Page 51 of The Charlie Method

She grins. “And modest too.”

“Most modest person you’ll ever meet.”

We link arms and head downstairs to endure another sorority meeting with Agatha being, well, Agatha. At least we have an interesting agenda this time. Yara, who’s in charge of the decorations for the gala, created a PowerPoint presentation, and I love me a good PowerPoint. Especially from Yara, whose slide headings are top-notch.

“All right,” she announces, standing at the projector while everyone shifts their gazes to the screen. “Centerpiece options forthcoming.”

The first slide appears.

DO I BELONG IN THE CENTER OF THE TABLE?

Faith leans into my arm and laughs against my sleeve. I hear some giggles from the freshmen, AKA the inferior scum of the earth leaning against the wall. When I glance over my shoulder, I see Blake standing behind me, grinning. She looks cute today, her hair arranged in two braids that hang down her shoulders.

“Okay, here’s option one,” Yara says.

The next slide pops up, showcasing a tall clear vase with a white satin ribbon around the middle, tied into a neat bow. It sits on a round mirror that reflects the blooms inside the vase: baby’s breath, fern fronds, and a few pastel-pink peonies for a pop of color.

Option one’s heading reads:

I’M NICE, BUT I COULD BE NICER

“This doesn’t wow me,” Sherise admits, chewing on the cap of her ballpoint pen.

“It’s the worst of the bunch,” Yara agrees. “But it’s the cheapest.”

Option two is labeled:

I’M NICER

This frosted-glass vase, sitting on a lace runner, offers pink roses surrounded by sprays of white baby’s breath. It’s better than the first one but not as spectacular as option three, which draws oohs and aahs from everyone.

IMAGINE MY GLORY ON YOUR TABLE

This option sticks to our white and pale-pink color scheme, only gold accents have been incorporated into the palette.

“This one is a bit pricier,” Yara starts, her gaze flitting toward me.

“How much pricier?” I ask, my fingers poised over my keyboard. I take my job as VPF very seriously. Because Agatha forces me to.

Yara stalls for time. “Well, I know we allotted a strict centerpiece budget, and this is definitely over budget, but—”

“How much over budget?”

“About twenty percent,” she mumbles without looking at me.

“Absolutely not,” I say instantly.

“But look at it!”

I glance at the screen, stifling a groan when Yara taps her laptop and another slide appears, featuring all three centerpieces lined up in a row.

There’s no question the gold accents draw the eye.

Agatha tips her head toward me. “Can it be done?” she asks briskly.

“If you want to take that twenty percent from one of the other budgets, like music, then sure, we can make it work.”

“Don’t even think about slashing the DJ budget!” Robin exclaims. Music is her domain.

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