“What's so funny?” Mekhi demanded. Yasmine looked so happy right now it made him a little sad to know that it had nothing to do with him.
Tahj came back with her drink and a beer for himself. When he saw Mekhi and Yasmine talking he immediately handed the beer to Mekhi. “I'll get another one,” he told them accommodatingly.
Mekhi couldn't believe it—even their heads matched.
Yasmine just stood there with a goofy smile on her face, waiting for Tahj to come back. Her happiness was infuriating, even to her. “Sorry,” she apologized to Mekhi. “I don't know what's the matter with me.”
Mekhi took a sip of his beer and pointed at her mouth. “Is that lip gloss?” he demanded with stunned amusement.
Yasmine giggled. “Nars Sticky Toffee Pudding, to be exact. I borrowed it from Porsha.”
They stared at one another, each waiting for the other to throw out a critical witticism about what a disgusting display of wealth and uselessness the party was. But the truth was they were both there for the same reason. Despite the fact that they had spent years trying to set themselves apart, these people were their peers, and despite all the dissing and dismissing, they actually enjoyed being included in the fun.
The Sunkist-orange ball that was the sun slid behind a horizontal wisp of cloud. The water was shiny green and flat as glass. Tahj returned with his beer and nonchalantly kissed Yasmine on the cheek. “You look pretty,” he told her quietly.
Mekhi wondered if he had ever told Yasmine she looked pretty, but it was a little late for regrets.
“Nice job getting ditched by the band,” jeered an annoyingly familiar voice. Jaylen was staggering toward Mekhi from the bow of the boat, looking drunk and slightly seasick in a weird linen sailor suit with the cuffs rolled up to the knees, his white monkey clinging to his shoulder, obviously terrified of falling into the water.
Jaylen was so obnoxious there was no point in getting pissed off. Besides, Mekhi was overjoyed to be a normal kid again instead of a huge rock star. He offered his hand to his monkey-toting classmate and smiled matter-of-factly. “Thanks, man.”
“The Raves are so over anyway, dude,” Tahj remarked. “I give them one more album and then they're gone.”
“Right on.” Jaylen shook Mekhi's hand, like they'd been friends forever. “So where are you headed next year anyway, son?”
Son?
The Raves were a New York band and Mekhi had heard that Jaylen was going to military school somewhere in northern New Jersey. It would be good to get as far away from both of them as physically possible. “Evergreen,” he announced, as if he'd always known it. “It's way out west in Washington State.”
“Nice.” Jaylen yawned, already bored with the conversation. “Has anyone seen Chanel? I heard she was dating an eighty-five-year-old Yale trustee. What a hoe.”
Yasmine snorted in disgust and left the boys to their own devices while she went off to find Porsha and Chanel. She needed a little girl time to go with her pink T-shirt.
The rest of her classmates were clustered near the bow, half-listening to the music while they clutched the rail and tried to keep from puking into the frothy waves of Long Island Sound. The sun was less intense now and the breeze had picked up. A few girls covered their arms with pashminas or sweatshirts, but most of the passengers were too tipsy to feel the chill. Behind them the Manhattan skyline bobbed and shimmered like a miniature silver paradise inside a crystal Tiffany paperweight globe.
Chanel and Porsha were huddled together on a blue-and-gold-pinstriped cushion at the base of one of the masts, sharing a bottle of Heineken. “I can't believe we're about to graduate.” Chanel sighed and let her head fall on Porsha's shoulder.
“Thank God,” Porsha replied unsentimentally. “I just wish I knew where the fuck I was going next year.”
Chanel sat up, wondering if she should take this opportunity to confess to Porsha that she'd decided to go to Yale. But seeing as how they were on a boat, she didn't want to get thrown overboard.
Yasmine came over and lay down with her head in Porsha's lap. “Stop talking about people, bitches,” she told them, lazily closing her eyes.
“You need more lip gloss,” Porsha observed. She pulled a tube from her skirt pocket and carefully painted it all over Yasmine's lips.
“Thanks, Mom,” Yasmine muttered, keeping her eyes closed.
