Something Borrowed

by Catherine Hapka

  “I’m sure she’ll figure it out.” Mom saw her escape, and she wasn’t about to miss her chance. “Come on, Edward. It’s been a long day—let’s get to bed.”

  They fled the scene, leaving me alone with Cuckoo Camille. She was still glaring at me, as if daring me to make things even worse.

  “Okey-doke,” I said, planting myself in the computer chair. “Let’s just see what we’ve got here. . . .”

  But ten or fifteen minutes of fiddling didn’t yield any promising results. Meanwhile, Camille was pacing again, occasionally muttering under her breath. Every time I shot a peek at her, she looked more upset. It was time for a new idea.

  Luckily I had one. “I know who might be able to help us,” I announced cheerfully after the umpteenth error message. “Jason! He’s some kind of computer genius. Apparently.”

  “Jason who?” Camille asked.

  There was a phone on the desk by the computer. I grabbed it and fished out my unblack book to look up the number for Jason’s cell. “Jason, as in Teresa’s Jason,” I told Camille. “I’ll call him right now—he and Teresa are probably still up making out since this is their last Friday night together before she leaves next week.”

  “Him?” She sounded dubious. “You mean that weird guy who’s always making jokes? Are you sure he knows about Web stuff?”

  “Hey, it’s worth a shot, right?” I put the phone to my ear and waited. One ring, two, three . . . I shook my head and smiled, sending a silent apology to Teresa for interrupting whatever was going on.

  Just when I thought it was going to go to voice mail, someone finally picked up. “Mmmflo?” a drowsy voice mumbled.

  I blinked, taken by surprise. “Uh, Jason?” I said. “Hi, it’s Ava. Did I—did I wake you or something?”

  There was a long pause. “What time is it?” I heard some shuffling and shifting noises in the background. “Whoa—it’s after midnight. What’s wrong?” Jason added, suddenly sounding more awake. “Are you hurt? Is it Teresa? Did something happen?”

  “No, no, everything’s okay,” I said hastily, trying not to notice Camille giving me the Look of Death. I could practically read the thought bubble over her head: Everything is NOT okay! Waaaah! Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was 12:20. “Sorry, guess I didn’t realize it was quite this late.”

  “Oh. Well, why are you calling?”

  I was pretty embarrassed about waking him up. Okay, maybe it was a little late to be calling according to strict Miss Manners–type conventions. But it was hardly the crack of o’dark thirty, either. How was I supposed to predict that a healthy college boy would be in bed so early, especially on his last weekend with his girlfriend for quite a while? Anyway, he was awake now—I figured I might as well plow ahead with my question.

  “It’s about Camille’s wedding website. . . .” I filled him in on the problem.

  “Hold on a sec,” he said. “Let me log on and see what I can do.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What is it?” Camille hissed, leaning closer. “Does he know what’s wrong?”

  “Chill. He’s checking now.”

  Camille isn’t very good at chilling. But she did her best. She returned to pacing, only occasionally stopping to stare woefully at the computer screen or check her watch.

  A few minutes later Jason came back on the phone. “Got it,” he said, sounding fully awake by now and rather pleased with himself. “Try reloading it now. It should be working again.”

  “Cool. Let me check.” I hit the refresh button. A second later the site popped up looking completely normal. Well, as normal as a floral-bordered wedding website with a big photo of Camille and Boring Bob on the home page can ever look.

  “It’s back!” Camille shrieked loudly enough to wake not only our parents, but half the neighborhood as well. “Oh my God, it’s working again! Thank you, thank you!”

  “Did you get that?” I said into the phone. “Camille says thanks.”

  “No problem.” I could practically hear Jason smiling through the phone. “Glad to be of service.”

  I hung up. “He says you’re welcome,” I said, vacating the chair so Camille could sit down.

  She leaned over the keyboard. “This is awesome. I can’t believe he fixed it so quickly. I should’ve just hired him to do it in the first place instead of that moron.” She sounded relieved and much, much calmer than she had been just thirty seconds earlier. That was Camille for you. She can go from total hysteria to placid happiness and back again in 0.5 seconds.

