by Trish Cook
“Not really,” Brina said. “I didn’t even leave with my dopey ex-boyfriend.”
Now that was not surprising in the least. “Pulling a Country Day Cotillion on me again?”
“It’s February. Even I’m not that crazy,” she said. “Actually, I hopped a ride with Sully and his date.”
“You mean slp and his date. And Sully’s not old enough to drive,” I pointed out.
“Nope, but Brenda Kaplan is,” Brina said.
“Whoa. She’s a total hottie. And a senior, too. Go, Sully!” I hollered. He really must have been making a name for himself at Northshore if he was going out with Brenda Bedhead.
“Brenda Kaplan hot? She’s so trashy,” Brina snorted. “And so not Sully’s type. He could do so much better.”
“So much better, meaning with you?” I asked, baiting her.
“Dream on, Trace. I won’t date a guy who has to pick me up on his tricycle,” she said, sounding as convinced as ever. “Even if maybe, just maybe, he’s the one who’s been writing me incredibly sweet notes all year long.”
“OK, have it your way,” I said. “Miss out on an awesome boyfriend just because he was born a few years later than you wish he had been.”
“Moving right along. Steven bought me one last chance to get into college next year,” Brina said, ignoring my Sully comments. “At Mount St. Agnes, outside of LA. I’m interviewing for their High Potential Program in a couple of weeks. It’s basically a stomping ground for smart screwups. Wanna come and check it out with me?”
Now let me see: southern California in February or freezing, gray, windy, miserable Chicago? “I am so there,” I told her.
“Good, ’cause Bebe already said yes and my mom already booked your ticket,” she told me. “Brad and Sully are coming, too, to check out UCLA.”
“Are you going to jump slp’s bones there, where no one is looking and your mom is the one providing the transportation?”
“Once and for all, no,” she said. “I like him as a friend and that’s it.”
“Have it your way.”
“Hey, Trace?”
“What?”
“Do you really think it’s him?”
“Yup.”
“I’ll just have to let him down easy in California, then,” Brina said. “ ’Cause it’s never going to happen between us.”
“Too bad,” I told her. “Because Sully’s about as primo as they come.”
CHAPTER 13
The day I was leaving for California, I trudged down the hall toward my locker after last period only to see a little vase of flowers, two plates with Oreos on them, two empty Dixie cups, and a carton of milk. Oh, and a pair of shoes that on second glance were attached to Zander’s feet.
“This little going-away party is very cute,” I said, plunking myself down cross-legged next to him. “And also kind of embarrassing.”
“Yeah?” Zander poured himself a drink and took a gulp. A milk mustache appeared above his lip. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Hey! Where are your manners?” I asked, holding up my empty cup.
“Equal rights, baby. Do it yourself,” he said, looking at me kind of funny.
“What?” I asked, rubbing my nose and running my tongue along my teeth simultaneously, hoping no boogers or Oreo remnants were hanging out there.
“Nothing,” he said, still staring.
“Did you lace these with pot or something?” I asked him. “You look stoned.”
“Nope.”
“Then what?”
“Trace, don’t you ever read while you eat?”
“Sure, sometimes. But I was lacking material here, plus I would rather talk to you—” While I was blathering on and on, Zander turned the milk carton around so I could see the back of it.
“Oh . . . my . . . God!” I screamed. Everyone in the hall turned and looked to see what all the commotion was about. “Just a spider,” I told them.
“So what do you think?” Zander asked me.
“I think you’re crazy and amazing. How did you get Bebe, Bruce, and the Boss-alike on the back of this carton?” I asked him, looking for tape or glue. There wasn’t any.
“I thought your mission could use a little kick in the ass,” Zander told me. “So I pulled a few strings at O’Brien Packaging. It pays to be the CEO’s son sometimes.”
I took a closer look at the “Have you seen me?” ad Zander had created for me. It read:Lost: Mac Donnelly (possibly Donohue or Donald), aka the
Boss-alike. Boyfriend of Bliss, father of Tracey. Missing for
18 years. Reward for information leading to his discovery.
