The first scream echoed down the cul-de-sac just as the American flag on the corner house finished its sleepy morning flap.

“Oh my gosh. A brand. New. Car!”

Cecilia Grant ripped off her blindfold so dramatically she almost threw it into the hydrangea bush. Her high heels wobbled on the brick driveway in front of 1403 Winding Elm, a perfectly ordinary beige two-story just outside Los Angeles that had somehow, thanks to an HOA and too many Pinterest boards, become a battlefield for suburban prestige.

She clasped her hands over her mouth like she was on a game show and spun toward the silver BMW sitting in the driveway, its hood freshly waxed and catching the California sun.

“This is like the best gift any wife could ever ask for!” she cried, pitching her voice just a touch louder than necessary.

She flung herself toward her husband, Nicholas, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Cut,” he muttered into her hair. “She’s not looking.”

Cecilia froze. Over his shoulder, her eyes flicked to the house across the street.

On the lawn of 1405 Winding Elm, Elizabeth Baxter—perfect ponytail, perfect posture, perfect everything—was not watching the show. She was on her phone, manicured nails flashing as she scrolled, not even pretending to glance over.

“We gotta do it again,” Cecilia hissed, stepping back and smoothing her dress. “She didn’t see.”

“Cece,” Nicholas groaned, “we’ve done this twice already.”

“Once more,” she whispered. “Hurry.”

She shoved the blindfold back into his hands, eyes flaring. He knew that look. The same look that had led to three unnecessary Target runs and a leased BMW they absolutely could not afford.

“Fine,” he sighed. “But this is the last time. Promise.”

She didn’t answer. She just knotted the blindfold back over her eyes and posed, hands fluttering at her sides.

“Okay,” Nicholas called, loud enough to carry, “you can take off the blindfold.”

Cecilia ripped it off with Oscar-worthy enthusiasm.

“Oh my gosh,” she gasped, for the third time that morning. “A brand new car, honey? I’m the luckiest woman in the world!”

She leaned over the hood, even though she knew every scuff from the previous owner, and pressed her cheek against the cool metal like she could absorb the illusion through her skin.

“Do it,” she whispered through clenched teeth without moving her lips. “Is she looking?”

A shadow fell over the driveway. A caramel-colored SUV purred to a stop at the curb, so quiet Cecilia didn’t hear it until a door clicked shut.

“Hi, Cece.”

Cecilia startled. Elizabeth stood at the end of her driveway, oversized sunglasses perched atop her highlighted hair, a phone in one hand and a latte from the nice coffee place—definitely not the chain on the corner—in the other.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” Cecilia gushed, straightening so fast her head spun. “I didn’t see you there. Look!” She gestured at the BMW. “Brand new car. Can you believe it?”

Elizabeth let her eyes slide over the vehicle like it was a pair of shoes on the clearance rack.

“Wow,” she said. “It’s… cute.”

Then she tilted her head. “But brand new?”

Cecilia’s smile tightened. “Well, you know, it’s a 2020 with low miles, so it’s like new.”

“Actually it’s a 2012,” Nicholas muttered under his breath before he could stop himself.

Cecilia’s heel found his foot.

“Well,” Elizabeth said, letting the word stretch. “It’s clearly been, you know… lived in a little. But if it makes you happy.”

Her own driveway chimed like a cash register. A man in a crisp polo shirt and slim-fit slacks walked around a gleaming black Porsche Cayenne, peeling the dealer plate covers off.

“There you go,” he said, beaming. “Your brand new 2023 Cayenne. Fresh off the lot. Just need you to sign here.”

He clicked a sleek pen open and offered it to Elizabeth.

“Thank you,” she said, scribbling an elegant signature. “Just a little something I picked up for myself. For my birthday.”

She said the last word like a reminder: same day as yours, Cece.

“I can’t wait to be the first one to put some miles on this baby,” she added, running her hand down the smooth hood.

Cecilia’s stomach twisted.

“Josh!” Elizabeth snapped suddenly, spotting a lanky teenage boy standing near Cecilia’s garage. “What are you doing over there?”

Josh jumped, nearly dropping the string of birthday banners in his hand.

“Uh, I—” he stammered.

