She took a sip of her drink and examined the heavy crystal glass she was holding. Her surroundings suddenly seemed so opulent. The gold everything she’d never even noticed before suddenly felt so out of reach. It just wasn’t fair. A frustrated tear began to slip down her cheek. She wanted to punch something.
Doesn’t she mean someone?
“Are you okay?” Marcelo asked. “Look, Baby was just walking the dogs. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’m not crying over her,” Vanity wailed. “It’s just...” She really was losing it.
“What, then?” Marcelo’s eyes searched her face.
“There was just this dress,” she invented, realizing how stupid she sounded as soon as the words left her mouth. But she couldn’t admit that she was threatened by a dog walker. Or tell him that her friends couldn’t stop talking about India Cartwright’s brother. Or about her father not paying for ballet. About her melodramatic mother and her musty garret apartment. After all, who wanted to be seen with a poor loser?
But crying over an imaginary dress is okay?
“A dress?” Marcelo pulled his hand off her back. “You’re crying over a dress?” he asked in disbelief.
“I’m not crying!” A small tear slipped down her cheek.
And the Oscar goes to...
Vanity gazed at Marcelo’s broad, handsome face, wanting him to understand. But she still couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth. She wiped her tear away with a manicured finger. “I wanted to wear it to the party,” she added.
“What does it look like?”
She furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “It’s...pink,” she said, thinking of the frilly dress the five-year-old who’d moved into her townhouse had been wearing. “With puffy sleeves. And a white sash.”
“Okay,” Marcelo said slowly. “Barneys?”
“Yes.” She snuggled into him. Just being near him made her feel so much better.
“I’ll get it for you. But you shouldn’t worry so much about the small things.” Marcelo pulled her tightly into his strong chest, and Vanity rubbed her cheek against the soft cotton of his polo shirt. “If you keep stressing over the small things, the big things will kill you.”
You think?
24
For the fifth and hopefully last day in a row, Baby put on the hideous Emma Willard seersucker skirt and waited in the enormous, uncluttered kitchen for India and Trey to walk to school. She wasn’t sure why she had even bothered to stay in New York this long. Marcelo had been the only person she had met who made it seem like maybe, just maybe, the city would be different, and now she’d discovered he was the same as everyone else.
“So, I got a call from Mrs. McLean at Emma Willard. You skipped some sort of service hour?” Edie walked into the kitchen wearing a flowy white skirt, with blue Bic pens holding her hair into a semblance of a bun.
“Yeah, it was a stupid misunderstanding,” Baby said breezily. She didn’t want to go into detail. It would be so much easier dealing with all of this once she was back in Nantucket.
“Mmm-hmmm,” Edie agreed. “I can imagine Mrs. McLean would be more strict than what you’re used to, but really darling, cursing in French? Can’t you think of more creative ways to get in trouble?” She sat down on a stool next to Baby, stroking her tangled black hair. “If you need to shake things up, do it right.” Edie nodded sagely, stood up, and floated out of the room, like some sort of psychedelic fairy godmother, off to dole out advice to the next wayward person who needed it. Baby paused. Had moving to Nantucket all those years ago been Edie’s way of shaking things up?
She sighed, looking around their expansive new kitchen. Back at home, the kitchen was always a gathering place, but so far no one had even cooked here. She sat on one of the sleek metal bar stools lined up by the sleek black granite counter. She pulled her hair into a sloppy side ponytail and hit speed dial 1 on her cell.
“Hey, Babe,” Ace said in his sleepy-stoner voice. It had been her favorite thing to wake up to during the summer.
“Hey!” She tried to sound upbeat as she grabbed an orange from the carved teak bowl on the counter and poked through the skin with her thumb.
“Morning.” His voice was gravelly. She could hear his car horn beep and wished he were turning the corner of her street in his dusty Monte Carlo, ready to drive her to school.