Call 1-800-ESTREET.
“How . . . what . . . when?” I was speechless, and didn’t know whether to freak out or slobber all over Zander. It was the sweetest, most wonderful thing anyone had ever done for me. Also totally risky. I mean, what if Bebe was drinking milk one day and caught a glimpse of this carton? She’d go ballistic. And as it was, things were just starting to get back to normal.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Just wait until you hit the Wilshire Boulevard exit on your way to UCLA,” he said. “And Trace? Just remember this when all those surfer dudes try to steal your heart away.”
“This is just what I needed,” I said, wrapping my arms around Zander and kissing him with Oreo-laced lips. “I love you.”
The statement hung in the air for what seemed like days. I wanted to turn back time, rewind my words, and get back to the light ’n’ fluffy fun we had been having a minute ago. Zander cleared his throat and gave me an awkward hug back. “Uh, yeah. Have fun. Call me when you get back.”
“You got it,” I said, going to give him a good-bye kiss. He turned his head at the last second, and it landed on his cheek.
By the time Mrs. Maldonati came to pick me up later that afternoon, I had worn a hole in my bedroom carpet from pacing so much. Why did I have to go and say that? Zander seemed totally wigged, and I hoped I hadn’t scared him away forever just like Bebe had scared Mac away forever in the exact same way. On the long plane ride out to California, I finally decided there was no way that could happen—not because of three little words—and that a weekend away was probably what we both needed to let it slide and move on.
We got to the all-suite hotel in Laguna Beach at around ten o’clock local time—midnight to us. Not surprisingly, we were all keyed up and no one had any interest in hitting the hay except Mrs. Maldonati.
“Don’t stay up too late, kids,” she told us, shutting the door to her room. “Tomorrow’s another day.”
Sure, tomorrow was another day, but I didn’t want to waste any precious time while I was actually in La-la Land. Already, the swaying palm trees and crashing surf had me feeling totally relaxed and happy. Besides, we had all weekend to play before Monday’s college visits and I intended to have a blast.
“Let’s go check out the pool,” I whispered to the rest of the gang. Everyone grabbed a suit and sneaked out of the room as quietly as possible.
“Be back before midnight!” Mrs. Maldonati yelled as we ran laughing down the carpeted halls.
It was a little chilly outside but the hot tub was warm and inviting, sending waves of steam into the cool night air.
“It’s calling our names, Pete,” said Brad to Sully.
“Yeah, now all we have to do is find some chicks to join us. No offense to you guys,” Sully said, nodding at me and Brina.
“None taken,” I said.
Brina and I walked into a cabana and changed into our suits. “How does this look?” Brina asked when she turned around.
I was speechless for a minute. “Great,” I said when I finally found my voice. I looked down at my athletic two-piece, suddenly feeling very plain-Jane-y. Though I could actually do stuff in my suit—like move without exposing key body parts—it was clear I wouldn’t be getting hit on in it. Not with Brina standing next to me in that thing.
In fact, people’s eyes might pop out if she wore that to the beach tomorr
ow. I could just hear it on the evening news: “Today, thousands of eyeballs were found rolling in the surf on Laguna Beach. No one’s quite sure what caused this strange phenomenon, but witnesses say the source of the optical exodus was a skimpy bathing suit worn by a Chicago tourist. Anyone missing an eye is urged to contact the station to ensure its safe return.”
As we walked back to the hot tub, Sully whistled long and low.
“Stop ogling my sister,” Brad said, punching him in the shoulder.
“I was just being appreciative.”
“Since when do you have such bad taste?” Brad asked Sully, looking disgusted.
“Since he started dating the Bedhead,” Brina said.
“Hey! That Bedhead was nice enough to drive you home when your meathead started macking on the only gymnast he hadn’t sampled yet,” Sully shot back.
I looked at Brina. “You never told me that part.”
“That’s because I didn’t know about it,” she said, staring out at the ocean.
Sully unsuccessfully tried to remove the foot from his mouth. “I’m sorry, Brina. I assumed . . .”