“He was just helping me set up for Mom’s birthday party,” Hazel called from the porch. She was Cecilia’s daughter, all frizzy curls and thrift-store boots, clutching a roll of tape. “We’re hanging stuff in the backyard.”

“Yeah,” Josh echoed. “Helping. With the… stuff.”

“Well, we’re not done setting up for my birthday party,” Elizabeth said pointedly. “To the backyard. Now.”

She clapped her hands like they were waitstaff.

“It’s going to be an epic party,” she added over her shoulder to Cecilia. “Sorry you’re not invited.”

Cecilia’s smile sharpened. “Oh, it’s fine,” she said. “It’s not like I’d come anyway. I’m having my own epic birthday party.”

Hazel’s cheeks flushed. “His name is Josh, not neighbor boy,” she muttered.

Elizabeth waved a dismissive hand. “Sweetheart,” she told her daughter, “if you ever need help, you don’t have to ask the neighbor boy. We don’t have to do things ourselves. We can afford to hire professionals.”

The words hung in the warm California air like smog.

“Okay, toodles,” Elizabeth sang. She slid into her new Porsche with the smooth practice of someone used to luxury. The engine hummed, almost silent.

Nicholas watched her drive away, then glanced at his wife.

“It’s going to be an epic party,” Cecilia mimicked under her breath. “She acts like it’s the Met Gala and not a backyard in the Valley.”

Hazel giggled.

“Come on,” Cecilia said, squaring her shoulders. “We’ve got work to do. If she wants epic, I’ll show her epic.”

By six o’clock, paper lanterns glowed under the string lights in the Grants’ backyard. An America-themed napkin holder sat on the folding table next to foil pans of Costco appetizers—still in the foil, because Cecilia had run out of time to transfer them into nice dishes.

“Thank you for coming,” she told every neighbor, every coworker, every second cousin. “You look great. I love that dress. Did you see the car? Yeah, Nicholas surprised me. No, really! I had no idea.”

Nicholas said “Happy birthday” to people and tried not to think about the credit card bill sitting unread in his email.

The party turned out… pretty good, if you squinted. Kids splashed in the above-ground pool. The Bluetooth speaker on the patio table cranked out late-2000s throwback hits. Plastic cups clinked. Someone’s toddler made off with a handful of baby carrots and disappeared under the buffet.

“See?” Nicholas said, sliding an arm around Cecilia’s waist. “Not bad, right? We pulled it off.”

She glanced across the hedge at the Baxters’ yard. Past the neatly trimmed oleanders, she could see glimpses of a white canopy, fairy lights, and something that might have been a chocolate fountain.

“I swear,” Cecilia muttered, sipping her wine. “I cannot stand her. Of all the days in the year, why does her birthday have to be the same as mine?”

“I don’t think she had any control over that, sweetheart.”

“Whose side are you on?” she snapped.

He opened his mouth, then thought better of it. “We need some music out here,” he said instead. “The big speaker. The party one.”

“Speaker?” she said. “Yes. Right. Go inside and bring it out. Something loud.”

“You got it,” he said, grateful for the mission.

In the kitchen, Josh and Hazel were shoving chips into their mouths between tasks, laughing quietly.

“How’s it going over there?” Josh asked around a mouthful of tortilla.

“Not good,” Hazel said, tossing the empty bag. “My mom is definitely losing her mind. She treats her birthday like some kind of national holiday. I’m pretty sure if you wished her ‘Happy Flag Day’ she’d take it personally.”

“Why don’t you just come over?” Josh said. “To my mom’s party. She’s so busy micromanaging the caterers she won’t notice. I can sneak you over.”

“I wish,” Hazel said. “If my mom caught me at Elizabeth’s house…” She made a slashing motion across her neck. “Funeral. Closed casket.”

“I got an idea,” Josh said, his eyes lighting up. “Meet me in front of your house in five minutes.”

“Josh!” Cecilia called. “Can you grab the knife for the cake?”

“Uh—yes, ma’am!” he shouted back, snatching a knife and heading out the back door. “Five minutes,” he whispered to Hazel as he passed.

“Hey, Mom,” Hazel said, popping into the yard. “We’re out of snacks already. I knew we should have bought more.”

“We’re out?” Cecilia said, horrified. “I should’ve ordered extra, but no, your father wanted me to ‘stay on a budget.’” She rolled her eyes.

