“Uh…” Travis looked at the cop uncertainly.
“Well, we’ve got to hold him at the station until we can sort out what’s going on here and track down his buddies,” the cop said.
Travis looked over his shoulder as the cop hustled him toward the police cars at the curb. “Cel—will you come down to the station? I might need bail or something.”
Celeste managed to nod as she watched Travis’s bare butt cheeks make their way toward the cop car.
Celeste gripped her bag nervously as she approached the beige cinder-block police station on Palmetto Drive. Her palms were slippery with sweat. Taking a deep breath, she swung open the heavy glass door. It closed behind her with a bang. The place seemed very quiet after the traffic noise of the busy street. An odor of gym shoes and bologna sandwiches hung in the air. Behind a scarred wooden reception desk, a middle-aged cop with gray hair looked up from his newspaper. “Help you?” he inquired, peering over his reading glasses.
“Um, yes, I’m here to see Travis Helding?” Celeste tried to steady her voice. She could feel goose bumps rising on her arms from the arctic air-conditioning.
The desk officer glanced at a thick sheaf of papers on a clipboard. “Room two. Just go down the hall, second door on the left.”
“Thanks,” Celeste said, summoning her Pinyon-employee smile for the second time that day. She started down a long, fluorescent-lit, linoleum-covered hallway. Could this place be any more depressing? she thought, stopping to moisten her dry mouth at the water fountain and noting the wad of old chewing gum stuck in the drain.
The first thing she saw when she pushed opened the door to room two was Travis, minus the handcuffs and now wearing what looked like orange hospital scrubs, sitting at a table in the middle of the room. He raised his head toward Celeste as she entered and grinned, his usual confidence apparently restored. His eye was now shiny blue-black and almost swollen closed. Even sitting in an interrogation room, he looked adorable. Celeste shot him a worried look and only then noticed the array of people seated against the walls of the room: Mr. Ransick, Dr. Weaver, and—Celeste gulped—her own mom and dad. The police must have called them. A suffocating silence lay over the room, broken only by the ticking of a wall clock. Celeste tried to arrange her face in a pleasant, serious, yet charming expression, but she knew she just looked vaguely stupid instead.
Meekly, Celeste crept over and took the seat next to her mom. She arranged her bag in her lap. Only then did she peek sideways at her parents. Her mom was shaking her head slowly back and forth with her lips pressed together, but her father…Celeste gulped inaudibly. Mr. Tippen’s heavy dark eyebrows were drawn together, almost down to his nose, and his face was bright red.
Celeste stared straight ahead at the clock. Twelve fifty-five. After thirty seconds, she slid her eyes over toward her father. He caught her glance. “Hurrrrmm,” he rumbled in his throat. It sounded like a diesel engine echoing against the cement walls.
Celeste looked at the floor. She’d helped Travis get out of trouble before, but that had been for stupid things like ditching study hall and letting the biology frogs out of their aquariums. Nothing that had involved actual law enforcement.
The wall clock ticked deafeningly. Twelve fifty-seven. The door flew open and everyone jumped. The mustached cop who had been at the school came in.
“Okay, everybody, I’m Officer Collins,” he said, looking up from a clipboard of papers. Everyone sat up straighter, even Dr. Weaver. Travis folded his hands on the table in front of him.
Officer Collins seated himself at the table across from Travis, his heavy leather belt creaking with importance, and flipped through a few pages on his clipboard.
“Uh, let’s see…” He squinted at some type and read in a monotone: “Travis Jason Helding, eighteen, charged with disorderly conduct, destruction of property and”—Officer Collins looked over at Mr. Tippen—“theft. I guess that was your golf cart, sir.”
Celeste’s father nodded grimly and tightened his arms over his chest. Travis’s face was perfectly blank. He might as well have been listening to a lecture in class. Remorse! Think remorse! Celeste tried to mentally telegraph him.
Collins flipped to a blank form and poised a pen over it. “Okay, which of you is Dr. Weaver?”
“I am,” Dr. Weaver said.
“All right, this young man is a student of yours?”