“Never mind, Pete,” Brina said, shaking it off like a trooper. “Let’s get this party started. Truth or dare.” She pointed at Brad.
“Truth.”
“What’s your middle name?”
“You already know my middle name,” he grumbled.
“Yeah, but I thought everyone else would like to share in the mirth.”
“Salvatore, all right?” he said. “The second two-thirds of my name make me sound like a little Italian man with hair growing out of his ears. Bradley Salvatore Maldonati.” He laughed despite himself. “Now you, Brina.”
“Truth.”
“Your moment of embarrassment now,” Brad said, pointing at her. “Middle name, please.”
“Everyone already knows mine, thanks to Grandma Ina at Thanksgiving, remember?” she said. “Maria. So if you’re a hairy little Italian man, I’m a big-boned washerwoman. Strong like bull. Your turn, Trace.”
“Truth.”
“OK. Same question.”
“Mine is really bizarre,” I said. “And it doesn’t exactly fit me.”
“Like mine does?” Brad said.
“All right, already. It’s Rosalita.”
“As in ‘Jump a little lighter’?” Sully asked.
“Uh . . . I don’t know,” I answered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s an old Bruce Springsteen song,” Sully said, serenading us with the chorus of “Rosalita (Come Out Tonight).”
Brina and I stared at each other, our mouths hanging open. “The Boss-alike strikes again,” I said.
“Bebe must have really loved him,” Brina said, practically swooning.
“Totally,” I said, relieved my mom wasn’t crazy enough to name me Rosalita without a damn good reason. “Now you, Sully. Truth or dare?” I asked him.
“Truth again.”
“Let’s make this thing go full circle. Your middle name is?”
“Liam,” he said.
Brina perked up. “That’s a great name,” she said. “Peter Liam Sullivan.”
Sully and Brad looked at each other and laughed so hard I thought they might explode. They would calm down for a split second, only to go into hysterics again the next.
“Just what is so funny?” Brina demanded, completely pissed off now. This made the boys laugh even harder, and Brina get even madder. She jumped out of the hot tub and wrapped a towel around herself.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“For a walk,” she growled. “Alone.”
“C’mon, Brina. Nobody’s laughing at you,” Sully said, hopping out of the tub. My God, he had a gorgeous body, complete with six-pack abs. If I were Brina, I would have attacked him long ago.
“No, Brina,” Brad teased. “We’re laughing with you.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, stalking away toward the beach.
Sully caught up to her and draped his arm around her shoulder. “I’m coming along as protection,” he said. “You can’t wear that micro-mini bathing suit alone in the middle of the night. You’ll get attacked by some psycho.”
“And this way you can attack me instead?”
Sully frowned and took his arm off her shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, walking back toward the hot tub.
Brina turned around and sucked it up. “Sully, you’re right. I need a bodyguard. I’m sorry for being such a bitch.” She hooked her arm around his. “I’d love the pleasure of your company.”
“Well, that’s all she wrote,” I said. “I’m going to bed, Brad. See ya in the morning.”
“I’m coming up, too,” he said, reaching his arms over his head and letting out a humongous yawn.
I heard the bedroom door creak open at six a.m. I popped my head up and smiled at Brina, the dirty rotten stay-out. “OK, spill it.”
“There’s nothing to spill,” she said, sitting down on the bed and rustling around in her suitcase looking for jammies. “We walked; we talked; we swam.”
There was a knock on the wall from the next room. “C’mon, Brina, tell her the truth.”
She banged back, laughing, “That is the truth and you know it.”
“But you know you want me,” he said.
“Oh, yeah. You’re my number one fantasy man,” she said, crawling into bed.
I rolled over to look at her. “This is how you let him down easy?”
“Look, I made it clear we’re just friends,” she said. “I don’t need to go and embarrass the guy by spelling everything out. We’re totally chill.”
“I think you like him,” I said, hoping it was true. “You do, don’t you?”
“Don’t think so,” Brina said, sticking her thumb in her mouth and sucking it like a baby.
