“Fling tapioca balls at her?”
“Couldn’t—Peyton’s mum was with her. Rachelle. Who was on about how Mr. Dickieson was mad about the cost of prom, and she told him—” Sabine struck another pose, Peyton-esque but older: “The PTA spent months on the Spring Fair silent auction so the grads could have a cruise, and we not only met our goals, we superseded them. Fireworks over the Toronto harbor will be gorge—I got them in school colors so they’ll match the tablecloths, napkins, and gift bags.”
“Fireworks to match the napkins,” said Marlow, watching a sparrow land on the coach-house banister and fly off just as fast. “Epic.”
“She’s Peyton on steroids. Who says ‘superseded’ anyway, and gets its usage wrong?”
“What does it mean again?”
“To take the place of a thing or a person previously in use. To supplant. ‘Radios have been superseded by cell phones with audio capacity.’ ”
“Note to Rachelle: don’t use complicated words with my kid or the school principal. Note to self: same.”
“And who needs a tailor-made dress, boat cruise, grab bags with watches in them? No one uses a watch anymore. Just more garbage on the planet.”
“How much money did Rachelle raise with the fundraiser?”
“A ton. She got all her silent auction items donated, and apparently there was so much money she barely knew what to do with it. Nice problem to have.”
“If she raised so much money, why was there a ticket price at all?”
“I dunno. To raise even more? Teach teenagers the value of money? Who knows.”
Marlow could see Betty and Stan in their backyard, barbecuing, talking, flirting. They were in their eighties and still clearly in love. Marlow crumpled a bit and downed her bubbly.
“Not that I don’t totally adore your SNL-worthy sketch of Peyton and Rachelle,” said Marlow, “but it’s fair that people want to celebrate big events. Mark moments, so they can feel their lives. Don’t you want to mark life’s big moments?”
“Maybe. Just not like that, I guess.”
“Eat your sushi,” she said. “It’s getting cold.”
Sabine rolled her eyes as Noah stepped through the gate below and called up. “I come bearing pomegranate mousse cake and an alcoholic beverage.”
“God bless you,” said Marlow to her brother. “Get your ass up here.”
Noah walked up the stairs, frowned at their bargain bottle of bubbly, popped his chilled bottle of far superior champagne, and reached for sushi.
“Tax for bringing dessert,” he said, dipping a salmon nigiri in soy sauce and popping it whole into his mouth.
“What’s shaking?” Marlow asked.
“Other than the mousse cake and my spare tire, not much. But you, young lady,” he said to Sabine, “have graduated from high school. Bravo.”
“Yeah, don’t let the door hit you on your way out,” said Sabine. “High school, I mean. Not you.”
“You passed, right?”
“Passed.”
“Phew,” he said, feigning relief.
“Ask her which university she’s saying yes to before July first because the scholarship offers will get yanked if she doesn’t,” said Marlow.
Noah eyed her and said nothing.
“Hey,” she said. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I’m Team Sabine all the way. Gonna make T-shirts.”
