Love Sucks (Rewritten!)

An Invitation to Die For

The first time Abigail Worthington received an invitation to a party was in the second grade. She had liked to think at the time that it was because she was popular amongst her peers, and that anyone would have loved to have her charming self in attendance, but in reality every second-grader in Mrs. Dawes' class got an invitation. Abigail surmised that it was mainly on account of someone feeling left out and their parents pulling funding from the new auditorium. Having gone to private school for the entirety of her young life, many of those parties were grand and ostentatious, however lost they might have been on an eight-year-old, and Abigail loved them. She adored doilies and big satin ribbons tied in pretty bows, extravagant bounce houses in the form of castles, pearl-topped cupcakes that tasted like flowers, and--once--a miniature pony parade that all the children got to ride.

This attitude did not change no matter how old she got. Daughter to an heiress that sought to throw away her slowly dwindling inheritance, Abigail was no stranger to luxury. She had attended charity galas since before she could walk, sweet sixteens that featured live guest performances and shiny new Bentley's, walked in cotillion, and rented entire beach houses with friends for the Fourth of July (with the help of her mother's credit card). It wasn't just the expense that she enjoyed, it was the preparation, the planning, the costume. It was getting to feel like someone else, even for just a night.

So, yes, when the letter arrived that afternoon it was safe to say that Abigail was only a little pleased.

She was sitting in the great room when her mother's personal assistant, Maggie, arrived with the mail in a sweat-dampened vigor. Ladened down by two cups of steaming coffee and a garment wrapped in plastic, she barely managed to place the stack of envelopes into a silver dish near the door before sweeping off again. Only a fading "Talk to you later!" and heels clacking on oak floors alerted Abigail she had been there at all. 

She waited to attack the mail, not wanting to be too eager, and kept her perch on the window seat bathed in the rich, skin-warming glow of California sun. Although their home was by no means modest, she had always thought it was much smaller than some of the sprawling houses she had visited in her social life. And still, despite its size, she could get so easily wrapped up in the picturesque greenery and affluent neighborhood around them. She and her mother had made their little home in Pasadena, amongst the prim neighbors, white stucco, and well-groomed lawns, feel like a fairytale.

And where there were fairytales, there were also balls. Unable to bear it any longer, Abigail sprung away from the window and descended upon the silver tray. Bills, an inheritance check from her grandfather,  a suspiciously large envelope addressed to herself, and--her heart skipped a beat--the red envelope she had been waiting for.

While Abigail was an avid fan of parties and functions, and there was no denying that, it also came with expectations. For instance, if she had not been (albeit out of obligation) invited to that birthday party in second grade, she would never have met her best friend or her first boyfriend. In truth, she had never liked either of them. Margot Sullivan, the love child of a plastic surgeon and a leech, was so rigidly perfect Abigail used to wonder if she could even fart. And Jeremy, the son of a politician, pulled on her braids for the entirety of middle school while he sat behind her in English class, until he asked her out at the end of eighth grade. She put up with Margot's snarky comments on her out-of-season Prada and Jeremy's too-wet tongue in her mouth for the sake of opportunity. Unlike most ambitious young women, Abigail didn't want to go to college. And for her mother's sake--who's job consisted mainly of collecting a monthly check and making appearances in public--she was resolved to social climb until she could provide for the both of them. It was pathetic, really, but having friends in high places opened a lot of doors for someone that lived off her grandparents' money.