This seems to incense Amber even more, because while we all know that Iris’s dress is a big official eff you to the entire Pink Party construct, Kaitlyn doesn’t seem to realize that she’s committed a faux pas. We’re all wearing pink except for Iris Huang, who had the nerve to arrive in lavender (Amber’s angry whispers carried clear across the lawn), and Kaitlyn Winthrop, who is technically wearing magenta. I stare around Amber’s backyard at clustered tables covered in pink gingham cloths and at the girls around said tables. It also implied that there had been a number of mediocre luncheons this summer, as this was meant to be the last of the great ones. As if my summer had been packed to bursting with a whole host of other themed luncheons instead of babysitting jobs and shifts at Pinky’s Sub Shop.
The invitation-on thick pink paper, naturally, with gold and turquoise swirls-had declared it to be the last great luncheon of the summer. It’s at Amber Brunati’s annual Pink Party that everything begins to unravel.
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