Flirting with Boys

by Hailey Abbott

  Celeste thought for a minute and then nodded. “I think that could work. You mean like see-through blue fabric, maybe, and, like, fancy waters all laid out somewhere?”

  “Yeah!” Nick said, leaping to his feet. “And we could get one of those clear dance floors that goes over the pool water.”

  “That would be awesome.” Celeste was catching some of his excitement.

  “Yeah, everyone would be, like, walking on water.” Nick reached out and grabbed Celeste around the waist, twirling her dangerously close to the pool.

  She gasped. His face seemed very close above hers and his arms were tight around her waist. She giggled. All of a sudden, her feet left the ground as he swept her up and tipped her backwards in an exaggerated dip. “Nick!” she yelled, still laughing. She faux-struggled to release herself and took a clumsy swing at his shoulder. He pulled her in tighter.

  “Ow! Is this how you always treat your dance partners?” He grinned, swinging her back up as if she weighed nothing at all and setting her on her feet. His arm stayed around her waist, and she felt his breath on her face. His teeth flashed very white against his tanned skin.

  Suddenly, Celeste saw a blur of white polo shirt out of the corner of her eye and just managed to yell, “Trav—” before the blur hit Nick across the back with blinding force.

  Nick let out a startled “ooof” and staggered before catching his balance. He straightened up just in time to catch Travis’s fist landing on his jaw. He reeled backwards, crashing into a lounge chair.

  “Travis, stop!” Celeste screamed, catching at her boyfriend’s arm, which felt like a bar of steel under her hands.

  Travis didn’t even look around. “I’m sick of this slime following you around and hitting on you all the time,” he yelled, his face red and shiny. “It’s ridiculous. He needs to go back to L.A., where he belongs.”

  By now, Nick had gotten to his feet and was standing in front of Travis, breathing heavily, his cheek showing the bright red mark of Travis’s fist. “Whatever, Celeste,” he said tightly, his eyes fixed on Travis. “If he wants to think I was hitting on you, then fine. Let’s do it. Let’s get all this out right now.” He clenched his hands.

  Travis turned and rushed Nick. The two fell to the deck, grappling with each other.

  “Stop! Stop right now!” Celeste screamed. “This is stupid!”

  Neither of them paid the least attention. They rolled over on the deck, dangerously near the edge of the pool, and Celeste saw Nick sock Travis in the eye before Travis grabbed Nick and rolled over again so that he was on top. Celeste could see what was about to happen. “No, Travis!” she screamed.

  He didn’t even seem to hear her. He drew his fist back.

  “What the hell is going on here?” a voice roared from behind Celeste.

  Celeste’s dad stood at the pool gate, his hands on his hips and his eyes blazing. Startled, Travis sent his punch awry, bouncing off Nick’s shoulder instead of his face. Nick saw Travis’s attention distracted and seized his chance. He threw his weight upward and grabbed Travis’s shirt, ripping it down the front. The two rolled over again—right into the pool.

  A huge splash soaked Mr. Tippen, the deck, and part of Celeste’s shirt. Travis and Nick surfaced immediately, staggering to regain their balance in the shallow end. Their hair was plastered to their heads, and Travis’s shirt was torn away from the collar, hanging around his neck by a few shreds like a ridiculous halter top. Nick’s cheek was already swelling up, making one half of his face look distinctly chipmunky.

  Celeste realized that she was still clutching an armload of folded towels. Shaking a little, she carefully set them down on top of the towel station, smoothing them out and lining up the edges, just as she had always been taught. She cast a furtive glance at the other guests and cringed. Everyone had put down their newspapers and magazines and was staring in horror and fascination. The dark-haired swimmer had stopped her laps. As Celeste watched, the woman cast the boys a disdainful glance. Then she climbed delicately from the pool and turned her back on the group, padding to the opposite end of the deck. Damn. This could be bad. Nothing like a good old bar brawl to really lend an air of class to the place.

  Mr. Tippen stood at the edge of the pool, his hands on his hips. He stared down at the boys with a gaze that could have fried an egg. For a moment that lasted about twenty years, he just stared in silence. Then he spoke.

