by Jillian Dodd
His excitement is contagious and I can’t help but feel like Santa Claus himself is coming over.
I throw my shorts and tank top back on.
He grabs my hand, leads me down the stairs, and says, “Open the door.”
I open the front door and see a huge, burly man, who looks a bit like Santa. Like if Santa was dark haired, covered with tattoos, and carrying a medical bag.
“OH MY GOSH! Are we getting tattoos? Like we always talked about?”
Brooklyn grins big and nods his head. “Happy Birthday, Keats! So, you wanna go first?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid if I watch you, and you even flinch that I won’t go through with it. So yes, we better do mine first.”
The huge tattoo artist’s name is Tiny. Tiny sets his stuff up on the kitchen table. Brooklyn hands him a sheet of paper with the Chinese symbol for chaos that we both want tattooed on our bodies. Brooklyn wants his tattoo on the inside of his wrist.
When we were surfing in the Canary Islands, Brooklyn crashed and cut the inside of his wrist on a rock. It didn’t really bleed, so I just did what my mom always used to do to me. I looked at his wrist and then kissed it. Ever since, he’s told me that’s where he’s getting the tattoo. That exact spot. It’s so romantic.
“Where do you think I should get mine?”
“Somewhere only I can see it.”
Tiny says very professionally, “I think a single symbol like this would look best either on the inside of your wrist or on your hip, right above your bikini line.”
“That’s where I want it. On my hip. Um, I know this is gonna hurt; should we, I don’t know, do a couple shots or something first?”
Tiny puts a clean sheet across the table and says, “I’d recommend a little medicinal weed, if you’ve got it. And, if you don’t, I can help with that for an additional fee.”
Brooklyn says, “I’ve got it covered.”
He runs up to his room and comes back down with a freshly rolled joint. He lights it and hands it to me.
“We’re not supposed to smoke in the house, but what the hell; it’s a special occasion, right?”
I take one hit, then another. I look at the equipment Tiny has spread out and decide it might be best to take a third.
I lie back on the table and squeeze Brooklyn’s hand tightly. “Right.”
It still hurt like hell.
But it’s so cool!
I mean, seriously, matching tattoos? This is almost as good as him asking me to go out.
We’re tied together forever now.
It’s totally doable.
5:15pm
“I really need to get home and get ready. Kym and I picked out the cutest dress for me to wear tonight.” I look at the clock, wondering where the day went. But after smoking and getting tattoos, we fell asleep.
“Gotta open your present first,” Brooklyn says lazily.
My eyes get big. “I almost forgot!” I grab the present off the nightstand.
But first, I stop and kiss him.
“Come on, open it. I’ve been dying for you to see this.”
I rip off the gift wrap. Underneath is a book—an old book, the cover faded and the words Poetical Works by John Keats embossed on the spine.
I smile at him.
He says, “Keats for my Keats. Look inside.”
I gently open the cover. Inside, written in pencil, is an old inscription.
1903, To my love.
—S
Underneath is more pencil, written in Brooklyn’s neat print.
Even Keats speaks of chaos.
There is nothing stable in the world; uproar’s your only music.
All my love,
B
I get little tears in my eyes. One falls off my face and onto the book. Brooklyn wipes it off and then wipes the tear from my cheek.
“Thank you.”
He grins. “So which is better, the tattoo or the book?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. The book didn’t hurt.”
“But it still made you cry.”
I laugh. “Good point. I kinda wish we didn’t have to go to dinner tonight. I don’t ever want to leave your room again.”
“Oh, come on. I know you secretly love the spotlight.”
“Well, maybe sometimes. I mean everyone wants to feel special sometimes, don’t they?”
“A bunch of adoring fans who don’t really know the real you?”
I smack him playfully. “No, silly, dinner tonight is all about people who do know the real me. Tomorrow night is for the fans. What’s wrong with wanting a little of both? If you’re gonna be a pro surfer then you’ll have fans, too.”
“So you’re okay with it now? With me going?”
“Yeah. Now I can say I’m in love with a professional surfer. That has a nice ring to it.”
“Maybe girls will worship me like they do Damian. I’ll be surfing, signing fake boobs, living the dream,” he says with a grin.
And I really don’t like the look of his grin.
At all.
His face turns serious. “So you’re not going to be mad at me when I leave?”
“No, we’ll come up with a plan. Maybe I could take some online classes and go with you. It sorta depends on this movie thing. I didn’t mention it to you, because I didn’t know if anything would come of it, but if it does, we’d have to work around it. But we’ll figure it out. It’s totally doable.”
“Uh,” he starts to say, but my phone buzzes.
I answer it. “Hey, James. What’s up?”
“Where are you right now?” he asks in a snippy voice.
“I told you I was going to Brooklyn’s. I’m still here.”
“I thought you had soccer practice.”
“Oh, yeah, um, I kinda skipped. We took a nap instead. I think I’m still jet lagged or something.”
“You know this whole stalker thing has us all on edge. You can’t just disappear like that.”
“I didn’t disappear. I was sleeping—whatever. I’m on my way back home now.”
