A Red Mule and Balloons, with Apologies to Lewis Carroll

"Ryan?"

Underneath the covers, Ryan's hand furtively curled into a fist, but otherwise he didn't move. In fact for a moment he held his breath, until he remembered that he was trying to pretend he was sleeping, not dead.

"Ry-an, are you awake, dude? Come on. I know you're awake." There was the unmistakable click of the pool house door opening, the soft shuffle of feet padding across the room. And then—then there was song. "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor," Seth warbled off-key. "Would you be mine? Could you be mine?"

Defeated, Ryan rolled over, producing a bleary one-eyed glare. "Seth," he growled. "You're killing Mr. Rogers."

"Actually, Ryan, he's already dead." Seth sighed and shook his head mournfully. "Sad but true. But hey, now you're awake, so we can talk."

"Not awake. Pissed. Go. Away." The one eye Ryan had managed to pry open closed again—clenched, actually--and he burrowed deeper into the pillow.

There was silence.

Complete silence. No retreating footsteps. No pool house door clicking shut.

No sound at all.

It was definitely scary.

"Seth," Ryan warned. "You'd better not be standing there watching me sleep."

"Dude! Please!" Seth protested, dropping hastily into a chair. "See? First of all, I am sitting, not standing, and besides that clearly bro, you? Are not sleeping. But hey, since you're awake and all, could you answer one question?"

"No."

"Okay, that's actually a good answer, but since you haven't heard the question yet, it can't really count. So just listen, okay?"

"No."

Seth patted the bed, not being fool enough to touch Ryan himself. "Once again, buddy, hold that thought until you know what I'm asking," he urged. Here it is--"

Before Seth could finish, Ryan yanked the pillow from under his head and pressed it over his own face, muttering a stream of incoherent profanity that somehow included the words "restraining order" and "justifiable homicide."

"You really aren't a morning person, are you, man?" Seth asked innocently, when Ryan surfaced to gulp some air. "Okay, question: Am I predictable?"

Ryan groaned.

Seth cocked his head, considering. "Now, was that a yes grunt or a no grunt? You've got to learn to enunciate, Ryan. Come on," he wheedled. "Just tell me, and be honest here . . . am I predictable?"

Ryan gritted his teeth and peered grudgingly at the clock. "Six-fifteen. Yesterday you didn't get here until almost 6:30. No, Seth. Not predictable at all. Now, good night. Morning. Whatever."

Seth settled into his chair and stretched comfortably. "Yeah, see, that's what I thought, Ryan," he declared, "but Summer—she claims that I'm in a rut. Boring, even. Me! Just because I have my little routines, and okay, maybe our dates have settled into pretty much of a pattern lately. But that's just because I have a system, a finely tuned, logical method that works for me. Much like my hair. I'm not predictable, right?"

"Mmmph," Ryan mumbled from under the covers.

"Exactly. So, I can count on your testimonial. Still," Seth mused, his brows furrowed thoughtfully, "I've been thinking I should actually do something to show Summer what a spontaneous guy I am. You know, surprise her. What do you think, buddy?"

Ryan's hand—the only visible part of him--waved encouragingly. "Good idea," his muffled voice agreed. "Surprise her, Seth. Move to Canada. Now would be good."

"Aww, there's that Atwood wit stumbling over itself," Seth observed fondly. "Yeah, don't worry, Ryan. We'll just pretend it was sleepwalking . . . But anyway, since you asked, here's my idea."

"I. Didn't. Ask." The covers thrashed wildly and Ryan's rumpled head emerged. "You're not going to stop talking, are you Seth?"

"How could we have this conversation if I stopped talking?" Seth demanded, bewildered. "Honestly, dude, you don't think clearly before seven a.m. . . . Well, don't worry about it. Just try to keep up. Although, I don't know, maybe you should take notes. . ."

Ryan moaned and sat up, burying his face in his hands. "Just tell me your idea Seth. In as few words as possible."

"Okay, in . . ." Seth counted on his fingers, "nine words. I'm going to throw Summer an unbirthday party tonight . . . Hmm, a contraction does count as one word, right?"

