Snared Read Free Page A

perfect example. Kate had wanted to use paper invitations, and that would have been okay, but she bought boxes of invites with a picture of a kitten wearing sunglasses on the cover. Inside they read“ Come and party with the cool cats.” If Kate had sent out those wholly cred-killing invites, she’d never have lived down the humiliation. So Lindsay wrote the invitation for Kate—email only—and she made it sound like a total secret, because Lindsay knew the best way to get the word out was to tell people to keep quiet.
    Lindsay often thought that she would make a great party planner, or maybe a wedding planner. She was able to look at any event, no matter how complicated, calmly and thoroughly, and spot the details others might overlook. Last year she organized the freshman dance, and instead of throwing some high-school hoedown with a pop tune theme, she made it memorable. She did an industrial disco night called Batcave, with painted wall panels that made the gym look like a dungeon and a wrought-iron bar for sodas. It was a total hit. Everyone at school talked about it for weeks.
    Kate just can’t do this on her own. I should be there, helping her.
    But she wasn’t; she was in an SUV with her parents, driving through a downpour headed to Redneck Hollow, and no matter how she tried tohide her disappointment—because she knew the trip really meant a lot to her dad—she just couldn’t.
    It was like being kidnapped or something. She was a prisoner, and her two captors sat in the front seat, acting all happy and crap.
    When the power on her Treo died, cutting off Lindsay in midtext, she couldn’t help but groan. Her connection to home and her friends was severed. She hadn’t bothered charging her cell phone completely, because she preferred the PDA. So her cell phone had died an hour into the trip, and now her Treo was toast. How much worse was this trip going to get?
    A hand touched her shoulder, and Lindsay looked up, startled. Her mom had turned in the seat and was looking at her with a shadow of frustration on her brow. Her mom’s lips were moving, but Lindsay couldn’t hear what she said because she had her tunes cranked. She pulled the earbuds out and said “What?”
    â€œYou know, you could talk to us if you’re bored.”
    â€œI could, but that would negate the whole not-talking-to-you thing.”
    Her dad laughed, and her mother just shook her head.
    â€œWe’re sorry about Kate’s party,” her dad said. “But try to have a good time. You used to love the beach.”
    She really wished he’d quit saying that.
    â€œI also used to wear diapers, but I don’t see any of us clinging to that tradition.”
    â€œYou’ll feel better when we get there. Believe me, it’s nicer now.”
    Lindsay rested her head against the cold window. The vibrations from the road and the rain beating down massaged her temple. Outside, the day grew darker, and the downpour rapped harder on the SUV’s roof. All she could see were blurry trees and more blurry trees, the same view over and over, like an animated message board avatar.
    Of course, there was a major difference. She was trapped in this image.
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    Lindsay sat in the SUV while her parents shopped at the grocery store on the edge of town. She’d tried to see the city’s shops and offices through the storm, but everything outside the car was a big gloomy smear. So she searched her iPod for a song—not a specific song, just one that might make her feel better. Scrolling along the titles, shecame across a cool tune by Green Day and jabbed the Play button, but after listening to a few grinding guitar riffs, she poked the button again and turned it off.
    Lindsay pulled the earbuds loose, wrapped them around her iPod, and dropped the player on the seat. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the door, staring at the front of the supermarket. Come on, Dad ,