Baby sighed. The last morning they’d spent together, they’d been up all night. Last Friday, they had lasted all of five seconds at a crowded club in the Meatpacking District. After making a hasty exit, they’d giggled as they ran across the avenues, stopping in Gray’s Papaya on Sixth to share a hot dog and then making out under an awning by the Coffee Shop in Union Square. By the time they began to make their way home, the sun was rising and they’d gotten free muffins from a friendly vendor at the greenmarket. It all seemed so long ago.
“So, what crazy adventures have you gotten yourself into, hippie girl?” Ace asked.
Baby bit down on a section of orange. It was embarrassing to admit that so far, the highlight of living in the most exciting city in the world was walking some spoiled Upper East Side kid’s dogs—for free.
Not exactly the glam life.
Just then, India and Trey burst into the kitchen, talking excitedly.
“Okay, write down your list of people. Swimmers in green pen. Actually, any athletes in green pen. Everyone else in blue,” India amended, frowning at a clipboard as if she were working the door at Bungalow 8. All she’d been able to think about for the past two days was her second party and how much better it was going to be than her first. First of all, there would be actual alcohol, and second of all, there would be boys—the two key ingredients to winning over all the Willard girls.
Amen.
Baby turned to the corner so she wasn’t interrupted. “Not too much is happening here. The usual, I guess. So, what’s going on with you?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation light.
“Hey, hold on...” There was static at the end of the line. Baby held the phone closer to her ear. Everything in Nantucket just felt so...far away. “Sorry, I’m actually picking Kendra up right now so I sort of have to run. I’ll miss you tonight.”
“Why can’t you have the party on Saturday night? I could come then,” Baby pleaded.
India stopped mid-sentence with whatever she was saying to Trey, something about getting his teammates to be extra friendly. She wrestled the phone away from Baby and put the iPhone to her ear. “Ace? Yeah, Baby won’t be coming up for the weekend. She has a party she has to attend here on Saturday. Looks like it’ll just be you and your bong.” India grinned wickedly.
“Give it back!” Baby hissed at her as she yanked the phone away. “Sorry about that. So, can you change the party to Saturday?” she asked, lowering her voice. She hated to sound like she was begging, but she’d rather spend eight hours traveling on a gross Greyhound bus to be by his side at the bonfire than go to India’s trying-to-fit-into-Bitch-Central soiree.
“Oh man, I totally would, but everything’s set. We’ve got the kegs, we’ve got the food, and it’s all ready, you know?” Ace said. In the background she could hear a car door open and slam.
“I guess so,” Baby replied woodenly, not really understanding why Ace couldn’t just reschedule the party. What else did the Nantucket kids have going on Saturday night? She slowly put her orange down, surprised at herself for thinking that. It was as if she’d absorbed the bitchy attitudes of the girls around her.
Didn’t we tell you it was contagious?
“Hey, Babe, I gotta go,” Ace said abruptly. “Have fun and stay out of trouble.” He hung up. Baby listened to the silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds, then slowly put it back into her messenger bag.
“So I already told all the guys about it, and they’re definitely down for the party,” Trey stroked his new goatee. He grabbed Baby’s orange and dug out a few sections. He looked surprisingly good with his half beard, like an actor in some movie.
&nb
sp; Or a pirate. All he was missing was a peg leg.
“You’re having a party?” Edie drifted back into the kitchen at the sound of chattering voices. “Where will it be?” she asked, leaning on the countertop and absentmindedly rearranging the fruit into a haphazard pyramid. She was no doubt thinking about the summer party she’d hosted last year, where everyone had ended up in a drumming circle on the beach.
“Well, I was hoping to do it at Grandmother’s house,” India began, knowing her mother wouldn’t say no. She’d toyed with the idea of renting out a club and had even visited a few Meatpacking District hot spots. But then she realized clubs were for people whose apartments were too small to have real parties, and Grandmother India’s townhouse had already been home to so many historic soirees. Besides, who didn’t love a house party?