"Don't know. Don't care," Ryan replied. "Four words. Or six. Take your pick." He peeked out from between his fingers, blinking. "Oh—and Seth? You can't throw a party tonight. Your parents are going out, remember? That whole drive up the coast, dinner at an intimate restaurant, night at a bed and breakfast deal that they've been talking about all week?"

"I do indeed remember that, Ryan. So . . .?"

"So, your parents specifically ordered you not to throw a party."

Seth wrinkled his nose. "I know," he complained. "And I really don't get why."

"The barbecue-slash-spontaneous-bonfire when they went to the ballet?" Ryan reminded him. "911 calls? Fire trucks? Near immolation of the patio furniture? Any of that ring a bell, Seth?"

"Vaguely. Although you know, Dad really should have been grateful for the excuse to come home. He hates the ballet. Anyway, we wouldn't have had a problem if you hadn't already put lighter fluid on the coals before I did, dude."

"I was in charge of the barbecue, Seth," Ryan pointed out. "You were in charge of not being around anything flammable."

Seth gestured airily. "Yeah, well, water under the bridge. Or extinguisher fluid on the coals. Whatever. This will be different, Ryan."

"Right," Ryan declared. "Because it won't happen. Your parents said no party."

Seth leaned forward confidently. "Ah, but you see, that's the beauty of this Ryan," he insisted. "It won't be a party. It will be an unparty for Summer's unbirthday." At Ryan's skeptical frown, Seth patted him on the back reassuringly. "Trust me, dude. Dad's a lawyer. He has to respect the semantic distinction. It would hold up in court."

"Yeah?" Ryan asked dubiously. "And what the hell is an unbirthday?"

"What?" Seth gasped, clutching his heart, his eyes wide with shock. "You've never read Lewis Carroll, Ryan? What do they stock in the Chino libraries anyway? Just A Series of Unfortunate Events and books on how to strip cars?"

Ryan snorted. "Right. That was the whole collection."

"Yeah, it must have been. Okay, mini-lesson to fill in one of the gaps in your woeful education, my son. An unbirthday is a day that's not your birthday."

"Wow. Imagine that."

"But a day worth celebrating nonetheless," Seth persisted. "Lewis Carroll introduced the idea in Alice in Wonderland, a brilliant book, by the way, and not just for girls, despite the main character being, well, Alice. You really should read it, Ryan. I think you'll understand me much better if you do."

Ryan nodded sardonically. "Oh right. There's incentive."

Seth folded his hands and exhaled a long-suffering breath. "Okay, I'm feeling generous today, so I'm going to ignore that extremely rude comment. Anyway, in the story, Alice goes to an unbirthday party with the Mad Hatter. It is wild, it is magical, and yes, my man Atwood, it is absolutely unpredictable."

Ryan rolled out of the bed and onto his feet, squinting over his shoulder at Seth. "The Mad Hatter, huh?" he mumbled. "Well, that fits."

"Now see, I knew you'd buy into the idea, dude!" Seth exclaimed happily. "Okay, time to draw up the all-important to do list. See? I brought a red pen to mark everything you need to do, and a blue pen for my jobs. Or I also have green, but it's sort of a minty color—like, well, let's say, mint, so we probably should stick with the basics . . ."

Ryan stumbled to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. He uncapped it and raised it to his lips. Then he paused, nodded to himself, padded back and poured half the water over Seth's head.

Spluttering, Seth jumped to his feet, nearly backhanding the lamp. "Wha! Ryan! Dude! That's cold! And also, I think, assault!"

"Nah. Just a mini-lesson in hosing you down." Smiling with satisfaction, Ryan chugged the rest of the water and flopped back down on the bed.

Seth scrubbed his hair ineffectually with the sleeve of his robe. "All I can say is, it's a good thing I hadn't perfected my do yet," he grumbled. "Or make no mistake, you would suffer my wrath, Ryan."

"Right. You'd sic Summer on me."

"Ooh, bravo. Ryan Atwood, ladies and gentlemen. He thinks he's so funny."

"I am, aren't I?" Ryan drawled. "Okay, proceed Seth. What's your plan that I'm going to hate, and you're going to insist on doing anyway?"

"I am not predictable. I am not predictable. I am not," Seth chanted. "All right. Here it is. I'll make it simple for you. As I said, I'm going to throw Summer an unbirthday party because a) she won't expect it and b) she won't expect it."