  “Nick, I certainly will expect proper behavior from you this summer as a guest at Pinyon. Don’t let this sort of thing happen again. Travis and Celeste, I’ll see you both in my office in ten minutes.” With that, he spun on his heel and disappeared out the gate.

  Not looking at the two boys, Celeste collapsed slowly onto a lounge chair and rested her head on her knees. She must have been on crack earlier when she’d been thinking that everything might actually work out this summer—that Nick would behave himself, that Travis and Nick wouldn’t rip each other’s arms off, that her dad would actually see that Travis wasn’t the moron he thought. Celeste cradled her head in her arms. Yeah. Definitely not the summer she’d imagined.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For a minute, no one spoke. Celeste stared at the towels on the towel station. Then, with a giant heave, Nick climbed out of the pool. His white shirt clung to his chest and back, and his shorts hung heavy and dark with water. “Well, that was fun,” he said. “Maybe we can do again it sometime. See you around, Celeste,” he said, and sloshed away, leaving a line of puddles behind him.

  Celeste whirled around to face Travis, who was still standing in the waist-deep water. “What the hell were you doing?” she hissed. “Get out of the stupid pool—you look like an idiot.”

  Travis climbed from the water obediently. “Sorry about that, babe,” he said, looking down at his ruined T-shirt.

  “Yeah,” Celeste said. “You should be. Now you’re in huge trouble with my dad.”

  “But he was hitting on you,” Travis pleaded, taking a step toward Celeste. She stepped back.

  “Don’t touch me—you’re all wet. And he wasn’t hitting on me. He was talking about dancing for his party. It was what us grownups call a conversation. You’ll notice that I still have all my clothes on and that, even if he was hitting on me, I’m not exactly just going to start accidentally making out with him. A little trust might be nice.”

  “But—”

  “Whatever.” Celeste turned away disgustedly. “We better get over to the office. My dad’s waiting for you.”

  They gathered quite a few curious glances from guests as they headed toward the office, but Celeste was too upset to care. How could Travis do this? she thought furiously. Once again, he’d proven that he had no idea that his actions actually had consequences—for her or her family. He just did whatever he wanted all the time. The effect on her never entered his mind. Celeste cast a sidelong glance at her boyfriend as they walked along. His eye was swelling up and there was a long red mark across one cheek. He even looks like a thug, she thought bitterly.

  Travis pushed open the door of her dad’s office and the blast of air-conditioning hit them. Celeste shivered and followed him in.

  Her dad was tapping on the computer and didn’t look up. “Sit down,” he said, waving his hand in Travis’s direction. Travis sank onto a plastic and metal chair while Celeste nestled herself in a corner of the ugly, nubby plaid sofa and tried to be invisible.

  Mr. Tippen finished what he was typing and leaned back in his chair. He tapped a pen on his desk. Travis unconsciously straightened his back and clasped his hands between his knees like a little boy waiting to be called on in school.

  “Well, Mr. Helding,” Dad said. “It seems to me that you are one strike away from losing your job.”

  Celeste started up from the sofa and opened her mouth to protest, but her father glared at her and she fell back in silence.

  “Strike one, of course, was forfeited by stealing the golf cart in the first place. And, as I observed by the pool, you’ve just
used up strike two. That would leave one more strike and you’re gone from Pinyon.” Mr. Tippen’s voice rose slightly at the end of his last sentence and his grip on his pen tightened.

  Travis nodded. “Mr. Tippen—” he began.

  Celeste’s dad cut him off. “I am not finished speaking, Travis. Now, I recall that at the beginning of the summer I had a long conversation with your parents. And they made it perfectly clear to me that this debacle was to be entirely your responsibility. If you lose your job at Pinyon because of your own immaturity, you will be responsible for the rest of the golf cart damages yourself. And let me tell you, the value of golf cart is significantly higher than what an eighteen-year-old can earn in a single summer. I don’t think you’ll want to be burdened with that, do you?”

  “No, sir,” Travis mumbled, staring down at his knees.

  “Good.” Mr. Tippen stood up and Celeste couldn’t help thinking that he had really missed his calling when he went into resort management. He definitely should have been a high school principal instead. “Then I trust there will be no more problems like this.” His voice was frosty.