Dr. Weaver started to nod and then stopped. “Actually,” he said after a pause, “he’s not anymore. The diplomas are officially issued the day before the commencement exercises, which are merely a ceremony meant to—”
“Fine.” The cop cut Weaver off. “So, you won’t be expelling him?”
Mr. Ransick shrugged irritably. The skin on his neck looked redder than ever. “There’s nothing we can do. It’ll have to be up to the police.” He looked hopefully at the cop.
Collins sighed. He turned to Celeste’s father. “All right. Ah…” He glanced at his papers again. “Mr. and Mrs. Tippen. The golf cart was stolen from your property, the Pinyon Ranch. Would you like to press charges?” He looked at them expectantly.
Mr. Tippen opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, Celeste leaped up from her seat, startling everyone in the room. “Dad!” she said, more loudly than she’d intended. All heads swiveled toward her. Collins rolled his eyes. “Can I talk to you outside for just a second?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Great, thanks, we’ll be right back, everyone.” Everyone was staring at her. She flashed the room a toothy smile and grabbed her father by the arm, pulling him toward the door.
Outside in the hallway, Celeste faced her father. The fluorescent lights overhead glowed harshly, making him look old and tired. “What is it, Celeste?” he asked.
“Dad,” she began, “I know Travis was an idiot. Obviously.” She carefully avoided the words stole and criminal. “But it was just a stupid senior prank. Please don’t press charges! This is your own daughter’s boyfriend!” Celeste clasped her hands together in front of her chest and tried to make her eyes as big as possible.
Her father sighed, rubbing his brown hair. “You know I’ve never particularly liked Travis. But I trust you, and I know you care about him. But now this…”
“Dad, come on—didn’t you ever do anything stupid when you were young? Should you have gone to jail for it, really?”
Her dad’s face softened for a moment. A small smile played across his face and she knew there was an opening. A teeny, tiny opening.
“See! Everyone does dumb things. Um—what if you think up some other punishment for Travis? Would that be okay?” Celeste resisted the urge to bounce up and down on her tiptoes.
Her father sighed. “All right, fine. You win. But”—he held up his finger as Celeste started to fling her arms around him—“he’s still going to have to pay us back.”
“Oh, I know.” Celeste kissed her father on the cheek. “Thank you, thank you!”
Inside the room, everyone still looked like they were waiting for a funeral to start. Celeste tried to give Travis a thumbs-up sign with her eyes before hurrying back to her seat.
Her dad leaned over and whispered to her mother for a few seconds. “We’ve decided not to press charges for the theft of the golf cart,” Mr. Tippen said aloud. Travis exhaled audibly and slumped back in his chair. “Instead, Travis will spend the summer working at the resort to pay off the damage. Three months of labor should take care of the cost.”
Celeste couldn’t stop her eyes from widening in excitement.
What? Travis at the resort? All summer? Celeste resisted the urge to leap onto the table and thank her dad all over again. Her father thought this was a punishment?
Travis made a strangled little noise and opened his mouth as if to protest. Celeste waved her hands at him frantically. Shut up! Shut up! she mouthed. He must have gotten the message, because he closed his mouth and aimed a feeble smile in the direction of her parents.
“Okay!” Collins stood up and ta
pped his papers into a neat rectangle. “Well, then, that’s settled.” He looked at Travis severely. “Mr. Helding, I never want to see you back here again.”
“Yes, officer,” Travis croaked as everyone stood up with a loud scraping of chairs. Dr. Weaver and Mr. Ransick nodded at Celeste’s parents and quickly started down the hallway, leaving Celeste trailing behind with Travis.
He leaned close to her and she caught a whiff of his Acqua di Parma aftershave. Even here, even with him wearing those ridiculous orange scrubs, knowing there was a purple thong underneath, she still wanted to throw herself at him.
“This sucks!” Travis whispered fiercely.
“I know,” Celeste said automatically. Then she realized what he’d said. “Wait a minute—what do you mean, this sucks? You’re going to be at the resort this summer. I won’t have to drive up to the beach every weekend. We can be together!”