"Why today, Seth?"

"Huh?"

"Why today?" Ryan repeated. "I mean, if today is Summer's unbirthday, wasn't yesterday too? For that matter, doesn't she have 364 of them every year? Plus one more in a leap year? Why do we have to celebrate today?"

"Because . . . because . . . because . . . Ryan!" Seth sputtered, "It's too early in the morning for pointless questions like that. Sometimes I think you talk just to hear the sound of your own voice. Okay, back to the to-do list, which, did I mention, is all-important. Now, your tasks are very simple. I'm putting you in charge of the guest list." Seth tore off a piece of paper and thrust it at Ryan.

"What guest list?" Ryan objected, frowning. "There's nothing written here, Seth."

"True, that," Seth conceded blithely. "First you have to create the guest list, Ryan. Then you actually invite the people on it. Okay, now you're also in charge of getting Summer here."

"Me? Uh-uh. Line in the sand here, Seth. I mean it."

Seth sighed extravagantly. "Fine. Ask Marissa to do it. That would be less suspicious anyway. But she needs to get Summer here no earlier than 7:30 and no later than 7:45. Repeat those times to me, dude." Ryan glared at him. "Or, you know, don't. I'll just write them down for you here . . . And your final, very critical, job is to download all the songs you can find that were popular the year Summer was born."

"Seth, I don't even know what songs are popular now," Ryan protested. "You should do that job."

"Hey, yeah, I know. But come on, man, I can't do everything, can I? Little hint, though. There's this thing called the Internet," Seth whispered in a slow, singsong voice. "It is your friend. If you ask it politely, it will tell you things."

Ryan smiled. "Little hint, Seth. If you ask me politely, I might not punch you."

Seth hopped backwards, grabbing a pillow and holding it defensively in front of his chest. "Temper, temper, now. Clearly somebody hasn't had his morning caffeine." Ryan took a step toward him and Seth added hastily, "All right, all right. Mr. Atwood, sir, don't punch me. Please?"

"Haven't had my caffeine. I haven't even had my sleep!" Ryan grumbled. He snatched his pillow back and used it to smack Seth in the shoulder.

"Hey! I asked politely!"

"That wasn't a punch," Ryan pointed out. "It was a swat. A semantic distinction that would hold up in court . . . So anyway Seth, what exactly are you going to do to prepare for this unbirthday? Unparty. God, did I just say that? Let me guess. You're going to supervise."

"I am not," Seth retorted indignantly. "That would be predictable. Which I am not. For your information, smartass, I'm going out to buy the decorations and the food. Read the to-do list. It's right there in blue ink."

"Yeah? And who's going to put up the decorations and prepare the food?"

Seth scrambled toward the door and began to back out of the pool house. "Oh, you know," he said vaguely. "People . . . Friends . . . Somebody . . . So, hungry, Ryan? Because I'm thinking breakfast. Coffee, juice, cereal? Who knows? Maybe some pancakes . . ."

"What do you mean, people, friends?" Ryan demanded, following him out. "What people? What friends? Seth!"

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Ryan wheeled his bike to a stop in front of the pool house, whistling. He had passed the Rover in the driveway, which meant that Seth was back with crepe paper streamers, or whatever constituted unbirthday unparty decorations in the Wonderland of the Seth Cohen mind. Frowning at the windows—had he forgotten to raise the blinds this morning?--Ryan opened his door, stepped inside.

And froze.

"Close it, close it, close it!" Seth yelped.

Ryan shook his head, blinking. "Close—what?"

"Well, first the door and then your mouth. Come on Ryan, hurry, before Mom or Dad wander out on the patio and see inside."

Dazedly Ryan reached behind him and shut the door. "Seth?" he asked hoarsely. "The hell?"

"Oh. Yeah." Seth grinned and returned to painting a hot pink "Un" in front of the word "Birthday" on a huge, shiny banner. "I bought some party decorations."

Ryan scanned his once tidy room, now crowded with balloons and centerpieces and glow-sticks and other twinkly alien-looking objects that all screamed celebration. "No," he countered flatly. "You bought a party store. And emptied it into my pool house."

