Page 1 of Trip Me Up

1

SAM

Not everyone would sneakher dog into a fundraising luncheon. Her adorable, hardly-ever-barks, absolutely—well, mostly—nonshedding dog.

But, to my mother’s never-ending disappointment, I’m not everyone.

Everyone wishes they had your advantages.

Everyone should marry someone who fits into their social circle.By that, she meant wealthy.

Everyone wants to be a Jones.

But at some point over the past twenty-five years, she should’ve realized that I’m a little…different.

“Bilbo Baggins,” I hissed, lifting the white tablecloth of a large round table.

“Sam!”

Grimacing, I dropped the tablecloth and whirled toward my younger sister. She looked down at me from her sky-high heels, one hand on her hip and the other holding a pink cocktail that matched the baby pink of her silk dress. She always looked so effortless at these things. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Um, looking for an earring?”

Natalie squinted at me. “You’re not wearing earrings.”

“Oh. Then I guess I’m looking for two of them.”

“Pearls. You should be wearing pearls.” She scanned me from head to toe, and I nudged my huge black tote bag behind my back. “That suit is so two seasons ago. Didn’t Mother send you a new one?”

I stared at the round toe of my low-heeled shoes, remembering how I’d dropped the lurid pink monstrosity at the donation box. This suit wasn’t so bad. I’d bought it back when I still had new-clothes money, and it was my favorite color, black.

Natalie’s voice was gentler than I’d heard it in a while. “Next time, tell her what you want.”

“What I want is not to be here,” I muttered.

“Oh, really? How would Dad have felt about that?” Her eyes went uncharacteristically shiny before she spun on her sparkly sandal and stalked off.

Dad? I made the mistake of glancing at his picture on the banner at the museum’s entrance. He’d have been too busy working to come to an event like this, even though it was named after him. I rubbed the spot on my chest that ached, still, after fourteen years.

I wasn’t there for him. Although I’d have rather been doing research or cuddling with Bilbo Baggins on my couch or having my appendix removed again, I was there for my mother. She demanded that her family show up picture-perfect at the foundation’s events.

And that reminded me I needed to find Bilbo Baggins before she did. Where could he have gone? He wasn’t usually shy. He wouldn’t hide under a table. Unlike me, he’d be out in the center of the action, making friends. I turned in a circle, scanning the room.

A long buffet table took up one side of the high-ceilinged museum space. Mother usually hated the idea of people holding food, but dining tables wouldn’t have fit with the large sculptures. The other side of the room was scattered with smaller tables serving hors d’oeuvres. Maybe he’d gone to beg for a chicken wing. Not that Mother would ever serve messy chicken wings, but Bilbo Baggins didn’t know that.

I’d taken one step in that direction when a silky-soft but steely hand clamped around my wrist. “Samantha,whatis that?”

Frantic, I surveyed the area nearby. Had she seen him?

Pale, French-tipped fingers plucked at the strap of my tote bag. “Why didn’t you leave your school bag at the coat check?”

I turned slowly to face her. “Mother, that’s where I’ve got my wallet and keys.” And my dog, too, before he’d made his grand escape.

Her red lips turned down. “What happened to the bag I gave you for your birthday?”

“It didn’t match my suit.” I waved my hand at my black pantsuit and white shirt. I didn’t mention that when I’d sold the flowered fuchsia purse on eBay, it’d covered Bilbo Baggins’ annual vet visit plus his heartworm preventative and allergy medications.

“Don’t get me started on that suit,” she muttered, brushing a speck off my shoulder. “Now, where is your date?”

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