Jet Set

by Carrie Karasyov

  “I can’t do this without you, Wimbledon,” she said, reading my ambivalence. “You in?”

  “I’m in,” I replied shakily.

  “Good,” she said, a smile spreading as a twinkle glistened in her mischievous eye. “The Diamonds are about to get seriously flawed.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  That night, while the gals hit Club Platinum, Sofia and I snuck down the hall. I kept watch while she darted mouselike into each of the three witches’ rooms, wiring away as I stood nervously by, the sound of my breath making me all the more neurotic. Suddenly I heard steps coming in the direction of the wing I was standing in.

  “Sofia,” I whispered. “Someone’s coming!”

  I guess she hadn’t heard me because she didn’t exit. I panicked. Who would be there when everyone was out? I drew a sharp breath when I saw who it was—the elusive and stunning Angelina. She looked at me and gave a tight half smile and slight nod in acknowledgment of my existence.

  “Hi, Lucy,” she said quietly.

  “Hey…” was my feeble semiresponse.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Up to? Um…nothing, just…waiting for someone. You?”

  “I’m tired. I was going to go to bed.”

  “No Platinum?” I asked, wondering why she wasn’t dancing on tables like everyone else who was fabulous.

  “Nope. That scene’s not really for me. It’s fun and all, I suppose—I’m just…more of a homebody, I guess.”

  “I hear you. Me too.” It was refreshing that she wasn’t partying her panties off like every other illustrious and beautiful teen on the Continent.

  She was about to go, but then she hesitated. “If you’re just hanging out, do you want to come in and watch The Hills? It’s supposed to be a crazy episode—the girls get into some catfight. Kind of like here.”

  That was all I wanted to do right now! But instead I was stuck being Sofia’s accomplice. “Oh my gosh, that’s so nice, Angelina, but I’m kind of waiting for Sofia. I promised her I would—”

  She cut me off. “It’s okay, next time,” she said, smiling.

  “Definitely!” I said, with a little too much enthusiasm.

  “Okay, well, I’m off to bed,” she said shyly. “Good night.”

  “Good night!”

  I was thrilled that she left before realizing what Sofia and I were up to but bummed that I had to rebuff her first overture at friendship. I bet the Diamonds would go insane to know she’d asked me to hang with her! That was almost better revenge than wiring their rooms. But for now I was just glad she didn’t catch us. As she walked down the hall, I exhaled in relief but was still shifting from side to side like a child who has to pee until Sofia exited the final room.

  “What took you so long?” I demanded. “I almost had a heart attack! Angelina came by and could have busted us!”

  “Cool your jets, Wimbledon! The wheels are in motion.”

  “Yeah, and if we ever get caught she’ll know it’s me!”

  “Chill out, dahhhling. Stress is not becoming.” Sofia breezed by me, back down the hall to her room.

  “So what now?” I asked as she casually pulled a disco dress from her closet, acting as if she’d just brushed her teeth or checked her email rather than planted spy devices.

  “We’re hitting Club Plat like everyone else! There’s nothing else to do except party—the action will all go down after curfew, when they come home to dissect the evening! Till then, let’s rage.”

  I reluctantly went back to my room to get changed and found my phone ringing.

  “Lucy, where are you? Everyone’s out!” It was Antony. Maybe going out wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “Oh, um, hi—I’m…on my way.”

  “Can’t wait to see you.”

  As I hung up I got a jolt of excitement—tonight was finally going to be the night that Miss Tennis Racket also felt like a pretty girl at the dance, now that a perfectly charming boy was into her. And it felt great.

  Antony was waiting for us with a perfect corner booth when Sofia and I arrived. The three of us hung out, Sofia wearing her big cocktail ring again. Antony asked me to dance, and when we were on the floor twirling and laughing, I noticed two security guards with wires in their ears step into the club. They looked straight out of an espionage movie. I couldn’t figure out what they were doing there. I mean, everyone there was security-worthy, but once we were on the grounds of campus and in the town, students were pretty much safe. But then I gulped. What if they were on the hunt for us? Paranoid, I signaled to Sofia, thinking they might be on the prowl for the person who took all those photos for Gab! She nodded, acknowledging my heads-up, and discreetly put her hand under the table. No use risking it. Not that they would realize that her ring was a camera, but hey, you never know.