“Sounds about right,” Hazel muttered. “I bet Elizabeth doesn’t have a party budget.”

Cecilia’s jaw clenched.

“If you want,” Hazel said quickly, “I could go to the store and grab a charcuterie board or something.”

“Yes,” Cecilia said, seizing the idea. “That’s a great idea. Go, go, go. You’re a lifesaver. And hurry back. The guests are going to start chewing on the furniture.”

Hazel grabbed her keys. “On it.”

In the front yard, a white van had pulled up. Two delivery guys were wrestling with a tall, elaborate cake box.

“Hi,” one called. “We’re here for a delivery for a, uh…”

“That’s me!” Cecilia said, practically sprinting down the driveway. “I’m the birthday girl.”

“Wow,” the taller guy said, opening the back doors. “Nicholas really went all out.”

They slid the cake box toward the edge, lifting gently.

When Cecilia peeled back the lid, her breath caught. The cake was stunning—three tiers of smooth white frosting, each layer banded with blush-pink ribbon and real flowers.

“Happy birthday, Liz,” the top read in gold script.

Her smile faltered.

“Liz?” she repeated.

“Yeah,” the delivery guy said. “Happy birthday, Liz. That’s you, right?”

“No,” Cecilia said. “I’m Cece. That’s—”

“Happy birthday!” a familiar voice trilled from the sidewalk.

Elizabeth stood there, holding a small gift bag.

“That’s my cake,” she said, pointing. “The three-tier. Custom order.”

The delivery guy blinked between them. “Oh. Uh oh. I’m so sorry. I saw the balloons and—” He gestured at Cecilia’s yard. “I just assumed this was the address.”

He checked his paperwork. “This is for 1405. You’re 1403, right?”

Cecilia’s shoulders stiffened. “Yes,” she said. “We’re 1403.”

“My bad,” he said, flushing. “Happy birthday, uh—both of you, I guess.”

He and his partner shifted the box toward Elizabeth’s driveway.

“Wait,” Cecilia said. “Then where’s my cake?”

“Happy birthday!” another voice cried from behind her. Nicholas appeared, holding a standard grocery-store cake in a clear plastic dome. White frosting, confetti sprinkles, a cheerful but crooked “Happy Birthday” scrawled in blue icing.

“That’s your cake,” the delivery guy said helpfully.

“Oh,” Cecilia said.

She looked at her own cake. Then at Elizabeth’s.

Elizabeth popped the lid on hers and let the smell of buttercream and raspberry fill the air.

“Wow,” she said. “That looks… cute.” She glanced pointedly at Cecilia’s. “How’s it going over there?”

“Not good,” Hazel texted Josh from the parking lot of the grocery store, watching a woman argue with a cashier over expired coupons. “My mom is definitely losing it now.”

Back in the yard, guests called for cake. Cecilia plastered on a smile and marched out with the plastic dome.

“Is that it?” one aunt whispered to another.

“It’s… sweet,” someone else said, trying to be kind.

The knife stuck in the frosting slightly when Cecilia sliced. She handed out paper plates and avoided looking at Elizabeth’s Instagram story, which Hazel had pulled up on her phone: the three-tier cake already perfectly staged on the other lawn, sparklers placed just so.

Later, refilling the chip bowls with whatever crumbs remained, Cecilia heard the sirens before she saw the flashing lights.

Red and blue washed over the fence as a cruiser rolled slowly to a stop in front of their house.

“Hands up!” Josh whooped, holding the big speaker Nicholas had just dragged out. It blasted an old dance hit, loud enough to rattle the windows.

Nicholas laughed. “Conga line!” he shouted. “C’mon, everybody!” He hoisted the speaker like a boom box from an ’80s movie and led the way, neighbors trailing behind, shaking shoulders and plastic cups.

“Hands up, everybody!” Cecilia cried, throwing herself into the front. For a moment, she forgot about cakes and cars and credit card bills. She remembered being twenty-two at some dingy bar in downtown LA, dancing with Nicholas until her feet hurt and the world felt wide open.

A tap on her shoulder pulled her back.

She turned to find two LAPD officers standing in the grass, their uniforms catching the fairy-light glow, their faces apologetic.

“Ma’am,” the taller one said. “We got a call about loud music.”