Chanel laughed and let her head fall back against the mast. Funny how this close to graduation all the jaggedly cut puzzle pieces that never looked like they'd fit suddenly fit together so well. Maybe she and Porsha would both wind up going to Yale and rooming with each other. They'd be bridesmaids at Yasmine and Tahj's wedding. They'd meet a set of brothers and marry them, live on the same Fifth Avenue block, send their kids to the same school—friends forever.
But there was someone missing. Someone who'd always been a major piece of the puzzle in his own lovably fucked up, cheating way.
“I wish Kaliq were here,” Chanel mused.
Porsha screwed the top back on the lip gloss. “Sometimes I wonder if we're better off without him,” she confessed. After all, wasn't Kaliq the cause of almost every fight the two girls had ever had?
Chanel squinted her eyes and scanned the deck once more. She'd looked all over for him. But she'd never thought to look up.
Way, way up, above their heads, at the very top of the mast, Kaliq crouched in the crow's nest, watching them. It was lonely and a little cold up there, but he'd brought along a six-pack and a few joints for company, and as soon as they docked in Sag Harbor and his parents and their friends had disbanded to their Hamptons houses, he'd climb down like Spider Man and surprise everyone.
From up there the girls in pink T-shirts looked almost identical. Even that bald chick might have been cute with a little hair. He lit a fresh joint, suddenly overcome by how much he missed them, because he loved them—he loved them all.
39
In warm weather the Hamptons had their own peculiar smell of salt, new leather, sunblock, and money. Huge modern houses hunkered near white sand beaches, flanked by pools and black Mercedes SUVs. Little girls in bikinis rode their scooters into town for ice cream. Sleek show horses cantered elegantly along the roadside behind pristine white post-and-rail fences. Like a giant country club, the Hamptons was the type of place where only those who belong belong.
But of course all our girls belong.
“Head count!” Imani and Alexis barked as the girls in Emma Willard's senior class stepped out of the fleet of silver town cars outside Imani's parents' Southampton weekend home and filed into the courtyard. The house was an L-shaped one-story modern glass structure, with a private beach and a helicopter landing pad on the roof. In the crook of the L was a courtyard containing a floodlit swimming pool and a stucco pool house. Around the pool stood forty white plastic chaise lounges, a pink Senior Spa Weekend towel draped on the back of each one. Beside the pool, a white tent had been set up, with a buffet table covered in a pink tablecloth, and a full bar with pink Senior Spa Weekend cocktail napkins. It was almost like a wedding, except without the wedding.
Bree and Elise skirted the line to avoid the head count and dashed across the courtyard and into the pool house.
“Hey,” Rain Hoffstetter whispered shrilly to Lauren Salmon. Rain and Lauren were both wearing giant pink Kate Spade sun hats, and the brims of their hats kept banging against each other. “What are they doing here?”
“Who?” Lauren demanded, squinting from underneath her hat.
“Help yourselves to cocktails and canapes!” Imani shouted through a bullhorn, loving every minute of her boss-of-everyone role. Even though it wasn't nearly as good a school as Princeton, Imani had decided to go to Rollins next year with Alexis—much to her parents' chagrin—because Rollins had offered her a position as residence advisor in one of the freshmen women's dorms, and it would be her job to boss everyone around, including Alexis, for an entire year.
“There's a steam room in the pool house. Only si
x at a time, please,” she continued, her wide mouth pressed against the bullhorn. “There are movies in the screening room, and the pool is heated, so you can swim all night if you want to. Our high-protein, high-energy breakfast is at seven tomorrow morning, and the first Origins facial is at eight, so we'll need our beauty rest. There are queen-sized mattresses set up in every room. Three to a bed, girls—it's gonna be cozy!”
The air buzzed with the sounds of girls gathering at the bar or drifting into the house to have pillow fights on the silk-sheeted beds or raid the Origins gift bags that weren't supposed to be opened until tomorrow. A few brave girls stripped down to their underwear or changed into bathing suits and cannon-balled off the diving board and into the pool, while the lazy ones gathered in Mr. Edwards' screening room and sprawled on the brown leather chairs as the opening credits for Love & Basketball rolled past on the giant screen.
