He breathes in deeply. Every move he makes is utterly fascinating and effortless.
“You remind me of my boss in some ways.”
“Why, is he devastatingly handsome?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Oh. So when are you quitting this job? I can’t take the competition.”
“I wouldn’t call him competition. He calls me ‘jail bait.’”
“An older man. More opposition. I do not like this,” he says in a thick Spanish accent.
“You use that accent at will, don’t you?”
He raises his brow. “When it suits me, maybe.”
“I’m not worthy, so save yourself the effort.” I stand up and pat him on the knee. “The guests are going to be here any minute. I have to get dressed. Thanks for the offer, Max.”
“The dreaded knee pat.” He throws the back of his hand to his forehead. But then he stands up and turns somber. “I can’t let you stay here, Daisy. If you do, I’m going to have to call the police.”
I laugh. “The police? It’s not illegal to have a party, Max. We’re not serving any alcohol. I promise.”
“Roofies are illegal.”
“What’s that? Some kind of candy?”
“Roofies are a fact you don’t know, huh?” he says. “Interesting.”
“Max, you’re scaring me. Why are you so serious? What are you talking about?”
He takes my hands in his, which have perfect structure as well. “Everyone at school thinks I’m Mexican, right?”
“I guess.”
“Rohypnol. It’s a date-rape drug you can buy in Mexico. ‘Roofie’ for short.”
I want my daddy.
“Max, there aren’t going to be any drugs here. We’re not even drinking. I’m a good girl.”
“I know that. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here. But Chase Doogle asked me if I could get some from ‘back home.’ I assumed he meant Mexico and asked a few questions.”
“Chase would never do that.” I laugh more for myself than Max. “Chase’s whole future rides on clean living. You must have heard him wrong.”
“I followed him. I’ve seen him with only two girls: Amber Richardson and you.” He clears his throat. “Amber seems to make it clear that she’s available without pharmaceutical help, so I can only assume—” He looks at my purity ring.
I pull my hands away. “I don’t believe you. I’ve known Chase my whole life! He would never do such a thing. You’re just jealous.”
“I am jealous. You’ve known Chase? Or this version of Chase you’ve created?”
“Stop it. Stop your lying! Why would you do this?”
“I gave him an unmarked Excedrin. If he does try anything, you’ll be safe.”
I step into the house, slam the door, and lock it behind me.
“Who’s that on the porch?” Claire asks as she descends the stairs.
I’m shaking. “Your boss.”
“What’s he doing here? I didn’t invite him early.” She tries to see through the glass. “Why don’t you let him in?”
“He says he—never mind. You look beautiful, Claire.”
She’s wearing an LBD (you know, the standard little black dress) with a V-neck lined in silver beading. She has a matching silver headband and a strand of long pearls. “You look like a stunning flapper. The twenties never looked so good.”
“It’s chiffon.” She swivels back and forth so I can see her slender frame. “It feels like heaven. I have to stay away from the barbecue, though, so I don’t smell like smoke.” She looks out the door. “He’s still there. I’ll just let him in.”
“Don’t!” I say, guarding the door. “I don’t think he’s going away.”
“Come on, let’s get you dressed. I bought you some temporary blonde highlights for tonight.”
“You did?”
She nods. “And a little tiara to go with your dress.”
“My dress? I was just going to wear my new jeans and a peasant shirt. What, do I have a fairy godmother tonight?” “You do,” she says as she starts back up the stairs.
“Claire?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think Chase would ever try anything funny?”
“Well, I hope so. What’s this party about anyway?”
“No, I mean, do you think if a girl said no, he’d take that for her answer?”
She stops on the landing. “No to a kiss, or no to something more? Is this about Greg? Look, I know he has a little pyro fetish, but I assure you, he’s a complete gentleman. Nothing has ever happened that I should be ashamed of.” She looks me squarely in the eye. “Really. He’s kissed me, and I’ve kissed him back, but his parents were home, and he hasn’t touched me here. Says it’s too dangerous.”
“What about Max? Is he what you’d consider honest? Aboveboard?”