“Oh,” Cecilia said, still half breathless. “Yeah. We’ll turn it down.”

“Next time, try to keep the music a little lower,” the other officer said. “We’ve gotta be considerate of other folks in the neighborhood.”

“My neighbor was playing music just as loud earlier,” Cecilia said, glancing toward the Baxters’ yard. “If not louder.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” the officer said. “We just got the call about this house.” He tipped his hat slightly. “Have a good night, folks.”

“Thank you,” Nicholas said quickly. “Sorry for the disturbance.”

As the cruiser pulled away, Cecilia stiffened.

“I’m sure she was the one who called,” she hissed. “That evil, no-good—”

“Stop,” Nicholas said. “You don’t know that.”

“Who else would it be?” Cecilia snapped. “She’s been trying to sabotage my birthday since we were fourteen.”

Nicholas rubbed his temples. “Back in the day,” he said, “if the cops showed up to shut down your party, it meant it was pretty wild. I’d call that a success.”

“The party was ruined before it even started,” Cecilia said, voice shaking. “We ran out of food. The cake was embarrassing. No one even complimented me on my dress.” She glanced at the hedge. “I’m sure Elizabeth’s party is perfect.”

“Cecilia,” Nicholas said. “You have to stop trying to keep up with her. It’s eating you alive. And it’s eating our bank account.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You knew we weren’t in a position to buy a new car this year,” he said. “You did it anyway. You promised you’d spend five hundred on this party. You spent twice that. We are drowning, and you’re still trying to impress someone who doesn’t even like you.”

“Why are you giving me such a hard time? It’s my birthday. These things make me happy.”

“Do they?” he asked. “Or do they just make you feel better when you’re around her?”

She turned away, blinking hard.

There was a knock on the open gate. Elizabeth stood there, heels clicking on the flagstone, carrying a plastic bag of leftovers.

“Hi, CeCe,” she said. “I just came over to apologize about the cake mix-up. I have no idea how that happened.”

“It’s fine,” Cecilia said tightly. “I could tell it wasn’t mine. Mine was supposed to be bigger.”

“Really?” Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. “Bigger than my three-tier custom cake? Huh.”

“I had five tiers,” Cecilia lied smoothly. “Each a different… exotic flavor. My guests ate the whole thing.”

“Wow,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sure you took lots of pictures. Can I see?”

“Pictures?” Cecilia said, stalling. “No. I didn’t… it’s not 2011. Nobody takes pictures of what they eat anymore.”

“Right,” Elizabeth said. “Speaking of food…” She reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of untouched pinwheel sandwiches, still pristine in their napkin. “I found my dog sniffing these in my backyard. I guess your guests didn’t like your… affordable finger foods. No wonder they ate all the cake.”

She dropped the sandwiches into Cecilia’s trash can and smiled sweetly. “Well. Have a good night, CeCe. And happy birthday.”

She left a little laugh behind her.

Cecilia stared at the trash can for a long moment.

“I can’t stand her,” she whispered. “A five-tier cake. Really? I’m going to show her.”

But the next time they faced off, it wasn’t about cake. It was in the fluorescent-lit library at Lincoln High, where the PTA was holding an emergency meeting about the upcoming winter formal.

“We still need volunteers,” Principal Diaz said, looking hopeful. “Decorations, catering, supervision. The usual.”

“I’d love to help,” said a woman in a cardigan, raising her hand.

“Great,” the PTA president said. “We need all the support we can get. Financially, especially. We’ll need decorations, food…”

“Sorry I’m late.”

All heads turned. Elizabeth swept in, sunglasses perched on her head even indoors, a leather jacket draped over her shoulders.

“Love the jacket,” one mom murmured.

“I had to get my windows tinted on my Porsche,” Elizabeth said. “The California sun is brutal.”

“We were just talking about the winter formal,” the PTA president said. “Mrs. Grant has offered to help.”

“Wonderful,” Elizabeth said, smiling tightly at Cecilia. “Does she prefer to pay for the food or the decorations?”

“I meant I’d help with my time,” Cecilia said. “Not necessarily… pay for everything.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said. “Well, if she can’t, I’d be happy to cover both. After all, anything for our kids.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Cecilia said. Her voice was too bright. “I’ll do the decorations. All of them.”