"What?" Seth twirled around, splattering drops of paint in the process. "You think it's too much?"

"I think one-tenth of all this would be too much. Seth?" Bewildered, Ryan indicated a cluster of balloons bobbing above his bed. "You do know that those things say 'Happy Anniversary', right? And that one? 'Happy Bar Mitzvah?'"

Seth screwed his face into a patronizing "Well, duh" expression. "Come on, bro. It's not like I could get ones that said 'Happy Birthday'," he explained patiently. "After all, this is an—"

"Unbirthday party," Ryan concluded. "Yeah, I remember. So, sure, 'Happy Retirement.' Why not?"

"Yeah but no, see, Ryan, the balloons don't all have writing. Those over there are just happy faces. And look at that one—it's got rainbows and stars."

"What would rainbows and stars be out at the same—Oh hell. Never mind." Ryan dropped down on his bed, and immediately jumped back up, pulling a package out from underneath him.

"Hey, buddy, don't crush the party hats!"

"Party hats," Ryan mumbled, in the same tone he'd use to say "root canal." Slowly, carefully, he sat back down, batting at the balloon over his head. Then his gaze moved across the room, and his eyes narrowed. "Seth?" He pointed accusingly to a ruffled red mule standing on the TV.

"It's a piñata, Ryan," Seth explained gleefully. "Full of foil-wrapped goodies. Yum." He abandoned the banner and came over to pet the mule's papier-mâché nose. "Isn't he cute? I named him Felix. He looks like a Felix, don't you think?

"I think he looks like tomorrow's trash. And no way am I letting you wear a blindfold and poke around with a big stick, Seth. No piñata."

Seth's dimples vanished. "But Ryan—"

"Uh-uh. No way. Remember what happened when you found your old Star Wars light saber in the garage? And you had your eyes wide open then."

Seth sighed, wincing slightly at the memory. "Point taken. Okay, no piñata. Captain Oats probably wouldn't appreciate us attacking his crepe paper cousin with a stick anyway." He scooped up the mule, hugged it, and whispered in its ear, "Don't worry, Felix. I'll find a painless way to get the candy out . . . So. Ryan." Seth cleared his throat. "Notice anything here?"

"What? You mean besides the fact that the Mad Hatter apparently moved into my room while I was out?"

"Aha!" Seth exclaimed indignantly. "So you admit it. You were out, and that meant I carried everything in here all by myself. Without the 'rents seeing. And without your help, dude. Where were you all afternoon anyway?"

Ryan shrugged, idly juggling two packages of paper plates. "I was taking a bike ride."

"A bike ride?" Seth echoed incredulously. "You were taking a bike ride while I was working here? Why?"

"Because . . . I wanted to?"

"Just because you wanted to. Even though you knew I needed you here." Seth shook his head, his voice heavy with disappointment. "Ryan, as your best friend, I've got to tell you. This selfish streak you've developed? Not an attractive trait, man. And what about your to-do list? Is it even to-done? Hmm?"

"Well, I called Marissa. And she'll get Summer here between 7:30 and 7:45," Ryan reported. "You'll be happy to know that she thinks the whole idea is 'just too cute for words.'" He tossed the paper plates back onto the bed, and began to corral the balloons, herding them all into one corner. "Oh, and Luke is coming, and he's bringing a date. Megan something, I think."

"And?" Seth prompted.

"And what?"

"Who else?"

Ryan hunched one shoulder briefly. "Nobody else, dude. That's it."

"That's it? Three couples for an unbirthday party? Ryan, I've gotta say, you are really slacking off here today. Why didn't you invite more people? What about our other friends?"

Ryan put his hands on Seth's shoulders and looked into his eyes. "Seth," he said solemnly. "Think about the last two words in that sentence. Just think about them."

Seth's lips moved silently. "Other friends," he mouthed. Then his eyes widened. "Oh, right. Okay, three couples it is. More cake for us. And what about the songs?"

Smugly, Ryan produced a print-out playlist from beside the computer. "Done. Ha!"

"Hmm," Seth murmured, scanning the titles. "Phil Collins. Bon Jovi. Madonna. Okay . . . Dude!" His voice rose in disbelief. "Milli Vanilli? New Kids on the Block? Come on, you're killing me here."

