mrs. Jardin tells Mom. "A sorority girl."

Mom nods. "She's supposed to be gorgeous."

My heart sinks. There's someone else? Mick broke up with me because he found someone better? And I'm the last to know. The last to know, standing here smiling like an idiot. If there is anything worse than invisible, that is what I am. Non-existent. I am non-existent.

"Let's go for a walk," Meg suggests, loudly, finally stepping away from her mother. No one pays attention. Mom and Mrs. Jardin go on, listing my flaws and attributes. Meg hooks her arm through mine, leaning in close as she ushers me out of the room. "I had no idea," she whispers. "I just heard fifteen minutes ago. Why didn't you tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell," I reply, almost shakily, my composure beginning to tremble.

"We need some air," Meg announces, steering me toward the veranda. "Did he really send you flowers and a note? That's what Mr. Stone told my mother. He thinks his Mickey's quite inventive."

"The flowers weren't even his idea," I reply, leaning back against the stone railing, tossing my head back and inhaling deeply.

"Do Greer and Lindsey know?"

"No. Just Kristy and Abby. And Tiffany and Maria. And Kristy's family," I tell her. "And apparently, the entire town of Greenvale."

Meg makes a face. "Ugh. Tough break, Shan." She swings a leg over the stone railing, straddling it, flashing me with her thong. "Don't tell Greer and Linds the truth. They'll only say it's because you wouldn't put out."

I shrug. "Everyone's going to find out anyway."

"You're amazing, Shan," Meg says. "You stay so calm and together. I almost throw up whenever Mom starts beating up on me like that." Meg looks back toward the house, at the lighted windows and the party guests milling behind them. "Stupid old cows. Prancing us around like their pretty little ponies."

I actually laugh. Meg talks so big when her mother's not around.

"Accessories," I say. "I'm a handbag. What are you?"

"A crutch."

Maybe Meg isn't as dumb as everyone says.

"You're so strong, Shannon. I wish I were strong like you," Meg tilts her head back. "Look at the stars. Don't you miss the astronomy club?"

"Sometimes, I guess," I answer, looking up. I used to love astronomy. I lost interest a couple years ago. Meg stayed with it. She thinks astronomy's as romantic as French and Italian. Meg has a lot of romantic ideals.

"Are you ready to go back inside?" Meg asks. "There were some cute college boys hanging out by the buffet earlier."

I shake my head. "No. You go on. I'm going to stay out here. Don't tell my mom where I am."

Meg attempts to swing her leg back over the railing, but miscalculates and tumbles sideways. I get another eyeful. Mrs. Jardin would be appalled.

After Meg dusts herself off and returns to the party, I lean forward over the railing, staring down at Mrs. Stones' rose bushes. The light from the veranda barely reaches them. Some are still in bloom. I'm not sure how long I stare at the roses. A while. All my mother's words keep running through my mind, turning over and over. Hers and Mrs. Jardin's. I think of everyone speaking of me without knowing me. An anecdote to tell at fancy parties. That is what I've become. That poor girl who was dumped with tulips and a note. Not very pretty, not like the new one. Smart and cold.

"I see I'm not the only one suffocating in there," a male voice booms behind me.

I spin around, startled. I don't recognize him. He's tall with wavy, light brown hair. At least twenty-five. Very good-looking. Very.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he says, walking over to the stone railing. He looks back at the house. "Man, I hate this place."

"You don't think it's beautiful?" I ask, genuinely surprised. The Stones' house has been featured in magazines. Everyone admires it.

"I think it's disturbing and ostentatious."

I laugh. "Disturbing. You think the house is disturbing?"

"This isn't a house. It's a fortress."

I laugh again, having no affection left for the Stones. "Have you been to their house on the Vineyard?" I ask. I haven't, but I've seen pictures. Mick promised to take me someday.

The man gags. "Once. Years ago." He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "You aren't family, are you?"

"No. I don't even like them. My mother forced me to come."

"So did mine! Twisted my arm," He rubs his arm like it's sore. "My mother and Marj Stone work together at the Greenvale Historical Society. Do you live in town?"

"No. I'm from Stoneybrook."

"That's where I live now. Are you at Stoneybrook University? Or are you just home for the weekend?"