“Then you just don’t know it yet,” I told her, rolling back over and facing the wall. “You were just flirting like crazy.”
She hit me over the head with her pillow. “I was not.”
“You’re my number one fantasy man, Sully, ol’ Petey, ol’ boy,” I said, doing an imitation of her. “I want to lick whipped cream off your ripped abs. I want to massage your pecs. And just wait until I kiss your hard, manly—”
Sully peeked his head in our door. “Sounds good, Trace. You name the time and place.”
“I’ll let you know,” I said, embarrassed at being caught.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Once he was gone, I said to Brina, “I just might take him up on that sometime.” I wouldn’t—or should I say couldn’t, not with Zander waiting back home for me—but I wanted to gauge Brina’s reaction.
I got none. “Shut up and go to sleep, Trace.”
“No problem, lover girl.”
It was nearly noon before any of us got out of bed. Mrs. Maldonati had already cleaned the tiny kitchen in our suite seven times by then, and finally went out for a walk by herself in disgust.
“Let’s get out on the beach, girlfriend,” I said, shaking Brina gently to wake her up. “Just look at all those guys we need to scope out.”
Brad popped his head in our room, brushing his teeth. “And all dose girlsh.”
“What did you just say, doofus?” Brina said, finally lifting her head off the pillow.
Brad spit in the bathroom sink and rinsed his mouth. “I said, ‘And all those girls.’ Let’s get moving, Peter.”
This sent Brad and Sully into hysterics again. Brina gave them a look and slammed the door to our room shut. She reappeared a moment later, wearing lots of makeup, that hypnotizing swimsuit, and chunky high platform sandals. “All ready to wow the boys,” she said.
I surveyed my getup: Adidas flip-flops, the same athletic suit as the night before, and my hair swept back into a casual ponytail. “This should be fun,” I muttered, envisioning a day of boredom while Brina toyed with every surf god on the beach.
“You look cool—don’t worry,” Sully whispered
in my ear, putting his arm around me.
“Thanks for the encouragement,” I whispered back. I was afraid I might actually start crushing on Sully myself. He was sweet and sexy, and knew how to make a girl feel good. Brina was so bananas to write him off just because he was a little younger than us.
“Let’s hit the road,” I said to my partner in crime. We hiked down the road to the beach lugging towels, sunscreen, trashy magazines, and a small boom box. I felt light and airy, springing down the street grinning at everyone who passed. Brina, on the other hand, was back to beached-mermaid status. Her sarong-and-suit getup looked great but made it hard for her to move faster than a turtle.
I was getting exasperated. “The sun’s gonna set before we get there.”
“Shut up,” Brina said, giving me a sweaty, pissed-off look. “I’m doing the best I can.”
Eventually we got to the beach and scoured it, looking for just the right spot. “Over there,” I said to Brina. “That’s it. Next to where the surfer dudes have taken up residence.”
We dropped our stuff and got comfy. Brina arranged herself to look like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, leaning back on her arms with her legs crossed, tummy tightened, and boobs thrust forward for everyone to see.
“How do I look?” she asked me.
“Obvious,” I said. In seconds, I was sure every guy on the beach would be circling around her and drooling.
“What’s that supposed to mean, Miss Natural Beauty?” Boy, she was in a pissy mood today.
“Nothing,” I told her. “Forget it.”
We watched the guys hit the waves for a while until one wearing a blue O’Neill wet suit plunked his board and himself down. Next to me. “Hey, you surf?” he asked, patting my leg with a damp hand.
“I haven’t, but I’d love to try,” I said.
“Then I’d fully love to be your teacher. The name’s Dusty.”
“Trace.” I stood up and shook the sand off of me. “Let’s do it.”
Brina couldn’t stand the lack of attention. “How about teaching me, too?” she pouted, arching her back even more.
“You wouldn’t last three seconds out there,” Dusty said, taking one look at her and realizing she wasn’t up for the challenge. “I’ll get one of my crew to babysit you while Trace and I hit it.”