“Great,” the PTA president said. “Then Mrs. Baxter can take care of the food, and Mrs. Grant will handle décor.”

“I’ll go the extra mile,” Elizabeth said. “Maybe a full buffet instead of the, you know, usual… snacks.”

“I’ll go two extra miles,” Cecilia replied. “It’s going to look magical. This will be the most beautiful school dance of all time.”

The PTA president blinked. “Love the enthusiasm,” she said weakly. “You ladies are… superstars.”

As the meeting wrapped up, Elizabeth leaned over.

“You know this reminds me of our winter formal,” she said softly. “The one where you copied my dress.”

“Copied?” Cecilia scoffed. “Mine was the more expensive version. Yours was off the rack.”

“Mine was designer,” Elizabeth said. “Yours was from Walmart.”

“How would you know?” Cecilia asked. “You’re their number one shopper.”

They both smiled through their teeth.

In the hallway afterward, Hazel and Josh watched their moms stalk in opposite directions.

“They like… legit hate each other,” Hazel muttered.

“Kind of awkward that they used to be best friends,” Josh said.

“We’re going to have to tell them,” Hazel whispered.

“Tell them what?” Josh asked, even though he knew.

“That we’re dating,” she said. “We can’t hide it forever.”

Josh swallowed. “You tell your mom tonight,” he said. “I’ll tell mine.”

“Deal.”

Only, when he sat down at dinner that night, the words knotted in his throat.

“Hey, Josh,” his mom said, setting a pan of lasagna on the table. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Thanks,” he said, poking at the salad.

“Hey, did you want to ask me something?” she said. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Um… so Hazel has been—”

He was cut off by the front door slamming.

“Sorry I’m late,” Cecilia called, bursting in with arms full of shopping bags. Tissue paper crinkled like guilty secrets. “I got caught up with all these decorations.”

Nicholas glanced at the logos on the bags. “What’s happening now?” he asked.

“I volunteered to help with Josh’s winter formal,” Cecilia said, kissing her son’s hair as she swept past. “We needed more décor. And I had to get something to wear.”

“Did they make you do this?” Nicholas asked.

“No,” she said, defensive. “I wanted to. Mrs. Baxter volunteered too—she’s doing the food. I figured I’d make sure the decorations are… elevated.”

“I figured it had something to do with her,” Nicholas muttered.

“Come on,” Cecilia said. “Can’t a mom support her kid?”

“Sure,” he said. “But not when money’s tight. This is exactly what we talked about.”

“It’s not like I spent that much,” she said.

He reached for one of the bags. “Are there decorations in this,” he asked, “or…?”

She snatched it away, but not before a price tag flipped into view. His eyes widened.

“You bought a new coat?” he said. “Two thousand dollars. For a school dance?”

“Well, Elizabeth is buying a coat from Chanel,” Cecilia said. “Hers is going to be way more expensive. And I’m going to wear it once and return it. They’ll give me my money back as long as I leave the tag on. It’s just for one night.”

“This is going way too far,” Nicholas said. “Even for you. We are not those people, Cece. We can’t pretend to be.”

“I have to,” she said, voice cracking. “Elizabeth has been treating me like I’m beneath her since we were kids. She thinks she’s better than me because she has more. I’m tired of feeling like the girl who got left out. I’m tired of her winning.”

“Can we just eat?” Josh said quietly. The lasagna was getting cold.

“Sure,” Nicholas said, letting it go—for now. “What do we have here? Lasagna. Garlic bread. Maybe later we can talk about—”

“It’s not important,” Josh cut in quickly. “Let’s just eat.”

“D, are you sure?” his mom asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure.”

The night of the winter formal, Lincoln High glowed like a snow globe. White and blue streamers twisted down from the gym rafters. Fairy lights wrapped the basketball hoops. Paper snowflakes dangled from invisible threads, spinning slowly in the air conditioning.

“This place looks amazing,” Principal Diaz said, stepping inside. “Mrs. Grant, you really went above and beyond.”

“It was my pleasure,” Cecilia said, adjusting her borrowed clip-on earrings. Her coat felt heavy on her shoulders—the $2,000 tag scratching discreetly at her neck. “I love this stuff.”

“Everything smells incredible,” the PTA president said, wandering near the buffet. Silver chafing dishes steamed, lids polished to a mirror shine. “This is the fanciest food we’ve ever had at a school event.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, gliding over in her faux-fur coat. “It’s nothing, really.”