I end the call.
“You in trouble? You never get in trouble.”
“That stalker guy sent Mom a letter the other day. Remember, before, I told you how he was pissed at her, told her she was going to pay?”
“Yeah, that’s why they added all the security for the girls.”
“Right. So, the other day she got a note in her purse. He said he was done with her. That he’d moved on and found someone new to love. Probably some hot new actress.”
“Sweet. That’s good, right?”
“James doesn’t seem to think so. He thinks it’s some kind of trick, so she’ll let her guard down.”
“James is pretty intense.”
“Grab your clothes and come home with me. No one will yell at me if you’re there.”
“Pick me something out.”
I run to his closet, grab a pair of faded Diesel jeans and a caramel James Perse T-shirt. “This work?”
“Yep. Don’t forget the Vans.”
“How about these instead?” I point to a pair of gorgeous Rag & Bone suede sneakers. “Have you even worn these yet? Did you buy them just because I liked them?”
He laughs. “Kinda. Bring ‘em. I suppose I shouldn’t go to dinner barefoot.”
I laugh too. “You can wear whatever you want, B. You can go in your board shorts. I wouldn’t care.”
“See I told you. You’re chill. I love that. But, nah. What are you wearing?”
We walk out of his house and down the beach.
“I have this adorable dress for tonight. It’s just summery, casual. But my dress for tomorrow night is downright sexy. And the shoes—oh, B, wait until you see the shoes. They have jewels on them and they’re to die for.”
“Sexy, huh? All your high school boys gonna be drooling?”
“I was kinda hoping it’d have you drooling.”
“I can always see it before you leave.”
My heart drops a li
ttle.
No.
It drops a lot.
He’s decided for sure that he’s not to coming to my party. Which makes me feel like he just pulled my heart out of my chest and stomped on it.
“Yeah, I guess,” I mutter. I don’t know what else to say.
Fake feelings.
8:30pm
Dinner is awesome. My favorite food and my favorite people.
Everyone talks about the stalker situation, my party, Millie’s latest contract negotiations, the Lakers, the Morans’ baby girl, Damian’s tour, our summer in Europe, and Mom and Tommy’s new movie.
I get some great presents. A beautiful Louis Vuitton tote from the Morans: a gorgeous necklace from an up-and-coming designer friend of Kym’s, an entire box suite for a Lakers game from Millie and Deron, and a beautiful locket from James with my dad’s photo in it, which I immediately put on as I try not to cry.
My dad’s plane crash happened on August the twelfth, just before my ninth birthday. When I was blowing out the candles on my birthday cake a few days later, Mom told me the smoke trail you see after you blow out your candles is your guardian angel’s way of wishing you happy birthday and that Daddy was in heaven watching over me.
My phone buzzes with a text.
I’ve been bad about replying to texts lately. I didn’t really reply to anyone much this summer. After everything that happened, I just didn’t know what to say. I figured if someone had something that important to tell me then they could call me.
I did reply to the Happy Birthday texts and liked all the well wishes on Facebook, but I haven’t been chatting with anyone much since I’ve been home.
But when I was getting ready for dinner, Cush texted me. He said he was excited to see me and excited for the party. I’m starting to get a bit nervous about seeing him.
Things with Brooklyn have seemed sort of weird lately. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel like I’m losing him. I don’t know if it’s because I’m hurt he’s not coming to my party, or if he’s actually been a little distant. Even when I was with him earlier today, it was like he said the right things but it sorta felt like he didn’t mean them.
I decide to reply to Vanessa’s last text with a lie.
Me: Hey, sorry. I lost my phone.
Vanessa: I thought you were ignoring me. I was thinking about not coming to your party.
Brooklyn grabs my phone. “No texting at dinner.”
“It’s after dinner, and she’s pissed at me because I’ve totally been ignoring everyone these last couple of days.”
“You haven’t been ignoring me.”
“That’s true, but I have ignored her and RiAnne’s texts, and she’s giving me shit about it.”
“They’re just jealous, you know.”
“Jealous of what?”
“Of us. What we have is real. Everything those girls cherish is fake. They only care about appearances, not what’s real. Fake relationships. Fake feelings. They fake their way through life. If it weren’t for me, you might have become one of them.”
“I am one of them, whether I want to be or not. At least until I get out of school. And Vanessa’s been surprisingly nice recently.”
He looks at my phone. “She wasn’t going to come to your party because you haven’t texted her in two days. How is that a good friend?”
“I’ve had sex with you all summer, and you’re not coming to my party. What does that make you?” I snap back.
“Don’t turn this on me.”
“I just don’t think it’s fair of you to slam her for something she has no intention of doing. She’s threatening to not come because she’s mad that I’ve been ignoring her. She’ll be there. She flew to New York to buy a dress, and she has a hot date that she’s dying to show off. I’m going to my own party dateless.”
“So take a date. Ask one of your boy toys.”
I stare at him for a few beats. He doesn’t back down.
