Who Stole New Year's Eve?

  Eve said, “It’s even possible that if Dad pays back the Ice Carnival and pays to rebuild RSF-Z, the judge will go easy on him.”

  “So . . . ,” Yasmeen said. “You might not have to go back to California?”

  Eve grinned. “Yeah, you might be stuck with me awhile.”

  “Cool!” said Sophie Sikora, who was listening in as usual.

  The disaster part happened when we sang “Happy Birthday.” Yasmeen was singing her heart out. Eve didn’t even crack a smile, but Toby Lee is just a bad little kid. My dad had sent over another chocolate cream pie, and Toby picked it up and aimed it at Yasmeen. I knew what a good arm he had with a light-up Frisbee, so I moved to block his throw, and . . . succeeded.

  I blocked it with my face.

  Faster than you can say “Three Stooges”—all that singing turned to laughter.

  It was Yasmeen who recovered first. “Here, Alex, I’ll help you clean up.”

  Then Eve said, “It’s my party. I’ll help him.”

  And I said, “Sheesh, you guys, you don’t have to fight over me.”

  For a second, it was quiet; then Yasmeen and Eve together said, “Ewww!” and next thing you know I was in the bathroom cleaning up my own face.

  Looking in the mirror, I realized something. The mystery of who stole New Year’s Eve had been solved. But the mystery of girls was going to take a little longer.