"Can't help it," Ryan replied blithely. "Those were the songs my good friend the Internet told me were popular the year Summer was born. Deal, Seth."

Seth shuddered. "Maybe there's some kind of ear-colonic I can take after the party is over. You know, flush out the toxic sounds."

"Seth," Ryan groaned. "Do you ever, like, listen to yourself?"

"What?"

"Ear-colonic?"

Seth wrinkled his nose. "Okay, Ryan, now that's just ridunkulous. Not to mention a little gross. I need you to focus here, dude. So . . . we've got the decorations . . ."

"All the decorations in southern California," Ryan interjected.

Seth ignored him, pacing, and ticking off items on his fingers. "And I've ordered the food. The music—if we're calling this music—is downloaded, the people are invited. So, the only things left to do are set up and bake the cake, but we can't do that until after Mom and Dad leave. Which should be any time now."

Ryan held up a hand, and when that didn't halt Seth, stepped in front of him. "Whoa, dude. Hold it right there. We're going to bake the cake? Why didn't you just buy one?"

"Come on, Ryan, you've only got that mini-fridge in here. A decent-size cake wouldn't fit," Seth explained. "And I couldn't put one in the refrigerator in the house because Mom or Dad would be sure to find it. So, we're going with a yummy homemade one tonight."

"Yeah?" Ryan growled. "And which one of us is going to home make it?"

"Well . . ." Seth stretched the word out, flashing his dimples appealingly. "I'll decorate it, because, you know, I'm all about the art. But I thought maybe, oh, I don't know, you could actually bake it?"

Ryan blew out an exasperated breath and plopped down in his chair. "Seth, have you ever noticed a little imbalance in our friendship?"

"Hmm." Seth frowned. "No. What do you mean?"

"Just, you're always the one asking me to do things and to help you with stuff. And I'm always the one who—well, does it. It's like there's quid but no quo."

Seth picked a hole in the piñata's hoof and dug out a wrapped candy. "Well, I can't help that, dude," he claimed, popping the piece into his mouth. "Mmm . . . cherry. If there's no quo, it's because you have this really overdeveloped concept of self-reliance. Clearly not my fault. You never ask me for help."

Ryan dug out a sourball and sucked on it thoughtfully. "Okay, so maybe since there's no quo, we should just get rid of the quid."

"Get rid of the quid," Seth snickered. "Sounds like something from Dr. Suess . . ." He stopped laughing abruptly and asked with alarm, "Wait a minute, Ryan. What does that even mean?"

"I could stop doing things for you all the time."

Seth shook his head desperately. "Okay, now that? Is crazy talk. I mean, think of it this way, buddy. You're building up a huge amount of favor equity. If you ever do decide to ask me for payback, I'm going to owe you big time . . ."

"Yeah," Ryan mused. "That's true." He tilted his head, an anticipatory smile lighting his face.

"Ryan? Ryan? Ryan!" Seth stuttered. "You can stop thinking now." He snapped his fingers to halt Ryan's reverie. "So, here's the plan. We'll just go in the house, maybe play some Halo II until Mom and Dad leave—"

"Seth? Ryan?" Sandy called. "Are you guys in the pool house?"

"Shit! Too late!" Seth yanked Ryan to his feet. "Stall them," he hissed.

"What?"

"Get out there and stall them! They can't see this stuff!"

"Boys?" Kirsten's voice sounded dangerously close. "If you're playing a game, pause it. We want to talk to you before we leave."

"How am I supposed to stall them?" Ryan whispered fiercely.

"I don't know. I can't think of everything! Use your Chino mojo," Seth urged. "But don't let them come in!"

Ryan ducked out of the pool house, wedging the door shut behind him just as Kirsten and Sandy came up the steps.

"Hi . . . guys," he stammered, sketching a circular wave. "Um . . . So. What's up?"

"We just wanted to go over some ground rules and say goodbye." Kirsten peered over Ryan's shoulder at the closed door, scanned the shrouded windows. "Ryan?" she demanded. "Is Marissa in there? Have you two been . . .? Is that why the blinds are down?"

"Marissa? Marissa? Pfft," Ryan scoffed, attempting nonchalance. "No, of course not. Marissa's not in there."