  Just then Victoria and Iman walked by me (Antigone was nearby on the dance floor, she and Moabi LeTroux making out again like minks on a breeding farm) and literally did the Slut Sneeze to me. As in fifth grade. As in aaaaahhhh-choo form but by saying “Slut.” I looked at Antony, morbidly embarrassed. Trying to recover, I shook my head and rolled my eyes.

  “Those girls have it in for me.”

  I tried to shake off their juvenile behavior, but he wouldn’t have it. He stormed up behind them and tapped Victoria on the shoulder. “Lame, Tory.”

  “Oh chill out, we’re just having fun,” she sneered. “Tell her to thicken her skin.”

  “You’re a sad, pathetic girl. Back. Off. Her. Now!”

  Wow, chivalry! I must say, they looked frightened. They slowly walked away but not before shooting me an acidic look of death.

  “Thanks, Antony.…”

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said indignantly.

  I went to go tell Sofia we were leaving.

  “Oh, I’m off, too. I’m gonna get the headphones on for a looong night of Lucy bashing on the wires!” she said.

  Great.

  I walked outside, heart heavy, to find Antony waiting for me in the moonlight as the party raged on inside the club.

  “Why the glum look? Don’t tell me you really care about what those sad girls think?”

  “Those sad girls are about to rip me to shreds,” I muttered. “I never did a thing to them!”

  “Listen, my dear girl, they’re simply jealous of you.”

  “Jealous? Of me? Antony, you’re—”

  “I’m right,” he said, taking my hand. “You have it all: brains, beauty, talent, a good family.…”

  How did he know about my family? We hadn’t spoken much about my parents.

  “…and a guy who’s crazy about you.”

  Really? Moi? I blushed to a happy peony pink.

  At that sudden moment, the mean girls, the tests, the upcoming tennis match, the spy capers with Sofia—none of it mattered. And as Antony leaned in slowly and kissed me, taking me in his arms, I didn’t mind if he was the only soul in Europe who cared about me. In his embrace, one was enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I was nervous. I mean, sweating bullets. It was our first tennis match, and we were playing a school that was also known to have a fantastic tennis team. It was just a “scramble,” meaning that it was supposed to be for fun and not count, since the real tennis season didn’t start until the spring, but I had been told that in truth everything counts. In fact, Coach Sachs had made it clear that our days and nights would be brutal if we didn’t nail this one. I had called my parents the night before in a panic.

  “Sweetheart, you’re a wonderful tennis player. I’m sure you will do great,” said my ever-supportive mother.

  “But, Mom, you’re used to me playing against people who don’t really matter. This is major. We’re playing a team that has a former Olympic coach leading them.”

  “Don’t worry, it will be fine.”

  My dad was no better but in a different way. “Go get ’em tiger—you know you need to win to get a good tennis scholarship for college,” he commanded. He alway
s had tennis scholarship on the brain. Sometimes I wish he would back off a little. But when I thought of my sister and her only option being an ROTC scholarship, I knew deep down he was right. I wanted to go to a good college, and tennis was the ticket.

  Thankfully the game was to be on our home turf. I didn’t want to deal with traveling somewhere, and this team was flying in from Les Abeilles in the Loire Valley. I got to the courts early, determined to stretch and be fully limber by the time practice started. It was still dark when I got to the locker rooms to change, and the sun was just rising when I made it out to the court. I shivered a little in the cold and was a bit dismayed to see how my breath hung in the air, but I knew as soon as I did some laps I’d warm right up.

  “Hey,” said a voice behind me.

  I turned around, startled.

  “Hi, Oliver.”

  “Couldn’t sleep either?”

  “Nope,” I said, placing my rackets on the bench and stretching my arms out to keep warm. “I’m kind of a nervous wreck!”