“That’s a terrific idea!” Edie clapped her hands together, her ever-present turquoise bracelets jangling. “I’d love to invite some people—when are you thinking?”
“Saturday,” India admitted, adjusting her jewel-embellished headband in her long hair. Even though Vanity Laurent had announced that she was having a party that same night, India was not about to change her plans. It made her all the more determined to throw the best party the Upper East Side had ever seen, and show Vanity once and for all that she meant business.
Edie’s face fell. “But that’s the opening night of the chinchilla exhibit. I got together with one of my old friends, Piers Anderssen? He’s now a Brooklyn experimental artist, but he just went with it. He turned his whole apartment into an indigenous rain forest that will be open to the public on Saturday night. I need to be there.”
“That’s okay!” India said quickly. She loved her mom, but her eccentricities had been weird enough in crunchy Nantucket. Besides, it wasn’t going to be a mingle-with-parents-as-you-sip-tea kind of party. She’d already tried that approach and wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.
“Okay.” Edie frowned. “It’s nice to hear you kids are already fitting in.”
“Thanks, Mom.” India kissed her mom’s peppermint-scented cheek and motioned for her brother and sister to follow her out the door to school.
It was weird to walk to school together, Baby thought as they got into the elevator. It reminded her of elementary school.
“So, back to the party,” India said as the elevator doors opened into the lobby. “I really need to know who’s taken and who’s available and—”
“You know what? I need to stop and get some juice. I’ll catch up with you,” Baby said when they were outside. She didn’t want to listen to Trey and India chatter about the stupid party.
“Are you sure?” Baby saw a flash of sisterly concern run across India’s face, but it quickly disappeared. “Okay, see you later.” She shrugged.
Baby bought a lukewarm tea from a street cart on Fifth and loitered until she lost sight of them. She deliberately walked uptown slowly and entered the Willard doors just as the first bell rang. She walked into French class a few minutes late, without even stopping by her locker to grab her textbook. Madame Rogers already hated her, so the chance she would be called on was next to nothing.
“Vous êtes très en retard,” Madame Rogers said sternly. You are very late. She didn’t even look up from the board, where she was explaining the subjunctive.
“Doesn’t she mean retarded? Look at her shirt!” Baby heard Draya whisper to Brittany.
Even India didn’t look up.
“Je m’excuse,” Baby muttered, walking over to take a seat by the windows.
“Vous devez vous rendre dans le bureau de la directrice.” Madame Rogers stood in front of Baby’s desk. You must go to the headmistress’s office. “You cause disruption or you don’t bother to show up. You’re not welcome in this class anymore,” she said firmly.
Baby looked up. She hadn’t been expecting to be kicked out of class, especially when she hadn’t done anything. Her face burning, she stood, ready to stomp down to Mrs. M’s office.
“Comment dit-on loser?” Baby heard Vanity whisper as the door closed. Baby shook her head. Forget about waiting for three strikes—she was out now. She walked down the hall to the deserted lobby, practically slamming into Mrs. M.
“Baby, it seems we had a miscommunication and you didn’t quite understand that our student service hours are mandatory. I want to remind you that they are. I’m looking forward to seeing you this afternoon.” Mrs. M smiled at her with her warm brown eyes, still giving her the benefit of the doubt. If Baby didn’t hate it so much here, she would almost like Mrs. M. But she knew what she had to do.
“I won’t be able to make it. Ever.” She didn’t turn around to see the look of shock on Mrs. M’s face as she walked toward the door. “Sorry.” Once the door closed behind her, she skipped down the steps and let out a piercing whistle. A cab screeched to a stop as all the girls in the first-floor classrooms turned to stare out the window.
“Port Authority,” Baby said smoothly to the cabbie, rolling down the window. Mrs. M had arrived at the top of the imposing Willard stairs and was staring down at her. Baby gave her a small wave, then leaned her head back against the leather seat.
That’s one way to make an exit!
* * *
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Friday, September 12, 3:00 p.m
Subject: Now?