Porsha, Chanel, and Yasmine sat on the edge of the pool with their legs dangling into the water. “This is fun,” Yasmine said in an attempt to be upbeat.
“Hey you guys!” Bree cracked open the glass door to the pool house and beckoned to them from inside. She'd stripped down to a towel and on her head was a white, diamond-studded bathing turban, an old Hollywood-style relic Mrs. Edwards wore in the pool to keep her hair from getting wet. “You gotta check out the steam room!”
Porsha wasn't exactly fond of the two wannabe-senior freshmen, but she wasn't about to pass up a chance to steam off a few unwanted pounds. “Okay, but I get to wear the turban,” she announced, leading the way into the pool house. She snatched the turban off Bree's head and put it on. On Bree it had looked ridiculous, but on Porsha it was sort of regal.
Only true divas can get away with wearing turbans.
Bree handed them each a giant Egyptian cotton towel and the girls stripped down to nothing, all pretending not to ogle Chanel's beyond-perfect body, but ogling it anyway. Secretly they each hoped to discover some hidden pocket of cellulite that she'd been hiding under her uniform all these years, but she was as slim-hipped and perfect as they'd feared.
“Supposedly Mr. Edwards is a major pothead,” Chanel told them as she pulled off her pink T-shirt, oblivious to their stares. “That's why he only does voice overs for commercials now instead of movies. He's smoked so much he can't remember his lines.”
“I know,” Bree agreed. “Look.” She unscrewed the head off an innocent-looking white marble statue and pulled a giant bag of weed from inside it.
The three seniors stared at her. What was little Bree Hargrove doing unscrewing the heads off of statues, anyway?
“Not that I want any,” Bree told them innocently. “Elise found it by accident.”
All of a sudden Tahj's shaved head bobbed past the window, and the girls squealed, hiding their naked bodies underneath their towels. It looked like he might have swum partway to get there. His clothes were wet and there was salt crusted on his cheeks.
Yasmine decided to hide from him for a while, just for fun. “Quick, get in the steam room! Now!”
Bree threw open the door and they dodged inside. The steam room was about the size of Chanel's walk-in closet, lined entirely in white tile, with two levels of steps upon which to sit. Through the steam they could just make out Elise, huddled on a white-tiled step in the corner, her body wrapped in a huge towel and a long silver cigarette holder with a joint hanging from it dangling out of her mouth.
“Elise is getting high,” Bree informed them. She hoisted herself up on the lower step and handed Elise a bottle of Poland Spring. “All she wants to talk about is how she's still in love with my brother.”
“Am not.” Elise unscrewed the top of the bottle and guzzled the water. “Actually, I am.”
“Well, he is cute,” Chanel put in, meaning it. She climbed up to the top step and sat down, crossing her ridiculously long, perfect legs. If Mekhi weren't so serious about everything, she would totally go out with him again. At least for a day.
“He is,” Yasmine agreed, taking a seat on the step below Chanel. She still felt kind of possessive of Mekhi despite the fact that they were broken up. If anyone could judge Mekhi's cuteness factor, she could.
“I guess,” Porsha agreed, sprawling languidly on the bottom step. She could barely remember what Mekhi looked like.
Bree climbed up and sat next to Chanel, hugging her knees. “Really?” she demanded, mystified.
Suddenly the door opened and Mekhi himself stuck his head inside. It took a while for his eyes to focus in the steamy, murky dampness. Surprise, surprise—the room was full of girls.
“Come in, come in,” Yasmine croaked in her best horror movie voice. “We've been waiting for you.”
Mekhi grinned sheepishly and bit his lower lip. He was wearing red swim trunks and nothing else and his twists were wet. Goosebumps stood out all over his dark arms. “Is my sister here?”
“Yes, loser, and Elise is here too,” Bree replied through the steam. “She's still in love with you.”
“We're all in love with you,” Chanel proclaimed.
Mekhi sat down on the white-tiled step next to Porsha.
“I'm not in love with you,” she told him. “I don't even know you.”
Well, that's a relief.
The door opened again and Tahj poked his head inside. “Yas?” he called sweetly, his mocha cheeks all sprinkled with sand.
“Over here,” Yasmine answered through a cloud of steam. “Come and join our sweatfest. Just don't look at all the other naked girls.”