  “Me too,” Oliver admitted. He smiled and shook his head. “My bloody nerves get me every time.”

  I loved that Oliver always seemed to tell the truth. You’d think that he would be more rigid, being a prince and all. It was very refreshing. Since kissing Antony on Saturday night, I’d fully had Antony on the brain. I was always the type who liked the guys who liked me—not some delusional chaser of the It boy. And seeing Oliver now, I realized that since he would never be a possibility, and didn’t need to be, it would be really nice to have him as a friend. So what if it caused problems with Angelina and the Diamonds? That was actually more their problem than mine.

  “Wanna do some laps?” I asked. Then, not knowing what seized me, I sprinted ahead. “Race you!”

  “Hey, no fair!” said Oliver, tearing off his sweatshirt and taking off after me.

  We did several fast loops around the court, teasingly passing each other now and then. We ultimately slid into a steady jogging pace, determined not to overdo it before the game. It was fun running with someone else. We didn’t say anything, really, just smiled at each other every once in a while.

  As we rounded the court for something like our sixteenth lap, a loud giggling shriek pierced the air. I saw Chérie, the buxom blonde who worked in the school store, walking out of the flower-covered gazebo with her head thrown back in laughter. Everyone knew Chérie. She was in her early twenties, and the rumor was that she was “available for a good time” for any young man at school who had a sizeable bank account. Which was every guy in school. Supposedly a lot of boys had lost their virginity to her. I thought it was odd that she was up and about so early, but I kept up my pace. When I rounded the court again I could have sworn I also saw Antony walking by the same gazebo that Chérie came out of. I waved as I jogged on, but then suddenly realized that what I just witnessed was even more strange. Was that really Antony? What was he doing there? And was he with Chérie? I had gone by so quickly that I didn’t see if he waved back, but I didn’t want to stop now and have Oliver think something was up. I kept running, faster now, but when I came around to the corner where I had seen them both, no one was there. Was I hallucinating? The boy I had spotted was wearing the same peacoat that Antony always wore, had the same brown hair—although a lot of kids at school had the same coat.

  “I gotta take a break,” I said, stopping when we got to the bench. I bent over, hands on hips, and took deep breaths. Had Antony been hooking up with Chérie? Was I paranoid?

  “Well done, Lucy. You should consider track,” said Oliver.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled before I took a large swig out of my water bottle. “Hey, you didn’t happen to see who was out in the gazebo, did you?” I asked, pretending to be nonchalant.

  “Oh, er,” began Oliver. “I think I saw Chérie.”

  “Did you see who she was with?” I asked, emboldened somehow. I did not want to be made a fool of. If Antony was getting down with Chérie, I wanted to know.

  Oliver looked at me carefully. “Listen, Lucy, I wanted to talk to you about Antony.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. Could he read my mind? Or had he seen what I did?

  “He’s…he’s tricky. He has one thing in mind, and—this will come out the wrong way—you are not his usual type of girl, which makes me worry. For you. I just don’t feel that he has the right intentions,” Oliver said with a sigh.

  I was speechless. Should I feel good that Oliver was protecting me? Or was there something else? I was about to speak when we were interrupted by none other than Antony himself.

  “There you are! I was just coming up to wish you good luck,” said Antony, giving me a big hug. I stared at Oliver over Antony’s shoulder. He looked away and excused himself, mumbling something about practicing serves, and left us alone.

  “Antony, did I just see you with Chérie?” I asked flatly.

  “You did! That old cow! She was leaving Rolf’s room and lost her shoe along the path. I was helping her find it. I told her she’d better learn to keep her clothes on.”

  Relief swept through my body. Antony hadn’t even paused or seemed remotely disconcerted when I brought up Chérie, the Van Pelt school bicycle (everyone’s had a ride). Either he was an Academy Award–winning actor or he was telling the truth.

  “Oh, because, you know, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t you and Chérie in that romantic gazebo,” I said, looking him in the eye. “Sofia told me that’s where people go to fool around.”

