Spencer bit her lip, her stomach nervously gurgling. “So, Dad. I got my—”
“Uh-oh,” Melissa interrupted, staring down at the plates Candace had just brought in from the kitchen. “Do we have anything other than chicken? Wren’s trying not to eat meat.”
“It’s all right,” Wren said hastily. “Chicken is perfect.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Hastings stood up halfway. “You don’t eat meat? I didn’t know! I think we may have some pasta salad in the fridge, although it might have ham in it….”
“Really, it’s okay.” Wren rubbed his head uncomfortably, making his messy black hair stand up in peaks.
“Oh, I feel terrible,” Mrs. Hastings said. Spencer rolled her eyes. When the whole family was together, her mom wanted all meals—even sloppy cereal breakfasts—to be perfect.
Mr. Hastings eyed Wren suspiciously. “I’m a steak man, myself.”
“Absolutely.” Wren lifted his glass so forcefully that a little wine spilled on the tablecloth.
Spencer was considering a good segue into her big announcement when her father laid down his fork.
“I’ve got a brilliant idea. Since we’re all here, why don’t we play Star Power?”
“Oh, Daddy.” Melissa grinned. “No.”
Her father smiled. “Oh yes. I had a terrific day at work. I’m going to kick your butt.”
“What’s Star Power?” Wren asked, his eyebrows arched.
A nervous glow grew in Spencer’s stomach. Star Power was a game her parents had made up when Spencer and Melissa were little kids that she’d always suspected they’d pilfered from some company power-retreat. It was simple: Everyone shared their biggest achievement of the day, and the family would select one Star. It was supposed to make people feel proud and accomplished, but in the Hastings family, people just got ruthlessly competitive.
But if there was one perfect way for Spencer to announce her PSAT results, Star Power was it.
“You’ll catch on, Wren,” Mr. Hastings said. “I’ll start. Today, I prepared a defense so compelling for my client, he actually offered to pay me more money.”
“Impressive,” her mother said, taking a tiny bite of a golden beet. “Now me. This morning, I beat Eloise at tennis in straight sets.”
“Eloise is tough!” her father cried before taking another sip of wine. Spencer peeked at Wren across the table. He was carefully peeling the skin off his chicken thigh, so she couldn’t catch his eye.
Her mother dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Melissa?”
Melissa laced her stubby-nailed fingers together. “Well, hmm. I helped the builders tile the entire bathroom—the only way it’d be perfect is if I did it myself.”
“Good for you, dear!” her father said.
Spencer jiggled her legs nervously.
Mr. Hastings finished sipping his wine. “Wren?”
Wren looked up, startled. “Yes?”
“It’s your turn.”
Wren fiddled with his wineglass. “I don’t know what I should say….”
“We’re playing Star Power,” Mrs. Hastings chirped, as if Star Power were as common a game as Scrabble. “What wonderful thing did you, Mr. Doctor, achieve today?”
“Oh.” Wren blinked. “Well. Um, nothing, really. It was my day off from school and the hospital, so I went down to the pub with some hospital friends and watched the Phillies game.”
Silence. Melissa shot Wren a disappointed look.
“I think that’s awesome,” Spencer offered. “The way they’ve been playing, it’s a feat to watch the Phillies all day.”
“I know, they’re kind of crap, aren’t they?” Wren smiled at her gratefully.
“Well, anyway,” her mother interrupted. “Melissa, when do you start class?”
“Wait a minute,” Spencer piped up. They were not about to forget her! “I have something for Star Power.”
Her mother’s salad fork hung in the air. “I’m sorry.”
“Oops!” her father agreed jocularly. “Go ahead, Spence.”
“I got my PSAT results,” she said. “And, well…here.” She pulled out the scores and shoved them at her father.
As soon as he took them, she knew what would happen. They wouldn’t care. What did PSATs matter, anyway? They’d go back to their Beaujolais and to Melissa and Wharton and that would be that. Her cheeks felt hot. Why did she even bother?
Then her dad put down his wineglass and studied the paper. “Wow.” He motioned Mrs. Hastings over. When she saw the paper, she gasped.
“You can’t get much higher than this, can you?” Mrs. Hastings said.
Melissa craned her neck to look too. Spencer could hardly breathe. Melissa glared at her over the lilac and peony centerpiece. It was a look that made Spencer think that maybe Melissa had written that creepy e-mail yesterday. But when Spencer met her eye, Melissa broke into a smile. “You really studied, didn’t you?”
“It’s a good score, yeah?” Wren asked, glancing at the page.
“It’s a fantastic score!” Mr. Hastings bellowed.
“This is wonderful!” cried Mrs. Hastings. “How would you like to celebrate, Spencer? Dinner in the city? Is there something you’ve had your eye on?”
“When I got my SAT scores, you got me a Fitzgerald first edition at that estate auction, remember?” Melissa beamed.
“That’s right!” Mrs. Hastings trilled.