You're Invited by Jen Malone Page B

she was the last of the group.
    â€œOkay then!” I say with newfound enthusiasm. “We’re off.” I slip one arm through Mrs. O’Malley’s and try to loop my other through Ryan’s, but he backs away just before I reach him. I think he might be scared of Polly Want a Cracker.
    I lead the way from the town square to the public beach access so I can show my group the tip-top part of a shipwreck poking out between waves a little way offshore. We’ve had to restore the wood on the mast a few times, so it’s probably not technically historical anymore, but the tourists don’t have to know that.
    â€œSee that? It’s the top of a sunken clipper ship from the 1800s. This part of North Carolina’s coastline is called the Graveyard of the Atlantic because we have as many as three thousand shipwrecks between here and Kitty Hawk. There are all these sandbars underwater that no one could ever map because they were constantly moving with the tides, and plus we get lots of hurricanes in this part of the country. So tons and tons of crashed ships and, like, buried treasure.”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Ryanperks up a little at this, so I decide to work that angle.
    â€œOh and also,” I say, “we used to have loads of pirates around here. Up in Nags Head, there were even land pirates. So what they did was”—I pause to make sure everyone ( * cough * Ryan * cough * ) is paying attention—“they hung a light around a horse’s neck and then put the nag on the beach so when she moved it looked sort of like a ship’s lantern bobbing around. And the captains would steer their ships close to check out the other ship and then BAM! ”
    Ryan jumps back a little. Whoops. Might have cranked up the enthusiasm a wee bit too much there.
    I dial it down on my volume and softly say, “They would get stuck in the sandbars and the land pirates would wade out and board their ships and take everything back to shore. Cool, huh?”
    The parents of the twins look impressed, but Ryan just shrugs and jams his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He’s wearing that orange drama camp shirt. Again. Not like orange isn’t a good color on him, because it totes is, but maybe when I’m his girlfriend I can convince him to branch out just a little.
    Everyone else is reading all the historical plaques alongthe big pavilion next to the boardwalk over the dunes, so I figure it’s as good a time as any to grab a little one-on-one time with the inspiration for my future hit single.
    â€œYou look kind of bored. Are you, like, not a fan of pirates or something?” I ask.
    â€œThey’re okay. Although it’s kind of funny to hear the 1800s described as ancient history. Some of our historical sites are older than the pyramids. I guess America’s kind of a baby when you compare it to Ireland.”
    Pfft. Whatever. Land pirates for the win. But, I mean, it’s not like I care enough to fight with Ryan over it, especially since he’s actually sort of smiling at me now.
    â€œI prefer new to old anyway,” I tell him. “And speaking of new, I have something you might be interested in. Our new business! Which could mean more acting gigs for you-know-who!”
    Ryan perks up a little, before studying me. “What’s the catch?”
    Oh, no catch. You just have to fall in love with me and be my boyfriend and let me write alllll the songs about you. That won’t be a problem, will it?
    Obviously, I don’t say that .
    â€œNo catch. We’re going to make the party-planningthing a regular business and we might need someone to help out with the guy roles, that’s all.”
    â€œBy ‘we,’ do you mean your friends? Vi and Sadie and . . . what’s the other girl’s name?”
    â€œLauren. She’s not doing it. Well, she says she not doing it, but I refuse to accept that. I can be