“For a Don Juan, he’s great.” She laughs. “If my father found out I was hosting an Argentine, he’d go ballistic. You know, my father’s English. You hear about their soccer rivalry? That’s like high treason in this household.”
“Yeah. Yeah, their teams don’t like each other, I get it.”
“The Hand of God play in soccer? Where they stole the World Cup?”
“Oh my gosh, that’s right,” I say with a sick recognition. “The illegal handball that gave Argentina an unpenalized goal and, ultimately, the World Cup. It’s soccer legend.”
“And it’s our funeral if he comes here in a soccer jersey. But I wouldn’t hold even that over Max. He’s a peach.” She leads me into her bedroom and pulls out a bright pink paisley minidress.
“Oh my goodness, it’s gorgeous.” I reach out to touch the divine dress. “I don’t think my mother has ever touched this fabric before in her life. Can you imagine if she designed dresses like this? I’d be the most popular girl in school.” I drop the skirt. “Okay, well, maybe not the most unpopular anyway.”
“The color is flamingo. I thought that was a sign. It’s a Badgley Mischka halter dress. It will totally make you look like you have boobs.” She points to the empire waist. “And look at the Victorian brooch in the antique platinum color. Isn’t it perfect? It’s so old Hollywood. Perfect for you.”
“It is perfect for me, but I’m paying you for it. What do I owe you?”
“I’m not taking your money. You need it for college. I’ve hired a photographer for tonight, and just in case Chase decides to go on that stupid trip in March, you’ll have your cherished photograph.”
“How’d you know about that?”
“You’ve been carrying that prom journal everywhere. Like I’m not going to read it. Please.”
“You read my prom journal?” I start to categorize all the pathetic drivel I wrote in it. “Did you think it was pathetic?”
“Well, I totally disagree with everything you said about me, but otherwise, well, it was you. I thought it was very you. You are my best friend, you know?”
I give her a big hug. “Thank you for the dress. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” My mind goes back to what Max said, and suddenly I think about Greg. “Don’t drink anything tonight.”
“We’re not having alcohol, Daisy. I’m not that stupid. If I give a reason for anyone to sue my parents, my dad will be back tomorrow.” She laughs. “Now let’s get your makeup on before you get into that dress.”
I stare out the window while she gets out her magic box. Max’s car is still there. Somehow I find his presence comforting. I grab Claire’s periwinkle Bible with the lime green flower closure and read a few Psalms while Claire plays Carmindy with my face.
“You’re done.”
I get up and look in the mirror. “I don’t even look like me.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I hope so.” I grab up the flamingo chiffon dress and slide into it. Claire zips me up as the man at the gate announces that our first guests are here.
“That must be Sarika and Angie. Take your pick of shoes in my mom’s closet. She has enormou
s feet too. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
I’m pulled to the window and see Max sitting on a teak bench in the garden. Greg and Chase pull up in Greg’s old Volvo. When the two of them get out, Max walks toward them. Words are exchanged, and when Max looks up and sees me, his eyebrows lower. He pokes Chase in the chest and appears to be threatening him.
There’s an ominous cloud darkening the dusky sky. All I want to do is curl up with Claire’s Bible and pray, and maybe call my mommy, but I think about Gil’s words. I need to be independent. It’s now or never.
“It’s not Sarika and Angie,” Claire says. “Oh, and what was that you were asking me about earlier?”
“If you had to trust one or the other, Chase or Max, who would it be?”
She shrugs. “I’d trust them both. We’ve known Chase forever, and Max . . . well, Max is just good people.”
“With Chase, I’ll know one way or the other tonight if he wants something to happen or if I’m just a restless puppy at his feet. It’s better to know rather than knock myself out for the rest of the year. Right?”
“Daisy.” She grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “We’re having a party, we’re not going to a funeral. Lighten up!”
“Greg is under police surveillance. What if Chase was trying to get him the drug? What if his gentleman thing is all an act?”
“Now you’re just talking crazy. He’s not under surveillance. He’s on probation. There’s a difference. I don’t think they do stakeouts on every teenage prank gone awry.”
