Gemotions

The invitation was a smear of glitter and self-congratulatory prose. Amelia, with a forced cheerfulness plastered onto her face, had the audacity to call her gathering a “garden fete” when it was bound to be a swarm of over-dressed mothers gossiping about preschool admissions. I, on the other hand, was planning a rooftop rave.

My fingers tightened around the flimsy paper as I imagined the chaos of Amelia's event. Lemonade, finger sandwiches, and awkward small talk. The thought of it made my stomach churn. I briefly considered not going at all but then decided the look on Amelia’s face when I announced my own party would be worth the price of admission.

I could practically feel the smugness radiating from her, even through the brightly colored card. She’d always been this way, convinced of her superiority. The way she’d look down her nose at my music taste, my clothes, my *life.* It was going to be glorious to watch the color drain from her face when she discovered the audacity of my plans.