  “Yeah, maybe you should have,” I said. “Teresa says he’s great with all that computer stuff.”

  She paused in her keyboarding and glanced up at me. “You know, it’s too bad Jason is already dating your best friend. He’d probably be a better wedding date for you than whatever secret wacko you have lined up.”

  “Me and Jason? You mean the same guy you called a weirdo a few minutes ago? Yeah, right.”

  I felt a flash of annoyance. But I wasn’t sure whether it had to do with the crazy idea of me on any kind of date with Jason or if it was just guilt about the way I’d been gleefully imagining Oliver disrupting the oh-so-tasteful ambiance of the wedding.

  Either way, it was too late to figure it out. I excused myself, leaving Camille bent over the computer, and went to bed.

  Nine

  “What’s this thing? Is it coming with you?” I held up a funky-looking metal thingy with leather straps attached. It looked like a medieval torture device. Or maybe something Oliver might wear onstage.

  Teresa grabbed it from me and tossed it into the other side of her tack trunk. “That’s a cribbing collar,” she said. “It stays here.”

  “Whatever.” I was spending the afternoon at the barn helping Teresa pack up for her big trip. She was leaving in six days, and I knew for a fact that she hadn’t even started figuring out what clothes to bring. That was typical. For Teresa horses always came first. She’d been that way since we were kids.

  I wasn’t particularly into horses myself. Like I said, they made me a little nervous. But at the moment they were all out in the pastures, and I had to admit it was sort of pleasant hanging out in the quiet, hay-scented barn. It was another hot, sunny day outside, but in there everything was sort of dim and sleepy. Even the dust mites floating in the sunbeams coming through the small barn windows seemed sort of lazy.

  Teresa grabbed a brush and started pulling horse hair out of it with her fingers. “Hey, I almost forgot,” she said. “I ran into Andy at the movie theater last night.”

  I perked up at that. “Andy? You mean my Andy?”

  “Uh-huh.” She shot me a glance. “He was there with his brother. We had a nice little chat. And guess what? Andy definitely doesn’t have a girlfriend right now.”

  “Cool!” All along I’d been assuming that his wedding date with Mariella Farley was just a date of convenience, and I’d hoped that the fact he was willing to go with her meant he didn’t have anyone serious back at school. But I hadn’t been sure—until now. Good old Teresa! She had to be the best wingman ever. “I hope Mariella lets go of him long enough for me to have a dance or two at the wedding.”

  Teresa raised an eyebrow at me. “What about Oliver?”

  “Oliver’s cool.” I smiled, thinking back on the previous night’s date. “But I have no idea yet how serious things might get with us. So why not keep my options open for now?”

  Teresa laughed. “Ava, you’re hopeless!”

  “What?” I pretended to be insulted. “Just because I haven’t found my soulmate already like you have, you’re going to kick me while I’m down?”

  “Very funny.” Teresa stood up and hurried down the aisle, disappearing into the tack room.

  I went back to picking through the mystifying array of stuff in her trunk. As many of her riding lessons as I’d watched and as many of her shows as I’d attended, I still had no clue what most of the stuff was for.

  Just then my cell phone rang. I dropped the leather stra
ppy thingy I was holding and fished the phone out of my pocket. It was Camille.

  “It’s the website,” she said tersely. “It went down again. You have to call your friend Jason and ask him what I do now.”

  “He’s not technically my friend,” I said.

  “Don’t start with me, Ava!” she warned. As usual, she sounded a bit on edge. Or possibly over the edge. It was sometimes hard to tell. “I need you to call him!”

  “I’m a little busy right now.” I rolled my eyes dramatically at Teresa, who had just returned carrying a bridle or something. “How about if I give you his number and you can call him directly?”

  “Fine, whatever.”

  For once I almost felt bad for Jason. He might be kind of annoying sometimes, but nobody deserved having Crazy Camille sicced on them. Still, better him than me, I decided as I looked up his cell phone number and recited it to her.

  When I hung up, Teresa shot me a curious glance. “Why does Camille need to talk to Jason?” she asked.

  “The site is down again. I figured it was easier just to hook them up directly than try to translate Bridalese into English.”