“Fine. I will.” I grab my phone out of his hand, scroll past Cush and straight to Sander. Brooklyn hates him. “You sure you don’t want to be my date?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Okay.” I hit Sander’s name, and my phone sends out the call.
Brooklyn says, “He’s an asshole.”
“Well, I thought about asking Cush, but since I slept with him, I thought that might be awkward.”
I know I’m being mean, but I’m hurt. I’m lashing out a little.
Brooklyn’s face turns to pissed just as Sander answers.
“How’s my favorite T-Bird?” I flirt.
Brooklyn wants to see the fake me, so be it.
“Great. Heard you’re having a big birthday bash tomorrow night,” Sander says. “Where’s my invite?”
“I figured you were busy filming. Any chance you could come, maybe be my date?”
“Thought you were into the surfer dude?”
I catch the surfer dude’s eye. “Yeah, I thought the surfer dude was into me too, but I was wrong.”
Brooklyn gets up and walks out the door. I swallow hard and try not to cry.
“Sweet. You gonna do a big entrance? Walk the red carpet or some shit?”
“Hell yeah, I plan on making an entrance. It is my birthday. What do you say? Wanna come on the party bus with us?”
“I say you’re fucking awesome.”
“Good. My house. 8:30.”
I text RiAnne. I really don’t want to go with Sander. Regardless of what Vanessa says, I’d rather go dateless. I don’t know how Brooklyn pushed me into that. I guess I wanted to prove something. I just don’t know what I was trying to prove. Sander won’t care who his date is.
Me: Did you find a date for the party?
Ri: No :(
Me: I have a date for you.
Ri: Who??!!!
Me: Sander. I’d say he trumps a no-name lacrosse player. Even one that got buff over the summer. But don’t tell. Make it a surprise.
Ri: I thought we weren’t allowed to date each other’s exes?
Me: I’m okay with it. Really.
Ri: Vanessa will be pissed, but OMFG!! I LOVE YOU!! He’s so hot. I’ll be at your house at 8:30, looking AH-MAZZZING!! You liked my dress, right?
Me: Your dress is more than ah-mazing.
Ri: Sander will totally be my love slave by the end of the night. I’m sure of it.
How to play the game.
11:45pm
After dinner, I decide to walk the beach. I think I jinxed myself when I said that my life was perfect.
I don’t understand Brooklyn. Why can’t he go just because he loves me? If he really loved me, wouldn’t he go?
Were Vanessa and RiAnne right? Was it just a fling? Is he really not that into me?
I sit down and stare at the moonlight glistening on the water. I love the beach. It totally relaxes me. The sound of the ocean rushing and retreating is incredibly soothing.
I close my eyes and just breathe.
I think about how I sat here on prom night. How I wondered about my true love. How I wondered if he was looking at the moon too.
At the time, I thought Brooklyn was my true love.
But I’m starting to think I was wrong.
Brooklyn startles me when he sits down next to me.
He runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry. I didn’t grow up with all this. I don’t know how to play the game.” Brooklyn’s dad sold his internet company just four years ago. Before that, he lived a very middle class lifestyle. “I’ll go to the party, okay?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. Just don’t make me walk down the red carpet. Can I sneak in the back?”
“I don’t care how you get in, just come dance with me. Make my birthday feel like a fairytale.”
“I was hoping I already did that.”
“Prince Charming always goes to the ball; you know that.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Are we cool? You’re my best friend. I don�
��t wanna lose that.”
I kiss him. “What the hell am I supposed to do about the asshole?”
He laughs, but says seriously, “You were playing games with me; serves you right.”
Saturday, August 20th
Kill the troll’s bubbles!
5:15pm
Brooklyn just dropped me off at home. We had a late lunch of spicy shrimp at Buddy’s. I don’t know what’s going on, but Brooklyn is acting weird. He was going on and on about the shrimp, and he was savoring it like he wouldn’t get to eat it again for years.
Cush texted me during lunch and told me he’d be here tonight. That he would be riding in the party bus with us to the club. But he hasn’t said much else.
I walk in my front door to total chaos.
Avery is riding a stick unicorn and wearing a tutu and a crown.
Ivery is dressed as a mermaid and is blowing bubbles down the hall.
Emery is chasing the bubbles and swatting them out of the air with a plastic bejeweled sword, screaming, “Kill the troll’s bubbles!”
Gracie is wearing a swimsuit, tutu and fairy wings. Her hair has been “fixed” by one of the girls and has about thirty multi-colored barrettes in it. She’s riding her red trike into the mahogany fireplace wall and giggling each time it practically gives her whiplash. The nanny laughs along with her.
I walk back to Tommy’s office, following the smell of cigar smoke. They have the big sliders open to the courtyard, but I can still smell it. Tommy is sitting at his big wooden desk, and James is in one of the sleek, brown leather chairs across from it.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
“Probably, but I’m a little worried about your children. Gracie is riding her bike into the fireplace giving herself whiplash, and laughing about it.”
Tommy chuckles. “They are a handful, but so cute.”
“Kym is almost here,” James tells me. “You better go shower. You know how she gets when we’re not all on schedule.”