For a moment, I'm puzzled by his question. Then I realize - he thinks I'm in college! I start to correct him, but change my mind. I like his smile and his company. He'll walk away if he learns the truth. "Stoneybrook University," I tell him, which isn't technically a lie. I've attended Stoneybrook University the past three summers.

"That's where I went! I graduated about four years ago. Have you had Moody yet?"

I shake my head. I have no idea who Moody is.

"Good! Don't take him. He teaches political science and he's awful. He walks around with this huge thermos of coffee and slurps it every three words," He demonstrates the slurping noise for me. "He use to smoke in class, but the administration nipped that in the bud."

I laugh. That sounds like something my father would say. Nipped in the bud. But it wouldn't sound cute coming from my father. I lean back against the railing and toss my hair over my shoulder. I'm thankful Meg left.

"Who have you had?" he asks, looking genuinely interested.

I tick off the classes and instructors I've taken at Stoneybrook U. There's only four, so I'm a little vague on details. I mention the Drs. Dupree, Lindsey's grandparents, who teach at Stoneybrook U. I've never taken any of their classes, but I know what they teach and I've read some of their books. The man relates a few more humorous stories about Stoneybrook U. faculty and issues more warnings about professors and an odd, sketchy one about the couch in the student lounge. He keeps me laughing and I'm so grateful to him for that. Maybe we'll stand out here all night and I'll never learn what's being said about me inside.

He grins and smacks himself on the head. "I'm such a dork," he tells me. "I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Wesley Ellenburg." He sticks out his hand.

I take it and grip it firmly. "I'm - "

"There you are!" my mother screeches, sailing onto the veranda in a huff. "I've searched everywhere. Meg said she lost you ages ago. Come on, we're leaving!" Mom yanks my arm and pulls me away.

I'm so shocked I almost forget to be mortified. "I'm sorry!" I yell to Wesley. "Nice meeting you!" Then he disappears from sight as I'm dragged into the house.

Oh, well. He was too old for me anyway.

Dad's waiting in the foyer. He appears to be wearing someone's drink. Tiny beads drip from his hair onto the shoulders of his blue suit jacket. I don't even ask. I don't want to know. I follow behind Mom, tripping across the loose gravel driveway in her black stilettos. She fumes silently the entire drive home. No one says anything.

When we get home, Mom stomps upstairs and slams her bedroom door. I hear the lock turn. Dad doesn't even attempt to convince her to let him in. He retreats down the hall to the guest room and slams the door. It's only ten o' clock, but already Tiffany and Maria's bedroom doors are shut and no light spills out from beneath them. I open each carefully, checking that they're inside. Then I go back downstairs to check the doors and windows, ensuring they're locked. Then I do a quick survey of the kitchen. Surprisingly, Tiffany and Maria remembered to clean up after themselves. No dishes or glasses are on the counter or in the sink. Satisfied, I climb the stairs to my bedroom. I change into pajamas, brush my teeth, and wash my face.

I've not been in bed long when I hear my door creak open. "Shanny?" Tiffany whispers. "Are you awake?"

I roll over to face the door. "Yes. I'm awake."

Tiffany is a shadowy figure slipping into my room, as my eyes adjust to the dark. She runs around the side of the bed and climbs in with me, propping herself up on an elbow. "Was it horrible?" she asks.

"No, it wasn't."

"Tell me the truth."

I'm silent, hesitating. "Mom and Mrs. Jardin were pretty awful," I finally admit. No details. Tiffany knows what I mean. "I told Meg they treat us like accessories. Their belongings to parade around. I said I was a handbag." I laugh, slightly. "Meg said she was a crutch."

"Meg's a puppet," says Tiffany. "A puppet in a gilded cage."

I bite my lip to keep from laughing at Tiffany. "Maybe," I say, seriously. "All in all, it wasn't so bad." I don't tell Tiffany about Wesley. That's for me. Just for me. One of the little things about myself I don't wish for anyone else to know. Little but important. As important as the big things I keep for myself. Maybe it's silly. And maybe that's why I won't tell. Like so many things people will never say about me, they will never say, Silly Shannon, feeling better about her rejected self after an innocent flirtation with a too old man. I thought she was assured and strong? No, I am the only one who will ever say that, and I'll only say it to myself, and then I'll bury it deep.