"Some other girl then?" Sandy suggested.

Ryan blinked. "Some other girl?" he echoed. "What other girl? No, there's no other girl. It's just . . . it's uh . . . " He stumbled as the door opened and Seth slid out beside him, hands hidden behind his back. "It's Seth," Ryan finished weakly.

Sandy and Kirsten shot each other looks of sudden suspicion.

"Yes, we see that." Sandy's brow furrowed. "Seth?"

"Dad! Mom! Surprise!" Seth cried, tossing a handful of glitter confetti over his parents. With his other hand, he produced a balloon and thrust it at his mother.

"What on earth?" Sandy sputtered, brushing gold flakes from his shoulders.

Kirsten stared incredulously at the dancing balloon with its bright blue letters. "Happy Anniversary? Seth, it's not our anniversary."

"It's not?" Seth asked innocently. He nudged Ryan in the side. "See, dude, I told you it wasn't their anniversary. Sorry, Mom, Dad. Ryan got confused what with your big night out and all, didn't you man?"

Ryan flashed Seth a furtive glare of doom before turning to Sandy and Kirsten. "Yeah." He nodded, giving a twitchy grin. "I'm very confused. Sorry."

"So . . ." Seth snatched the balloon back, and tapped some confetti from the tip of Kirsten's nose, "Why are you two going out today anyway? Is it some other special occasion?" He edged away from the door, pulling Ryan with him, and forcing his parents to back up.

Sandy stared at his son speculatively. "No," he answered. "No special occasion. We just want to, that's all."

"Hmm," Seth mused. "You just want to . . . Yeah, apparently there's a lot of that going around . . . Okay then, so have a great time, you two. Eat, drink—well, don't drink and drive—but be merry anyway. We'll walk you to the car, won't we, bro?" He reached for his mother's arm, but Kirsten waved him off.

"Sandy," she ordered. "Smell their breath."

Seth and Ryan both recoiled, demanding simultaneously, "What?"

"Smell their breath," Kirsten repeated. They're acting very strange, Sandy—well, even stranger than usual. Smell their breath.

Dutifully, Sandy leaned in and sniffed, first Ryan, then Seth. "They're clean," he reported. "Although," he added confidentially, "you could use a mint there, son."

Seth cupped a hand under his mouth and exhaled. "No, I don't Dad—you are so not funny."

"All right, sweetheart, if you're sure," Kirsten said doubtfully. "Now boys, you do know the rules, don't you? And you'll call us if you need us for anything?"

"Absolutely," Seth insisted, opening her car door. "Nothing to worry about, Mom."

"Ryan?"

Seth elbowed Ryan in the side. "Tell her, dude," he muttered. "She'll believe you."

Ryan swallowed. "Right, Kirsten," he said weakly. "We do know the rules."

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Seth paused in the kitchen doorway and sniffed the air. "Cake, cake, cake, cake, cake," he sang cheerfully. "I do so love cake. Almost as much as Summer will love her unbirthday party. And, you know, also me."

"Hands. Off," Ryan snarled, swatting away the finger Seth was trying to swipe across the frosting. "That's disgusting, dude."

"Hey," Seth pouted. "I washed my hands. And I only want a teeny, tiny, little taste anyway."

Ryan positioned the cake carefully on a tray. "I'm telling you, man, you use that finger, you lose it," he warned. Then he turned around, getting a good look at how Seth was dressed, and rolled his eyes ironically. "Okay, what? You're making puns about beer commercials now?"

Seth looked down at his "This Bod's For You" t-shirt, frowning. "It's a pun?" he asked, baffled. "Really? I just considered it sort of, well, gift-wrapping." He wiggled his eyebrows, grinning wickedly. Ryan groaned in response and headed for the patio, carrying the cake.

"Hey, and speaking of gifts, an unbirthday party still calls for presents. You got something for Summer, right?" Seth paused for a moment to admire the gaudy decorations all around the pool. "Man, we did a ridonkulously good job out here, didn't we?"

"If by we, you mean me, then yeah, you're right. I did," Ryan agreed. "Although one-tenth of all this . . ."

