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“For another time,” Milo interrupts. “That was number four for the day. You only have two left and we’re just at lunch.”
“You’re right, better save ‘em for the opportune time,” Jared agrees, grinning.
“Another time then, Layla.”
“Another time,” I agree.
“And I promise I won’t tell her any of your jokes, not that I would have anyway,” Savannah snorts.
“Okay, cool well if I don’t see you before then, see you at my house at seven?” Excitement bubbles in my chest. I’ve never had a sleepover before. Mom didn’t allow people to stay in our house ever, and I could count on one hand the number of times I’d even had a friend over to play, period.
“Perfect,” Savannah grins. “Get ready for a killer girl’s night!”
* * *
Layla
* * *
With only movies to go on, I assumed a slumber party was going to be nail painting, hair braiding, and gossiping about boys.
Savannah shows up lugging her PlayStation and an entire suitcase of stuff I don’t even want to guess at.
“Are you moving in?” I ask with a laugh, helping to haul the heavy case to the elevator. I shooed Carson off, worried he’d put his back out trying to lift it.
“Funny,” Savannah says drily. “Nah, I just like to have all my stuff, and I wasn’t sure if you’d want to camp out or sleep in your bed, so I brought my sleeping bag just in case.”
“Oh. I didn’t think about it. I mean, we have plenty of guest rooms if you want your own bed?”
“Nah, the whole fun is being in the room together.” She closes the elevator gate and hits the button to go up. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor. It’s fine.”
“Well, I will too. I’m sure there’s a sleeping bag around here somewhere, and we can push the furniture around in the suite to make room.”
“Excellent, because there’s a guy on Call of Duty that I sort of promised to meet up with for a death match.” She grins sheepishly. “I hope that’s okay. I planned it last night and kind of forgot about it when I was talking about coming over at lunch.”
“No, it’s cool. I’ve never played before, so I don’t know anything about it.”
“Oh, it’s so fun. We’ll make you a profile and give you the chance to run around and try it out. Basically, you can log in online and play with other people, either as teams or one-on-one, and you’re trying to shoot other people. Basically.”
“That’s… the whole point of the game? Shooting other people?” We exit the elevator and start hauling her stuff down the long hallway.
“Well, there’s a lot of different play modes, but in most of them you win by shooting other people to get your objective. You might play capture the flag, or working through story mode, or you might just be trying to level up by getting as many kills as possible. There’s a lot of different options.”
“And you’re… into this game?” I glance curiously at her, taking in her twin brown braids and bright blue eyes.
“Oh yeah, I’ve been playing this game—well, different versions of it—since my brother got his first PS3. Most people don’t believe I’m a girl because they expect girls to suck. Then they hear me taunting them after I sniper their asses. It’s a blast.”
Something tells me this will not be up my alley, but I dutifully help set up her console and get the system hooked up to Wi-Fi.
I told the kitchen I was hosting a sleepover for a friend, and the ladies were almost beside themselves to make us special food for the occasion. We had barely moved aside the coffee table and cleared a space in front of the tv before Mary and Mrs. Dowling bustled in with a pile of comforters and pillows.
“We can do that,” Savannah and I hustled forward to help, but Mrs. Dowling sniffed. “I should think not. Daphne will be in shortly with your dinner, and we’ll be finished.”
Feeling as if I’d just gotten scolded for offering to help, I exchange a quick glance with Savannah, who grins and shrugs, and we step aside to wait while they spread the blankets on the floor.
She wasn’t kidding. They are lightning efficient. In just a few minutes we have a massive nest of comforters and pillows laid out in the main suite living space, directly in front of the tv, and Mary gets to work starting a fire. Mrs. Dowling carries in a small, low table, and Daphne shows up right on time with the serving cart of food.
As soon as she opens the door, I smell the distinct cheese and spice of pepperoni pizza. It looks like something from a pizzeria, not your basic make-at-home deal, complete with garlic bread, wings, and several bowls of chips and snacks.