“It’s something,” the woman said. “Is this… sushi? And sliders? And… is that lobster mac and cheese?”

“It’s… noodle,” Elizabeth said quickly. “A special family recipe.”

“I wish I could say the same about the decorations,” she added under her breath. “They’re… festive. In a… simple way.”

Cecilia stiffened. “At least it looks magical,” she said. “Not like some hotel conference room.”

On the dance floor, Hazel and Josh swayed under the lights, trying to ignore the tension radiating from the back of the gym.

“I wish we could just tell them,” Hazel said.

“Same,” Josh said. “It’s getting ridiculous.”

“All right, Wildcats,” the DJ called into the mic. “Grab a partner. We’re slowing things down.”

“I love this song,” Hazel whispered. “Not going to let our moms ruin this for us.”

They leaned into each other, their worries replaced, for a moment, by the thud of bass and the heat of the crowd.

“What is going on here?” Elizabeth’s voice cut through the music like a fire alarm.

She stood at the edge of the dance floor, hands on her hips, eyes locked on Hazel and Josh.

“Josh,” Cecilia said at the same time, appearing out of nowhere. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hazel said, slipping her hand out of Josh’s. “We’re dancing.”

“He forced her,” Elizabeth snapped. “He must have. There’s no way my daughter would—”

“He would never do that,” Cecilia shot back. “If anything, she forced him. She showed up alone and didn’t want to look pathetic.”

“Did you just call my daughter pathetic?” Elizabeth’s voice rose.

“The only one pathetic here is you,” Cecilia said. “With your fake—”

“Stop,” the PTA president said sharply. “This has gone on far enough. We all need to talk. Now.”

She shepherded the four of them—two mothers, two mortified teenagers—into the hallway, away from curious eyes.

“What is going on?” Elizabeth demanded.

Hazel looked at Josh. “It’s time,” she whispered.

“The truth is,” Josh blurted, “we’re dating.”

The word hung in the hallway like forbidden music.

“Dating?” Cecilia repeated.

“You two?” Elizabeth said, eyebrows climbing. “How long?”

“A few months,” Hazel said. “We wanted to tell you. But every time we tried, you were too busy arguing or trying to one-up each other.”

“So we never found the right time,” Josh finished.

Silence stretched.

Then Hazel’s gaze snagged on something near her mother’s shoulder.

“Mom,” she said slowly. “Is that a tag on your coat?”

Cecilia’s hand flew to her collar. Her fingers brushed the small rectangle of stiff cardboard she’d tucked inside the seam.

“No,” she said. “It’s—it must’ve been an accident. I forgot.”

“You were going to return it,” Elizabeth gasped. “You liar.”

“Don’t be silly,” Cecilia said, voice too high. “I would never.”

“If it’s not a big deal,” Elizabeth said coolly, “you won’t mind if I… rip it off.”

She reached forward.

“Don’t,” Cecilia said, panicking. “I can’t afford this coat, okay? I only bought it because you said you were wearing Chanel. I didn’t want to look… cheap next to you.”

Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. “So the truth comes out.”

Hazel crossed her arms. “Mom,” she said to Elizabeth, “do you have something to say about your coat?”

Elizabeth’s lips pressed together. “No,” she said. “I do not.”

“Be honest,” Hazel said. “It’s not real fur. It’s faux. And it’s not from Chanel. You got it from that discount shop in the fashion district.”

Elizabeth exhaled, the sound half laugh, half groan. “Santee Alley,” she admitted. “Fine. You caught me.”

“You might as well tell her about the car too,” Josh added.

“The Porsche?” Elizabeth said. “I didn’t lie about that.”

“You didn’t buy it,” Hazel said. “You leased it. For a year. You were complaining all last month about how high the payments were. Remember?”

Elizabeth looked away.

Cecilia blinked. “Wait,” she said slowly. “So you’re… struggling too?”

“At least I didn’t lie about my BMW,” she added weakly.

Josh coughed. “Really, Mom?” he asked. “You told everyone it was a 2020 when it’s a 2012 with fifty thousand miles.”

Cecilia’s mouth dropped open.

“You lied about that,” he said. “Just like she lied about her cake.”