  “Yes, sir,” Travis said again, like a parrot.

  “And Celeste.” Her father turned his gaze on her and she cringed involuntarily. “I don’t know what part you had in all of this, and to be perfectly honest, I’d rather not know.”

  Celeste forced herself to keep looking him in the face. It wasn’t easy, since it felt like his eyes were boring holes in her head.

  “All I can do is remind you—again—that this family depends on the success of the resort, and that success depends on the happiness of our guests.” He leaned across the table and skewered her with another stare. “Including the Saunders family. See that you keep that in mind.”

  Celeste gulped and nodded. Her father waved his hand at them dismissively and turned back to his desk. Travis got up and shambled toward the door, Celeste trailing in his wake. She looked back at her father. He was already typing again on the computer. A quiet exit seemed like the best strategy.

  Out on the pathway, Celeste turned to Travis, her hands on her hips. His halter top/ripped shirt had dried somewhat but still looked totally stupid. “Look, Travis, we have to talk,” she said.

  He sighed noisily. “Don’t you think I’ve been bawled out enough for one day? I said I was sorry, remember? What do you want me to do, stab myself with hot needles? The little punk deserved it anyway.”

  A guest in a bathrobe was coming down the path. Celeste grabbed Travis’s arm and dragged him off to the side, behind a clump of azalea bushes. Stiff twigs poked her in the back. “Look,” she hissed. “Whatever I have to say, you deserve it. Your stupid temper got me in trouble, pissed off my dad, and possibly screwed up our family business. You heard my dad in there—it’s my job to laugh at Nick’s stupid jokes and listen to his stories. The Saunderses are our customers! Keeping them happy keeps us in business. So if you beat up their son, that makes them unhappy, get it?”

  A sulky look crossed Travis’s face. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Hey, listen, Ms. Pissy 2009, maybe you should be happy that I was trying to defend your honor. I mean, the guy was pawing you all over!”

  Celeste felt the blood rise in her temples and couldn’t resist actually stamping her foot. “Travis! You are so irritating! First of all, number one, Nick was not hitting on me, for the billionth time. He was talking about his party. And two”—she waved her fingers in his face—“that little piece of class down there in the pool was not about me or my honor. It was all about being a stupid guy and doing some sort of marking-your-territory thing, like some dog peeing on a fence. I am not your fence, Travis Helding, so don’t think you need to get all badass for me.” She stopped and took a deep breath. Her head was pounding. Travis opened his mouth as if to say something.

  “Shut up! I’m not done. Furthermore, it’s revolting that you think I actually need defending. I mean, wouldn’t you trust me to shut Nick down if he was really hitting on me?”

  Travis stood still a minute, his mouth hanging open. “Okay, fine,” he said carefully, as if talking to a dangerously deranged person. “Look, I’ll try not to let that little Saunders prick get under my skin, okay?” He laid a tentative hand on her arm.

  Celeste took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry I’m freaking out, but all I want is for us to have a good summer together. I really, really want to drive up to Tempe with you to help you move into school, and if you screw up, there’s no way my dad will let me. So just ignore Nick, okay? The summer’s almost half over anyway.”

  Travis nodded slowly. “Okay, babe. I’ll do my best—after all, I get to spend the summer with you, right?”

  Celeste let him hug her. “Thanks,” she said. Travis turned and pushed out of the bushes. But as she watched him trudge up the path, she had a feeling that the Travis-Nick saga was far from over.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Celeste!” Devon’s shrill voice zinged into Celeste’s ear. The door to her bedroom banged open, smacking the wall, and Devon bounded in. “Are you awake? Listen to this!” She plopped down on the side of Celeste’s bed.

  Celeste peeked one eye out of the covers. The room was golden with morning sunlight, and dust motes danced in a ray of sun across her bed. She groaned and squinted at the clock. “Devon, why are you here at”—she squinted again—“seven o’clock? Are you out of your mind?” She pulled the old quilt back over her head and closed her eyes. Devon jerked down the quilt. “Listen to this! Are you ready?”

  “Do I have any choice?”