25
“You ready?” Reese came over to the row of lockers after swim practice on Friday. He was fully dressed, his brown leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Trey secretly slid his iPhone back into his pocket. He’d just received an e-mail from Kat, and even his fingertips were tingling just thinking about her. “I made an appointment for us,” Reese said mysteriously.
“Okay.” Trey raised his thick eyebrows suspiciously, remembering their stakeout from the other day. He instinctively looked at Reese’s bag, as if expecting to see a starchy seventies suit or a bushy fake mustache peeking out through the zipper.
“So, my times this week have sucked,” Reese began, pausing when he saw Chadwick and Malik walking out of the locker room together. Chadwick’s mustache seemed to have irritated the oozing crop of acne by his nose, and Malik’s bushy beard made him look like a black version of the fisherman on the frozen fish sticks box.
Come on, who doesn’t love a guy in foul weather gear?
“Man, I’ve gotta break the streak.” Malik lewdly stroked his beard and glared at Reese. “Bro, if you don’t hook up with a chick, I’ll do it for you. I’m serious.” He widened his eyes crazily.
“It’ll happen, man. ” Reese nodded confidently.
Trey smiled inwardly. Atta boy. The power of positive thinking.
“Anyway,” Reese continued once Malik and Chadwick were out of earshot, “I think for Coach to take me seriously as captain I need to streamline a little bit,” he whispered, as if he were relaying top-secret information.
Trey wondered if he was talking about one of those weird diets India was always on, like the one where she had to only drink water with cayenne pepper and lemon juice for a week, but then got so hungry that she went to the Nantucket Bake Shop, bought a cream pie, and ate the whole thing in ten seconds.
“Would you go waxing with me?” Reese asked as they walked out of the 92nd Street Y and into the sticky late-afternoon heat. “I’m really sucking right now, and I’m thinking the hair is really slowing me down,” he added.
Trey stopped in his tracks. He knew some guys liked to shave before big meets at the end of the season, but during the first week of practice? And waxing? It sounded really painful.
“This place is supposed to be really good.” Reese pulled out a wrinkled pamphlet from his messenger bag and handed it to Trey. “The results last for up to four weeks without any stubble,” he explained, sounding like he was quoting the purple and pink paper in Trey’s hand. “It’s much better than shaving.”
“Don’t you mean much gayer th
an shaving?” Trey retorted. Using fruity products in the shower was one thing, but actually paying money for a service that sort of sounded like torture made him seriously uncomfortable.
“I’ll treat you,” Reese pleaded.
Trey paused. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do this afternoon, and hanging out with Reese would keep him from giving in and seeing Kat. God, being good was hard.
And being bad is so much more fun.
Trey rolled his eyes but found himself softening. “Okay, fine. But if you start waxing your eyebrows or getting facials, I’m gonna have to stage an intervention,” he said with a smirk. He glanced at Reese’s clear chestnut complexion and realized that he probably did get facials.
“Bro, this isn’t about upkeep, this is about swimming,” Reese protested, taking the flyer from Trey and putting it back into his bag as they walked south down Lexington.
“Whatever you say,” Trey agreed good-naturedly. He noticed two girls walking down the street wearing white polo Seaton Arms uniforms and elbowed Reese sharply.
“Great,” Reese nodded, smiling. He didn’t even notice the girls, who had paused on the other side of the street, waiting to cross.
Trey shook his head. He was hopeless.
“I made us appointments for three-thirty, so we should probably take a cab.” Reese stepped off the curb and boldly flagged one down. He gave the cabbie a Midtown address. Trey slid in beside him and looked at his arms thoughtfully. He had never really noticed his arm-hair before. It was thin and fine and pretty inoffensive.
“Here we are,” Reese announced five minutes later, sliding out of the cab and handing the driver a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered as they walked through the doors of the J. Sisters Salon.
“You have appointment?” A stern-looking woman in her sixties surveyed them. Her hair was pulled back so tightly her eyes looked as if they were going to pop out.
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