  “Look at you!” said Antony, his eyes crinkling with laughter. “I didn’t fancy you to be the jealous type! But no, I can assure you I would never go for that skank. She’s been around the block more times than the ex–Mrs. Federline. Dirty.”

  Okay, fair enough. I felt somewhat relieved.

  “So, Luce, what were you doing with Mr. Majesty? That bloke is such a wanker.”

  I stiffened, feeling weirdly defensive of Oliver. Antony obviously read my reaction and reached for me.

  “Come here,” he said, taking my sweaty arm and steering me to the side of the court. I decided to take the plunge.

  “Antony, what’s the deal with you and Oliver?” I asked. I mean, elephant in the room.

  Antony sighed and looked up at the sky. “I can honestly say I don’t know!”

  I gave him a quizzical look and he continued. “Okay, there was this time when I was going after this girl—I think she’s, like, his cousin or something, in that poshy London scene he runs around with. Anyway, he totally talked her out of me. I think honestly that he is just a huge snob. My parents are not as wealthy as his are and I think he has a problem with it.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Oliver.”

  “How well do you know him?” asked Antony, cocking his head to the side.

  “I don’t know, he just doesn’t seem like a snob.”

  “Did you know he got in huge trouble last year for yelling some nasty comment at another bloke at a football—er, soccer to you—game? Started a whole riot.”

  “That can’t be true.…”

  “It is. Check it out,” he said, nodding vehemently. “You’d be surprised by the prince. He isn’t all that regal.”

  I glanced over at Oliver, who was practicing his perfect ace of a serve. He just didn’t strike me as the type to do something like that.

  “He’s always nice to me,” I said feebly.

  “And why wouldn’t he be, my dear! You have it all—looks, brains, class, money…”

  I laughed at the last part. “Oh yeah, big money.”

  “I love your audacity!” said Antony with a laugh, putting his arms around me and leaning in.

  We managed to steal a quick kiss before Coach Sachs and the rest of the team arrived and it was time for real practice. Antony reluctantly waved and left for his rugby practice, but he promised to come back and watch when it was my turn to play.

  Invigorated by his being in the stands, I managed to whip my opponent’s butt, 6–love, 6–love. Only, wh
en I looked up in the stands and saw Antony pumping his fist in the air with every point I scored, I felt like I was the one getting the love.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “There is something about that here,” said Sofia, pulling out an old issue of Gab! from the storage boxes under her bed.

  She handed me an article from the previous year that was titled “Spoiled Prince Disses Common Man.” I couldn’t believe my eyes. The article told how Oliver had caused a major meltdown at a Chelsea–Tottenham soccer game. I was shocked. I couldn’t believe it was my Oliver—I mean, um, Oliver Oliver. So weird. But sure enough, there was a picture of him, looking angry and being restrained by cops. Wow. I guess you never know people.

  “Funny, right?” asked Sofia, staring at me.

  “Yeah, I can’t quite put that together with him. He seems so sweet.”

  “He is divine-looking. So tell me about Antony. Now he is hot!”

  I spent the next half hour filling her in on all the nitty-gritty of my burgeoning relationship. We were seated on her fluffy rug, the fire was going, and as she asked question after question, I was all too eager to tell her every little detail, every innermost thought.

  “That’s fabulous,” she said when I was finally done.

  “So what about you? Is there anyone you like?” I asked, feeling bad that I had been such a conversation hog.

  “I have my eye on someone,” she said, smiling. “But it’s too early to tell. I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay,” I said, suddenly wishing that I had not downloaded every gory deet to her when she was being as closemouthed as a president under investigation. I had that sensation you get when you eat too much Chinese food or popcorn, which is great while you do it, but afterward you want to vomit. Had I revealed too much?

  “What I do want to discuss is how awesomely our little project worked! Come here,” she said, leading me over to her computer.

  She sat down and clicked through several files, and suddenly Victoria, Iman, and Antigone’s rooms all came on the screen. I was shocked. Victoria wasn’t in there, but Iman was sitting on her bed chatting on the phone, and Antigone was doing yoga on a mat. I was riveted.