  “The site?”

  My stomach did a weird little lurch as I realized Teresa had no idea what I was talking about. “Didn’t Jason tell you about that?” I said. “Camille and I called him last night for help with her wedding website.”

  Teresa shrugged. “No, I haven’t talked to him today.”

  “Oh.” I felt a bit awkward. Was it weird that I’d had some midnight chat with her boyfriend and she didn’t even know about it?

  Before I could figure it out, I heard the clatter of hooves at the end of the aisle. I glanced over, mostly to see if I needed to move to avoid being trampled.

  Then I did a double take. It wasn’t because of the horse; it had four legs and a long face just like every other horse I’d ever seen. But the guy leading it in was definitely not just another guy—he was gorgeous!

  “Who. Is. That?” I hissed at Teresa. “And where in the world have you been hiding him?”

  She glanced over. “Oh, that’s Kwan,” she said. “He’s new.”

  “Tasty,” I murmured. Kwan hadn’t noticed us yet, which gave me the perfect opportunity to check him out as he fussed around attaching his horse to the cross ties at that end of the aisle. “So, what’s his story?”

  “He’s a really good rider,” Teresa replied, reaching into her tack trunk for something. “He does three-day eventing, and his coach thinks he and his horse have a really good chance of moving up to prelim by the end of the season, and—”

  “Teresa!” I said. “Think about who you’re talking to here.” I’d always been Teresa’s most enthusiastic and loyal fan when it came to cheering on her riding, but I still didn’t understand all the lingo. Besides, Kwan’s skill in the saddle was definitely not what I was interested in at the moment.

  She straightened up and glanced at me. “Oh. Right.” She shrugged. “As far as I know, he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Excellent. How about introducing me?”

  Teresa sighed. But she knew better than to bother arguing. “Yo, Kwan!” she called, heading toward him with me right beside her. “How was your ride today?”

  Kwan had been completely focused on taking off his horse’s saddle. But now he glanced over at us. His face, which had been all business, was completely transformed by a dazzling smile.

  “Hey, Teresa,” he said. “It was good, thanks. . . .”

  He continued talking, slipping into some sort of horse-related mumbo jumbo about jumps and strides and stuff. I wasn’t really listening, being too overwhelmed by the fact that he was even cuter up close. He had symmetrical Asian features and spiky but still soft-looking black hair. His lean, muscular legs were encased in beige breeches and a pair of well-worn leather boots. He wasn’t particularly tall, probably about Teresa’s height, but he looked superfit.

  After standing there politely for a while listening to the horse chat, I cleared my throat and elbowed Teresa. “Oh!” she said. “Sorry. Kwan, this is my friend Ava Hamilton. Ava, this is Kwan.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ava. Hamilton?” Kwan said quizzically as he ducked under the cross tie and stuck out his hand. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

  I shook his hand. “I don’t know. I’m sure we’ve never met before—I would definitely remember.”

  My flirtatious comment appeared to fly right over his head. He had a thoughtful look on his face, obviously trying to puzzle out the connection. Nice. I liked smart, thoughtful guys.

  “So you do the horse-jumping thing, huh, Kwan?” I commented.

  Teresa rolled her eyes. “Ava isn’t really a horse person,” she told him.

  “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed, seemingly unaware of what we’d just said. “Hamilton—are you related to Camille Hamilton?”

  “Yeah, she’s my older sister,” I said. “Do you know her?”

  He smiled, seeming quite pleased with himself for solving the mystery. “I’ve never met her,” he said, stepping back to give his horse a pat on the neck. “But I’m going to her wedding next weekend.”

  What a surprise. Only not. “Oh,” I said. “Are you a friend of the groom?” If he turned out to be one of Boring Bob’s best boring buddies, even being superhot might not be enough to redeem him.

  “No, I’ve never met him, either.” Kwan shrugged. “A girl here at the barn is going and asked me to come as her date. Ashley Weiss,” he added, with a glance at Teresa. Then he returned his smile to me. “Small world, huh?”

  “The smallest.” I knew Ashley Weiss, sort of. Her dad and mine played golf together, she’d taken piano lessons with Camille for a while, and she spent every summer working part-time at Teresa’s barn.

