"Not tonight," I said with a sigh. "I hate to be a wet blanket, but I'd rather just go home now."

"You're not having fun?" Isabel asked, looking and sounding worried.

"I had lots of fun, really. But it's been a long week, and it all caught up with me at once. I'm glad I came, though. Thanks for inviting me."

I must have sounded convincing, for she looked more like her usual cheerful self.

"I'm glad you had fun. We'll have to do this again sometime."

"Next time, we can skip the frogs."

She and Ari laughed. "It was your idea," Isabel said. I didn't try to argue that when I brought it up, I hadn't expected them to take me literally. I gave them a halfhearted wave and hurried up to Fifth Avenue to see if I could catch the Ml bus. One of Marcia's city safety rules was that the bus was better than the subway when you were alone at night because you could sit near the driver and you were less likely to be stuck underground with crazy people. I glanced at my watch and was surprised at how early it was. I felt like I was crawling home in the wee hours after a night of debauchery, but I'd probably beat my roommates home.

A bus showed up before long, and I climbed on board. For the first time in my life I felt like the oddball surrounded by normal people, instead of the other way around.

No matter what anyone else on the bus had done that evening, it couldn't possibly be any weirder than what I'd just done.

In the space of about a week's time, I'd gone from being perhaps the most ordinary person on this island to being one of the weirdos. I wasn't sure yet if that was an improvement.

* * *

I was rudely awakened the next morning by all the lights coming on in my bedroom and the window shade going up to let in the feeble sunlight that ventured into the air shaft. "Wake up, sleepyhead!" Gemma called out.

I pulled the covers over my head, but she pulled them back. "You don't want to sleep all day, do you?" she asked. "I've already been for a run."

I pried my eyes open to see that she was dressed in a high-fashion velour jogging suit, very similar to one Madonna had been wearing in a photo in last week's People .

"Since when do you run?" She had the kind of body that stayed fabulous without exercise. If I didn't love her so much, I'd have to hate her.

"Since I heard that Saturday morning in the park is a great place to meet buff guys."

She perched on the edge of my bed. "Not that I actually bothered running. The trick is to always look like you're about to run, or like you've just finished running. It's hard to hook up with someone while you're in the process of running."

"Did it work?"

She grinned. "Yep. I met a really hot guy, very nice, too. He had old-fashioned manners like I haven't seen since I left Texas. I don't think he was there for running, but hey, it's the results that count, not the process."

"Did you get his number?"

"Not exactly. But I did tell him where my friends and I always hang out on Saturday nights, and I invited him to drop by and join us."

I frowned. "Where do we always hang out on Saturday nights?"

"I found this cute little bar. You'll come with me tonight, won't you, Katie? Maybe he'll bring a friend."

I groaned. "I'm not sure I'm up to it."

"Oh, come on, you were already in bed when we got home. You're not hungover, are you? How much did you have to drink last night?"

"Not that much," I said, mentally calculating. Oh God, I'd been persuaded to go kissing frogs in Central Park on only three cosmos. I was such a lightweight. But my hangover was more emotional than physical. I was still freaked out by the whole frog-kissing incident.

"Did you have a good time? What did you do?"

"Oh, the usual girls' night out stuff, looking for guys. Like they say, you have to kiss a few frogs—"

"Before you find a prince," she completed the saying for me. "Did you find any?"

"A prince is in the eye of the beholder." Let her interpret that any way she wanted to.

I wasn't sure I was ready to cope with the bar scene again, but I let Gemma drag me out that night anyway. Marcia begged off, saying she had work to do. That almost made me change my mind. If Gemma hooked up with her guy, that would leave me the odd one out. I supposed I could always beat a strategic exit if it came to that.

The bar she'd found was a comfortable neighborhood place, the kind where we might hang out regularly, if we were so inclined. By the time we'd been there about five minutes, she'd managed to turn herself into a regular who knew the names of every waiter and bartender in the place. I still couldn't figure out how she did it.