Stacy Friedman is getting ready for one of the most important events of her young life––her bat mitzvah!  All she wants is the perfect BCBG dress to wear, her friends by her side, and her biggest crush ever, Andy Goldfarb, to dance with her (and maybe even make out with her on the dance floor).  But Stacy’s well-laid plans soon start to fall apart….Her stressed-out mother forces her to buy a hideous sequined dress that makes her look like the bride of Frankenstein.  Her mitzvahs are not going well at all.  And then the worst thing in the entire world happens––causing Stacy to utter the words that will wreak complete havoc on her social life ...You are SO not invited to my bat mitzvah!  

You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah!

By Fiona Rosenbloom

Hyperion Books

Copyright © 2007 Fiona Rosenbloom
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780786838912

Chapter One

The Gross Mitzvah

"Well? Am I Andy Goldfarb ready?" I asked. I was standing on the steps of Temple Emanu-El with Lydia Katz and Kelly Mooreland, my absolute first- and second-best friends, in respective order. We were about to enter Marni Gross's bat mitzvah celebration and I wanted to look my best.

Kelly stood back and gave me the once-over. "You need some makeup."

"But I don't have any," I complained.

"I do," Kelly said.

"We'll make you over in the bathroom," Lydia said, squeezing my arm. Lydia knows how to take charge. She's very disciplined. She gets that from her years of ballet class and all those skinny teachers who are constantly waving those sticks at her. "When we're done with you, you'll forget about Andy Goldfarb. You'll be Dante Decosimo ready," she added.

I rolled my eyes at her. Yeah, right.

Dante Decosimo was the ultra-gorgeous Italian exchange student in our class. He was a total hottie. Even Kym Armstrong, leader of the popular clique, The Chicas, openly crushed him. And she was, well, hard to please. Apparently Dante had a gorgeous girlfriend who wore off-the-shoulder peasant blouses waiting for him back home in Genoa. And rumor had it he'd already hooked up once with some teen model from another school here in Rye.

Lydia readjusted her dark brown ballerina bun, straightened her Arden B. pink taffeta dress, and pointed her feet out (again, the dance training). Kelly flipped her thick blond hair over her back and neatened her Ruby Rox tulle-trimmed dress. Then we opened the door to the synagogue. It was time to get the party started right.

Unfortunately, as soon as I looked out onto the hallway with all its decorations, I was reminded why that would be difficult. It's next to impossible to turn a Harry Potter-themed bat mitzvah into a party.

"Am I the only one who finds the third installment of Harry Potter unconscionably reductive?" Arthur asked no one in particular.

I had forgotten he was behind us. I was so used to him being on my tail all the time, I hardly even thought about how weird it was that he was almost three years younger than me. At ten years old, Arthur had a higher IQ than most members of the SUNY Purchase faculty and a comparable waist size. As usual, we left him to fend for himself and headed to the ladies' room.

"I think we should take off our friendship necklaces," Lydia said to me once we got inside the faux-marble bathroom.

"Why?" I asked. We never took off our friendship necklaces.

"The beads just don't look right with our outfits," she said.

I was so short I had to stand on my tiptoes to see my top half in the mirror.

"She's right," Kelly said, coating her eyelashes with mascara. Kelly didn't have a friendship necklace, but it wasn't because we didn't love her. It was because Lydia and I were absolute best friends since kindergarten. Before we even knew Kelly. And we weren't only school best friends; we were also Hebrew school best friends. Kelly didn't really seem to mind. She was pretty confident that way. Besides, she wouldn't have been caught dead in clay beads.

"You never want to pair ceramic with upscale clothes," Kelly said, throwing the mascara back in her makeup bag. She turned back to the mirror, exposing her mouth full of braces in her reflection, and checked for food particles.

"You're probably right," I said, not wanting to point out how un-upscale my clothes-picked out by my mother-were.

"I mean, do you think Reese Witherspoon would be caught dead in a fashion combo that involved clay jewelry?" Kelly asked. Kelly planned on becoming either an actress or a personal shopper once she lost her baby fat and braces.

"You are so pretty, but you're always hiding behind your hair," Lydia said as she held out her hand, signaling for me to hand over the necklace. That was the other thing about Lydia: she was very big sisterly. She always made sure that I felt as good about myself as she did about herself.

"Okay, girls, are we ready to find The Chicas?" Kelly asked, twirling her hair with her fingers. She did that when she was anxious. Lydia was a little nervous too. I could tell because she was tapping her feet. Ever since The Chicas lost one of their own to a parental job transfer, they were much more open to hanging out with us. And we, well, we've been hoping to gain access into their inner circle since the day middle school began. So you can imagine the pressure we were feeling. What we needed was a good stress breaker.

"What's Helen Keller's favorite color?" I asked.

"What?" Kelly responded.

"Corduroy!" I said, sending Kelly and Lydia into fits of laughter.

That one never fails me. Telling jokes to ease the tension is a specialty of mine. It's one of the reasons I'm considering the field of comedy as a career choice.

"The Chicas!" Kelly said.

"And The Boys!" I added.

"And The Boys," Lydia mimicked with a roll of her heavily mascara-ed eyes. Lydia, I should mention, was NOT into boys.

STACY FRIEDMAN'S STATEMENT OF FACT: Girls who aren't into boys yet can sometimes be party poopers. Even if one of those girls happens to be your best friend.

Standing side by side at the doorway of the party hall, in our fancy clothes and all made up, it felt as if Lydia, Kelly, and I were Charlie's Angels. I imagined us strutting into the party with the wind blowing our hair behind us and Destiny's Child singing in the background. Seeing us like this would take everyone's breath away. Andy's especially.

But as we crossed the threshold, we couldn't have been less like the Angels. No one really paid much attention. A couple of people waved, but everyone continued to go about their business.

I searched the room, trying to find Andy. Boys and girls were dancing, though not really with each other. More like at each other. Most kids were in huddles. One corner was filled with the techies, some of whom were dorky enough to actually be wearing the Harry Potter literary wizard hats. Another was filled with the preppies. But there was no Andy. In fact, I couldn't find any of The Boys. Did they not come? Were they too good for a bat mitzvah now?

We walked to the dance floor, passing tables set with Ron Weasley napkins and Harry Potter food: Caterpillar Cocoons, Bloody Eyeballs, and Deviled Mice. Marni Gross needed to wake up and smell reality. Harry Potter was so over. This was White Plains, New York, not Hogwarts Academy. I scanned the room again, but still no boys. Kelly kept fidgeting with her Louis Vuitton bag, making sure everyone could see it and be envious. Lydia was searching the crowd as we walked. Being a tall girl definitely had its advantages.

"There they are!" she said, pointing over everyone's heads.

My heart fluttered, and I swear my palms even sweated a bit. They were here! I patted down my frizz as we made our way across the dance floor and toward our destination.

Lydia said, "Chicas!"

My heart sank with the realization that it wasn't The Boys she had spotted at all.

Kym Armstrong, Sara Langley, and Megan Riley were huddled in the corner.

"Love your lip gloss," Kym called to Kelly as they stepped aside and opened up their circle to include us.

"Thanks, it's MAC," Kelly answered.

Kym and Sara were wearing matching halter dresses over jeans.

"Let me see the...