Elizabeth flinched. “You didn’t have a five-layer cake, did you?” Cecilia asked.

“No,” Elizabeth admitted. “We got it at the grocery store. It was nothing like yours. I just… wanted you to think it was better.”

Cecilia stared at her. Then shook her head.

“For the record,” she said, “I didn’t have a five-layer cake either.”

Elizabeth frowned. “You said—”

“It was foam,” Cecilia said. “Most of it. One real layer. The rest was foam. I saw it on a decorating blog. It was cheaper than ordering the real thing.”

The hallway was quiet for a moment except for the muffled thrum of music from the gym.

Hazel looked from one mom to the other. “The truth is,” Cecilia said finally, voice softening, “I’ve been digging myself into a hole trying to keep up with you. Ever since high school.”

Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged. “Me too,” she said.

“You were always the one everyone liked,” Cecilia said. “The popular one. The rich one. The one with the nicer clothes, the better parties…” She swallowed. “On my fourteenth birthday, no one showed up. Not one person. Because they all went to your party instead. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Elizabeth’s eyes flickered. “I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “I just thought… more people came because my parents had money. I didn’t think about how that made you feel.”

“So yes,” Cecilia said. “I copied your dress at winter formal. Because I thought if I looked like you, I’d finally be… enough.”

Elizabeth gave a shaky laugh. “You were always better than me at stuff that actually mattered,” she said. “Grades. Sports. You just never saw it because you were too busy looking at what I had.”

Cecilia’s eyes stung.

“It’s crazy,” Elizabeth said. “We’ve been wrecking our finances, our nerves, trying to impress each other. For what? Some imaginary scoreboard?”

“People buy things they don’t need,” Nicholas’s voice echoed in Cecilia’s head, “with money they don’t have, to impress people they don’t even like.”

She snorted. “There’s something my husband says,” she murmured. “He’s right. And for the record… I don’t dislike you. Not… anymore.”

“I don’t dislike you either,” Elizabeth said. She glanced at Hazel. “And you are not pathetic. You’re… adorable. Brave. Smarter than I was at your age.”

Hazel’s mouth quirked.

“I wish we’d talked about this sooner,” Cecilia said. “We could’ve saved ourselves a lot of stress. And money.”

“So,” Josh said cautiously. “Does this mean…?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “We are okay with you dating the neighbor boy.”

“I guess I’m okay with you dating the neighbor girl,” Cecilia added. “As long as you both keep your grades up.”

Josh grinned. “Deal.”

“And next year,” Elizabeth said, “we’re throwing a joint birthday party. One party. One budget. No foam cake. No leased cars we can’t afford.”

“It’s going to be epic,” Cecilia said, smiling for real this time. “For the right reasons.”

“You two good with that?” Elizabeth asked the kids.

Hazel slipped her hand into Josh’s. “More than good,” she said.

“Now,” Cecilia said, wiping her eyes, “can we please go eat? I’m starving, and that ‘noodle’ Elizabeth brought looks amazing.”

Elizabeth winced. “Okay,” she said, laughing. “It’s not really a family recipe. It’s… Panda Express. In fancy wrapping.”

Cecilia burst out laughing, the kind that made her double over.

“Oh my gosh,” she gasped. “All this time…”

They walked back into the gym together, side by side. The students stared for a second, then shrugged and went back to dancing. The moms headed straight for the buffet, piling orange chicken and chow mein onto flimsy plates.

In the corner, Josh and Hazel swayed under the lights, watching them.

“Think they’ll be okay?” Hazel asked.

“I think,” Josh said, “for once, they might actually be on the same side.”

Hazel leaned her head on his shoulder. “Good,” she said. “Because I kind of like the neighbor boy.”

Back on Winding Elm, by the time the dance ended and the last kids were picked up in dusty minivans and shiny SUVs, the cul-de-sac was quiet again. The American flag fluttered under a cool night breeze. The BMW and the Porsche sat side by side in their respective driveways, their imperfections less glaring in the dark.

Inside 1403 and 1405, two women scrolled through photos of the formal—not to measure who had done it better, but to laugh at that one awkward shot where Principal Diaz tripped on a streamer.

For the first time in a long time, they weren’t trying to keep up with each other.

They were finally walking, a little unsteady but together, in the same direction.