Up ahead, Celeste saw her father turn around. She dropped Travis’s hand as if it were on fire and switched on her innocent, daughterly smile. Her father turned back forward and she grabbed Travis’s hand again.
“Yeah,” Travis muttered. “Working for free.”
Celeste stopped walking. “Are you serious? You’re not the tiniest bit happy you’re going to see me all summer?” Her voice rose slightly and she saw her father hesitate. “I mean, that was a really rotten trick you pulled, Travis. How could you just destroy my family’s property like that?” she said loudly. Her father started walking again.
Travis looked confused for a second and then draped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side as they walked. “Look, I just have to get used to the idea, babe,” he soothed her. “That’s all.” They had reached the glass doors to the outside. Celeste could see her parents getting into their old Volvo.
Celeste felt exhausted all of a sudden. She leaned her head against Travis’s shoulder and looked up at his face.
“You’re feeling bad about this summer, aren’t you?” she said. She tried not to sound like she was accusing him of something.
“Nooo…” Travis said. He gazed at an auto body shop across the street. “I’m just figuring out how I’m going to tell Steve at the surf school that I’m basically under house arrest all summer.”
“It’s all right. Just tell him you got arrested for stealing a golf cart and doing a conga dance in a little purple thong. He’ll totally understand,” Celeste teased, lifting her head.
Travis snorted. “Thanks, babe. See, this is why I love you. You’re so sweet.”
He leaned in and pulled her toward him, his hand on the back of her neck. His stubble rasped against her face when he kissed her.
She and Travis together at the resort all summer…That prank might have been stupid, but it might also turn out to be just about the best thing to happen to their relationship.
Chapter Three
After spending graduation day party-hopping, Travis drove his purring BMW up to the darkened entrance of Pinyon to drop off Celeste and Devon. Two spotlights illuminated the low sandstone sign as Devon hopped out of the backseat.
“I’ll give you kids a minute to say good night. See you up at the house, Celeste.” Devon pranced up the drive barefoot, dangling her shoes in her hand.
The scent of the azalea bushes wafted into the car like thick perfume. Beyond the entrance, Celeste could see the bulk of the main building and the smaller shadows of the guesthouses as Devon skipped away from the car. Warm yellow lights glowed from the main building windows, which were open to catch the night air. A burst of jazz music floated down to them on the breeze. A trio always played in the lounge until two, for the guests who liked to relax with their drinks.
Celeste could just make out Travis’s face. His dark eyes seemed huge. The lights from the dashboard illuminated his high, flat cheekbones. She leaned over the gearshift and pressed herself against him. A wave of warmth spread over her body as he pushed his hand under the hair at the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and felt his lips press against hers.
“I’m so glad you’re working here this summer,” she murmured.
“If the whole summer’s going to be like this, I am too.” His voice rasped in the darkness.
“Call me tomorrow?”
“Of course,” he said, pulling her toward him for one last kiss.
Celeste waved to him from the entrance. The sleek metal gate slid shut behind her as she turned up the path toward the main building. She felt limp with exhaustion but content. For a day that had started off so completely terrible, it had turned out perfectly. Now she and Travis and Devon would be hanging out all summer long. Considering how not fun she’d expected the next three months to be, it kind of felt like she’d been handed an unexpected gift.
Celeste pressed the heels of her hands to her face as she walked toward her parents’ bungalow. Her cheeks were hot and she wondered if she was sunburned or still recovering from that nice little goodbye in Travis’s car.
She pushed through the fence that surrounded the pool area. The surface of the water shimmered like a long sheet of turquoise silk, glowing with the yellow lights that lit it from underneath. All around the smooth teak patio, lounge chairs with white terry-cloth cushions stood ready, waiting for the next day’s round of sunbathers and swimmers. At dawn, the pool attendants would place a fresh folded towel on each chair.
She followed the stone path around a clump of tall cypresses to the staff quarters, which included her parents’ house. Celeste had lived in the little gray-painted bungalow since she was four years old, when her parents bought the resort. She had occasionally asked her dad why they couldn’t move to a bigger place, but he always said that it was essential they live on the premises—he had to be available at all times in case there was a problem. Besides, he said, they worked for the resort just like everyone else. There was no need for them to live differently than the rest of the staff. Celeste still didn’t see why she had to sleep in a room approximately the size of a shoe box until she went to college.
