Then the invitations went out. Isla never got one. At first she brushed it off.
“She probably just forgot mine.” By Friday, almost the entire grade had been invited.
Even girls Piper barely talked to. Isla texted her. Nothing back. She called.
Straight to voicemail. At school, Piper turned around and walked the other way the moment she spotted her.
That night, I found Isla on her bedroom floor next to the pink dress they’d picked out together, crying.
“I just want to know what I did wrong.” Holt, my husband, seemed genuinely confused too.