Seth waved a dismissive hand and flopped into a lounge chair. "Yeah, yeah, one-tenth would have been more than enough. Got it, Mr. Minimalist . . . So now, about that present? Because if you didn't get Summer anything . . ."

"As a matter of fact, on my selfish bike ride, I stopped and bought Summer a card," Ryan replied complacently. "Want to see?" He picked the unsealed envelope up from a table and flipped it over to Seth.

"A card," Seth muttered, opening it. "Well, I suppose a card counts as a gift in Minimal Land . . . Umm . . . Ryan, this says 'Thinking of you in these trying times.'"

Ryan shrugged. "Yeah, well, the store didn't carry unbirthday cards so . . ."

"Okay, but this is just random," Seth protested. "You should go for something with some significance, dude. Like my t-shirt. Only not. Not on you. Not with the 'bod' reference and all. . . anyway, you know what I mean."

"The card's not random, Seth." Ryan opened it, and pointed to what he had written under the verse, grinning wickedly.

"'And by trying times, I mean your whole relationship with Seth'," Seth read. "Oh, very cute, dude, very clever. Except, you know, not so much."

"And see, I even included a gift certificate for a massage too. So Summer can work out all her Seth-related tension."

Seth looked at the gift certificate and yelped. "Wait! With R. Atwood, masseur? Okay, see now, no, Ryan, there is no way you are giving this to Summer. And by giving this to her, I mean the certificate or the massage or anything that involves your hands and her body or, or, or . . ."

"Or what, Seth?" Ryan asked. He peered up from under his lashes innocently.

Seth shredded the whole card, scowling. He was about to reply when they heard a car pull up and a moment later, Marissa's voice calling from the driveway. "Ryan? Seth? Guys, are you out by the pool?"

Seth stared at his wrist, discovered no watch and grabbed Ryan's hand to check the time there instead. "It's not even 7:15," he hissed. "What are they doing here already? Luke and his date aren't even here yet. Okay, well, I guess, hide! Or, I don't know—don't. Shit, Ryan, this is not going according to plan."

Ryan shrugged. "You wanted unpredictable, man." He got up to greet Marissa, who was strolling around the side of the house.

Alone.

Seth scampered to check behind her and then raced back to the patio.

"Um . . . Marissa? Marissa?" He tapped his foot impatiently until Marissa and Ryan stopped kissing. "I think you forgot something here. You know, like the guest of honor? Where the hell is Summer?"

Marissa shrugged apologetically. "I couldn't convince Summer to come," she confessed. "Honestly, Seth, I tried, but she had an after-hours maxi-pedi appointment with Suki."

"She—what? Summer is getting her nails done? Now? Wait, and . . . I don't . . . Why?"

"Suki's been really overbooked lately," Marissa explained. She gave Seth a weak, sympathetic smile. "It's hard to get a session with her. Summer said she couldn't cancel or Suki would get offended. Besides, she figured you'd just be watching a DVD tonight anyway. You know, since it's Friday. So, sorry . . . Oh!" Marissa brightened and added helpfully. "I already called Luke, so you don't have to worry. He and Megan won't be coming either."

"But . . . but . . . " Seth stammered. He waved his hands helplessly at all the decorations. "Summer won't be here and we did all this?"

"Guess not. Surprise, Seth!" Ryan laughed and looped his arm around Marissa's waist. "And by the way, to be clear, when Seth said we? He meant me." Pulling Marissa closer, Ryan pushed back her hair, murmuring, "You know, it just occurred to me. This is my unbirthday too. Care to help me celebrate?"

"Mmm, I don't know," Marissa purred. "What do you have in mind?"

Ryan nipped her shoulder and whispered in her ear.

"Ooh!" She giggled, blushing, and licked her lips. "Good answer, Ryan . . . We'll see you later, Seth. Or maybe tomorrow." Marissa laced her fingers through Ryan's, and waved, starting toward the pool house.

Seth slumped forlornly by the French doors. "Hey, guys! Come on. I'm all alone here," he protested. "What am I supposed to do?"

Ryan lifted his mouth from Marissa's neck long enough to grin over his shoulder. "Aw, you're not all alone, dude," he drawled. "Don't forget, you've still got Felix. Oh, and by the way, Seth? I've got to admit, you really do know how to throw an unparty."