Tahj tiptoed across the tile in his maroon Harvard T-shirt and sand-spattered pants and sat down on Yasmine's lap. Bree reached out and turned the dial to raise the temperature of the steam.
As if it needed to be raised.
“Wow. This is fun,” Chanel observed. She wiped the sweat from her upper lip and slid to her feet. “I have to pee. Does anyone want anything?”
“Yeah, but there's nothing you can do about it,” Porsha replied smugly. She'd been trying to convince herself that this girls-only bonding thing was totally fine with her, but now that there were all these guys around, her true feelings had risen to the surface. She wanted her boyfriend to appear out of the steam and surprise her. He'd slip a diamond ring on her finger, cover her shoulders with a creamy cashmere cape, and whisk her off in his gray convertible Jag to a private, moonlit beach where he would beg her forgiveness with every kiss. At dawn, his sailboat would float up out of the mist to whisk them away to faraway lands, and they'd spend the rest of their lives having adventures and making love. She wanted the true Hollywood ending.
Hence the turban.
Chanel pushed the steam room door open. Cold air bathed her face. “Shit, Porsha,” she heard Tahj say behind her. “I can't believe I forgot. I have something for you.”
And what might that be?
40
The steam room door closed behind her and Chanel padded across the pool house in search of the bathroom. For a pool house, it was really quite big. It contained a Ping-Pong table, two king-sized leather sofas, and a fish tank with a live barracuda in it. Not to mention the steam room and the bathroom that had to be around here somewhere.
Someone had clearly been into Mr. Edwards' weed stash, because the head of the statue was rolling around underneath the Ping-Pong table like an oversized Ping-Pong ball. Next to the fish tank was a white door. Chanel pushed it open.
Inside, the bathroom was decorated in gold leaf and had one of those weird low sinks you always see in European hotels but that no one ever uses.
Because they're for washing your butt, which is beyond gross?
The shower curtain was made of clear plastic decorated with gold stars. Behind it, sitting inside the tub with Mr. Edwards' weed stash cradled in his lap, his clothes damp with sea-water, and his eyes all red and sleepy, was Kaliq—the famously missing Kaliq Braxton. Chanel pulled the shower curtain aside and climbed inside the tub, clutching her towel around her.
“Kaliq? What are you doing here? W
hy weren't you on the boat?”
Kaliq grinned foolishly. Chanel was naked except for a white towel wrapped around her torso. It was impossible not to smile at her, she looked like a Greek goddess. Her forehead was damp and her long hair was matted with sweat, but she was still gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous.
She pulled her hair up on top of her head and fanned her face. “God, I'm hot.”
Of course, Kaliq was thinking the same thing.
“I'm not supposed to be here,” he confided idiotically. “The sign said, NO BOYS ALLOWED.”
Chanel picked up a clear glass bottle of bath gel from the edge of the tub and examined it. Aqua was the first ingredient. Didn't that mean water? she wondered. Why didn't they just say so? She put the bottle down again. “That's okay. Porsha's stepbrother is here. And Mekhi Hargrove. I didn't think the no-boys policy would work.”
Kaliq's eyes hadn't left her face. Tiny beads of water studded her eyelashes. God, she was pretty. He'd come here looking for Porsha, but Chanel was right there in front of him, wearing only a towel.
“I've decided to go to Yale next year,” Chanel blurted out, brushing the damp tendrils of hair away from her face. “I haven't told Porsha yet because I don't want her to be mad in case she doesn't get in. But that's where I've decided to go.”
Kaliq nodded. It was funny how Chanel's face and even her voice were sort of delicate but her body wasn't delicate at all. It was long and sinewy and strong, like a marathon runner's.
“I'm going there too,” he told her giddily, his voice cracking. “I already sent them my deposit.”
Chanel grinned. “We're both going to Yale!”
Kaliq leaned toward her and clasped the tops of her bare, damp arms in his hands. He pressed his nose into her silky hair. She smelled sweet and warm, like summer. “Mmm,” he murmured, and kissed her soft warm neck, tasting the signature patchouli-scented oil mixture she always wore.
Upper East Side #7 Page 16