Nice Girls Don't Live Forever by Molly Harper Page B

debated the proper color scheme for the annual business directory. Courtney Barrow, the only one who’d bothered to be friendly, was “Nice Courtney.” Courtney Herndon was “Head Courtney.” Courtney Gordon, who appeared to be some sort of sycophant/enforcer, was “Toady Courtney.” Courtney Ahern was “Coaster Courtney.” I couldn’t come up with a better-fitting nickname for Cankles Courtney and felt a little bad about it. I moved on to picking which chamber member I would eat first if we were stuck on a desert island. I settled on Courtney Jensen, or “Fitness Courtney,” because it was obvious that woman hadn’t even seen a carb in years, and high-protein diets give blood a rich, oaky finish. I’d almost nodded off when I heard my name being called.
    “What?” I almost shouted, bolting upright in my fancy laced chair.
    “It is Jane, right?” Head Courtney demanded. “You’re the new member?”
    “Er …”
    Head Courtney’s smile tightened as the other ladies tittered. “We were just discussing the Fall Festival charity for the animal shelter.”
    This was so much worse than being caught sleeping in math class. I nodded and slapped on my “pleasant face.” On my right, Nice Courtney sat frozen in her chair, a Stepford smile pasted on.
    “Now, Jane, I think it would be a great idea if you gathered together the prizes for the games? Normally, we solicit donated items from businesses in the community. And since you’re new, you probably have all kinds of contacts that we haven’t even thought of yet!”
    Well, I could ask Dick about that trunkload of pirated Knight Rider DVDs I gave him the year before …
    “So, we’ll just put you down to head the prize committee.”
    “It’s just my first meeting,” I said. “I don’t know if I’m qualified—”
    Head Courtney’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no better way to get to know us better than just to throw yourself into the work. Really, it’s the best way to make friends here at the chamber, showing what a team player you can be. You do want us to think you’re a team player, don’t you?”
    Why wasn’t my sister in this club? Seriously?
    “I’m willing to help with—”
    “Great!” Head Courtney cried, interrupting my attempt at shirking the games in favor of decorations or something less “commitment-y.” “Lisa will give you all of the information from last year.”
    From across the room, Lisa rolled her eyes and shared a commiserating look with me. This was followed by a report from the jack-o’-lantern committee and the treat committee, who lamented the lack of volunteers for making gluten-free snacks. I had never so earnestly wished that I could die of natural causes. Boredom was a natural cause, right? After the game committee and the inflatable committee, I wondered whether there was anyone in the room who was not on a committee.
    “Now, the planning committee has come up with a list of acceptable costumes. I know some of you older members like to get started on your kids’ costumes early.”
    The oldest member in the room looked to be about thirty-five. And she did not look as if she took that as a compliment.
    I raised my hand. “So, wait, this is a Halloween party?”
    “No, if we call it a Halloween party, some families won’t come. So it’s a Fall Festival.”
    “But we’re going to have pumpkins … and costumes … and candy.”
    Head Courtney glared down at me. “Is there going to be a problem, Jane?”
    There could be a problem. Believe it or not, vampires tend to hole up on All Hallows Eve and refuse to come out until the last trick-or-treater has been dragged home kicking and screaming. You’d stay home, too, if you were confronted with a holiday that parades around the worst cultural stereotypes pertaining to your particular species—bluish pallor, black capes, stupid accents exaggerated by clownish fangs—and presents it as “all in good fun.”
    “Right, sorry,” I said. “It’s just that