Her parents’ bedroom window was dark, but they had left the porch light on. Celeste spotted Devon by the front door and held her finger to her lips. She eased the door open and the girls crossed the front hall, both careful to avoid the board in front of the coat closet that always creaked. The line under her parents’ door remained black. With a sigh of relief, Celeste quietly shut the door to her room and fell on the bed. It wasn’t like she had a curfew or anything, but if Dad woke up, he would come in and start going on about all the stuff she had to do tomorrow, and that was really the last thing she wanted to think about now. She just wanted to lie there and think about Travis’s lips and his arms around her in the car. Celeste closed her eyes. Travis floated in front of her again.
Her musings were interrupted by Devon shivering.
“Can I borrow a sweatshirt?” In her silver minidress and slightly smudged smoky eye makeup, Devon resembled a cross between Victoria Beckham and Kurt Cobain. “You macked on your boyfriend for so long the wind made my buns feel like ice cubes.”
“Hey, we could’ve dropped you off at home. You didn’t have to sleep over.” Celeste climbed out of bed. She stuffed her feet into a pair of furry moose bedroom slippers. Then she turned and gave her best friend a playful pat on the head. “But obviously I’m glad you did.”
As soon as Celeste was up, Devon began burrowing under the comforter. “Mmm, it’s so nice and warm in here.” She closed her eyes and pulled the blanket up over her shoulder. Her face, with its mascara-ringed eyes and wild black hair, looked like that of a giant raccoon peering out from under the covers.
As Celeste stepped over Devon’s discarded pink platforms, she noticed a piece of paper under them. She picked it up and groaned internally when she recognized her father’s handwriting. The usual morning instructions. Dad must have pushed it under her door earlier in the evening. “Goodbye, carefree summer,” she muttered to herself as she opened the sheet of scrap paper.
Celeste sat on the edg
e of the bed. “Move over,” she said to Devon, who was already making little snoring noises.
“Mmmmm,” her friend replied. She moved her leg a half-inch to the right.
Celeste lay back and scanned the note. Celeste Tippen and Devon Wright: Instructions for Monday, June 20, the heading said. Her dad had such a warm and fuzzy way about him. She read on. Celeste: (1) Check and refill all towel stations with new Ralph Lauren towels. (2) Prep all cabanas: Evian spritzer bottles, water pitchers, Kiehl’s sunscreen samples. (3) Prep for Saunders family arrival: check guesthouse, deliver fruit basket, greet car 10:30 a.m.
Celeste bolted upright on the bed and let out a strangled squeak, like a mouse that had been stepped on. The note fluttered out of her limp hand onto the floor. “Devon!” she croaked in a strangled voice. “Devon, wake up! I’m in huge, giant trouble!”
“Mmmrrr?” Devon pushed open one eyelid. “What is it?” she muttered. “Have you been caught being criminally responsible again?”
Celeste shook her friend’s shoulder. “Be serious! This is a major crisis!”
Devon rolled over onto her stomach. “Is it a major crisis that can wait until morning?” She pushed her face into the pillow.
“Nick Saunders!” Celeste stage-whispered. She kept an eye on the crack underneath her door. Still no lights came on.
“Who?” Devon peeked at Celeste with one eye.
“Nick Saunders! Remember, that guy who stays here every summer?”
“Kind of. Is he the one who’s always bugging you to get him things?”
“Yeah, that’s him. His family’s from L.A.—his dad is some sort of big-time movie producer or something. Anyway, they’re filthy rich and Nick totally knows it. He’s always asking me to, like, get him this one special cheese sandwich from a place twenty-five miles away, and make sure it’s on only white bread, extra mayonnaise—stuff like that.”
“Riiiiight…I remember him now,” Devon said. She propped herself up on her elbows. “Wait, hang on, didn’t something happen with you and him last summer?”
Flirting with Boys Page 2