  “Well, we’d better let you finish getting him untacked and cooled out.” Teresa nodded toward the horse. “Come on, Ava.”

  “Great to meet you, Kwan,” I called as she dragged me off down the aisle.

  “Same here. I’ll see you around, Ava.”

  “Definitely.”

  Back at her trunk, Teresa grabbed some smelly saddle pads and shoved them into my arms. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go wash these.”

  She grabbed a few more pads and some cloth bandages, then led the way to the stable office, which was deserted. There was a washing machine in the back room, and we soon had her stuff loaded in.

  “So what did you think of Kwan?” Teresa asked as she dumped in some detergent. “I probably should have thought of him the other day when you were desperate for a wedding date. I didn’t know he was already going.”

  “Do you think it’s a real date?” I asked. “Him and Ashley, I mean.”

  She turned on the washer and turned to me with a smile. “I doubt it, Ms. Short Attention Span,” she said. “Maybe you need to add Kwan to your dance schedule along with Oliver and Andy.”

  I stuck out my tongue at her. “Maybe I will,” I said. “You know, I’m starting to think Lance did me a big favor by dumping me. Because Pink Horror and Crackpot Camille aside, this wedding is starting to look like a lot more fun than I ever would have expected!”

  Ten

  “Everything’s going great, Mom,” I said. “Why don’t you go get yourself a drink and relax?”

  “Thanks, Ava. Maybe I should do that.” Still, she kept compulsively smoothing out the miniscule wrinkles in the linen tablecloth spread on one of the folding tables under the wisteria arbor.

  I sighed, knowing it was hopeless. Mom was a great hostess—everyone said so—but she never really enjoyed her own parties until they were over. At least it was easy to tell where Camille had come by her OCD tendencies.

  “Okay. I’m going to hang out with Teresa,” I said. “Call me if you need me.”

  The backyard pool-party barbecue was in full swing. The place looked great—very tasteful, if perhaps slightly boring. In other words, perfect for Camille. Sprays of pink and white lilies decorated the white-dres
sed tables. Various friends and relatives were chatting and laughing and nibbling at an impressive range of hors d’ouevres. Camille was perched on a stool near the lilac bush talking with some friends. Bob was over near the bar nodding and smiling at one of my uncle Phil’s meandering stories and pretending not to notice that Phil’s gin and tonic was sloshing out of his glass as he waved his hands around. Dad was holding court over at his fancy new Weber grill, looking more cheerful than I’d seen him in a while. The scents of chlorine, sizzling shrimp, and alcohol mingled in a surprisingly pleasant way on the soft summer breeze. The weather was perfect, and several of my youngest relatives were already shouting and splashing one another in the pool.

  Teresa and Jason were perched on a chaise lounge in the shade of a large potted palm. I wandered over.

  “Is Oliver here yet?” Teresa asked, squinting and shading her eyes as she looked up at me. She looked downright gorgeous in a red bathing suit, black shorts, and a gauzy white button-down overshirt.

  “Not yet.” I grabbed Jason’s arm and checked his watch. He had dressed for the occasion too, in preppy navy-blue swim trunks and a crisp white polo. “He should be here any minute now.”

  “Uh-oh.” Jason pretended to look concerned as he yanked his arm back. “I hope you don’t get stood up.” He smirked. “Again.”

  Deciding not to dignify that with a response, I busied myself adjusting the front tie on my silver-studded black bikini top. I had dressed carefully that morning, trying to strike a balance between dutiful Main Line daughter and rebellious rock chick. I’d settled for olive cargo shorts, metallic silver flip flops and the black bikini, which I’d scored at a clearance sale at a funky little shop in Philly the previous summer but never worn until now.

  When I looked up, I caught Jason staring. I blushed, realizing I was getting a little careless around him. He might be Teresa’s boyfriend, but he was still a guy. Seeing me in those SpongeBob underpants had been bad enough, and here I was practically flashing him right in front of his face. . . .

  I was distracted from such thoughts by a commotion from near the gate leading in from the driveway. Glancing over there, I smiled.