  “Shut up! Just listen.” Devon cleared her throat and tossed her hair over one shoulder. “‘Dear Ms. Wright.’” She paused to take a self-referential bow. “That’s me. ‘Dear Ms. Wright. We are delighted to inform you that we have had an opening in the Thistlebottom School Summer Thespian Program in Aberdeen, Scotland. As you are first on the waiting list, we would like to offer you the spot. Please bring with you a passport, other photo identification, and a good wool sweater, as Aberdeen can be chilly even in the summer. We will expect your confirmation answer shortly. Sincerely, John MacArthur, Dean, Thistlebottom School Summer Thespian Program.’”

  Celeste looked down, fiddling with the quilt for a minute as she tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. It would’ve been really nice to get a letter like that from the Berkshires program. But who was she kidding? She wouldn’t have been able to accept it anyway. Celeste looked up. Devon was watching her expectantly. She swallowed hard and mustered an approximation of a happy smile.

  “That’s awesome!” Celeste cried, throwing her arms around her best friend. “Scotland will be so amazing. You’re going to come back even more of a drama queen than you are now. When do you leave?”

  Devon hesitated. “Well, I talked to the program secretary this morning and they want me there by Thursday.”

  Celeste’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you mean this Thursday? Today’s Tuesday!”

  Devon nodded. “I know. So I booked a flight to London that leaves tomorrow morning. I’ll spend the night there and then fly to Scotland the next day.” She looked up and did her best conflicted-emotions squint. “I feel horrible leaving you here!” she whispered.

  It would be hard facing the entire rest of the summer without Devon. She reminded herself that that was her problem, though, not Devon’s. If it was her going to the Berkshires, she’d want Devon to be happy for her, not make her feel guilty.

  Celeste hugged her friend again. “Oh my God, I’ll be totally fine! You’ll meet tons of yummy Scottish guys, and when you come back, we’ll have so much gossip to catch up on. And you have to bring me something amazing from Scotland as a present.” She lay back in bed and pulled the covers up again.

  Devon screwed up her face, thinking. “Like something plaid?”

  “Yeah. I guess they have a lot of that there,” Celeste agreed, rearranging her pillows under her head. “Plaid and…sheep, right?”

  “Right. And wool
scarves.” Devon picked one of Celeste’s bras off the floor and wrapped it around her neck like a muffler.

  “That’s a nice look on you.” Celeste laughed. “Okay, so maybe we’ll skip the present,” she said. “But you have to promise me not to feel guilty. Then I’ll just feel bad too.”

  “I promise,” Devon pledged, bouncing off the bed. “Okay, so I have to go talk to your dad. Oh, and Nick.”

  Celeste opened her mouth to ask why Devon had to talk to Nick, when she realized what her friend was saying. “Right, Nick,” she said slowly. “I forgot about that. You guys have been party planning nonstop, huh?”

  “Yeah, we have.” Devon paused with her hand on the doorknob. “I guess you’ll be in charge of that now.”

  “I guess so,” Celeste said, her mind whirling. Now she’d just have to explain to Travis that she’d be working with Nick, like, every day, for the rest of the summer. No problem.

  “Don’t worry,” Devon assured her. “I’m totally organized—I’ve got everything we’ve done so far in this big binder, with a list of all the stuff that needs to be done, and all the people we’ve talked to. It’ll be a breeze.” She banged out the door. Celeste could hear her start the “What’s in a name?” monologue from Romeo and Juliet on her way down the hall.

  Celeste scrubbed her face with her hands and tried to organize her thoughts. Okay. Working with Nick. It wouldn’t be so bad. True, he still tried to flirt with her at every available opportunity and didn’t seem to understand the potential he had to ruin her life, but they’d had a couple of good conversations too—enough for her to see that he was actually capable of treating her like a human being.

  Celeste threw back the covers and picked her way around her clothes-strewn floor to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and stared idly in the mirror as she waited for the water to heat up. And Travis. He might be okay too. He’d been on his best behavior ever since the fight with Nick. Maybe if she just explained to him again that her relationship with Nick was strictly business and that she had no choice in planning the party, he’d just relax and chill out, like he should have been doing all along.