“The only difference is they didn’t search his garage! Which might come with five to ten if they found the explosives he has in there. He must have them, Claire. Or he wouldn’t have known the sugar mix was legal.”
“Greg doesn’t have explosives.”
“I got the same physics assignment. If he was staging his rocket and using propulsion technology—”
“Look at the bright side. He’ll be ready for Armageddon when it comes. You really are paranoid, you know. Just like your father. You think everyone is ready to blow up the world. Stock up on Pop Tarts, the end is here!”
“I’m premillennial. As a Christian, why wouldn’t I believe I’m going up before the hard stuff starts down here on earth? Since God doesn’t say, I’m putting my expectations out there.” I spread my arms. “Lord, take me away! I’m ready to fly!”
“I don’t know why you don’t like Greg. Can we drop it?”
“It’s not that I don’t like him. I just think he has issues.”
“I like people with issues. You’re my best friend, right?”
“Snap,” I tell her drolly.
“Let’s go greet our guests.” She pokes at the edges of my lips. “Party face! Party face!”
“I’ll be right down.” I just want to jot something down before I forget.
Prom Journal
December 3
92 Days until Prom
Fact: Can’t think of one. I’m too nervous.
This is my first high school party. I mean, with both boys and girls and no youth pastor present. The fact that Claire and I pulled this off without getting caught gives me a rush of adrenaline. Gil would be proud. I said Claire and I could handle this, and I was right. If the party were to get out of hand, which it won’t because there won’t be any alcohol, but if it were, I have 9-1-1 speed-dialed into my BlackBerry—which I will keep on my person at all times.
I’m totally responsible. Being a perfectionist has always been beneficial for me, but I have this dark thrill that perhaps I haven't used this trait to its full advantage. I cannot be a social outcast and still maintain safety and a fun environment.
God would be proud, I think.
Okay, maybe not about the party, but in terms of being responsible for safety and kids who were going to party anyway. This provides a fun, fantastic atmosphere for them without alcohol. I am like the senior class mommy.
Chase, although he has avoided me at school, told me in a hushed growl that he would be at the party, and in no uncertain terms that I was to save a dance for him. He’s so great! Chase has been verbally assaulted by my father and he’s still here. He now knows my freakdom is not simply a mask I wear. Either my lifelong crush has come to an explosive ending, or he’ll fight for me. It’s one or the other. He’ll prove that there’s a reason he’s won my loyalty for twelve years. Am I ready for the emptiness if he turns me down?
I was thinking maybe I’d been sort of prophetic, letting him kiss me in kindergarten, when all along, it was just a giant setup for disappointment. If Chase isn’t the one, I’ve wasted so much time. So much energy and pain. I can’t even bear to think about it. It’s like God saying to me, why just go down when you can go down in a ball of flames? Not that God thinks like me.
Maybe being perfect is not possible, but aren’t we supposed to strive to be like Jesus? Okay, it’s probably a stupid question since I’m dressed like some girl from the Upper East Side and I’ve lied to my parents to be here.
I get it. I’m not perfect. Maybe Chase isn’t either. It’s time to find out.
Claire, if you’re reading this, mind your own business!
14
“Dinner was incredible, Greg,” Claire says.
“He knows his way around a fire.” I clear my throat. “I mean, barbecue.”
“Why’s that guy Max hanging around? You didn’t invite him to dinner, did you?” Chase asks.
“He’s going to help me play bouncer. In case anyone wants to crash the gate.” Lying has become so easy for me. I feel utterly soiled, but I haven’t taken my eyes off of Claire’s drink.
“The band’s setting up. Should we get this party started?” Chase asks, shaking his booty with what I can only describe as white-boy disease. Which, an hour ago, I might have thought cute, but now I’m left disappointed by his moves.
Claire stands up, looking the part of Upper East Side socialite. She’s beautiful and, like her mother, knows the way around a hostess table. She’s a natural. “I want to talk to Daisy first.” She pulls me roughly into the house and stops at the foyer. “Send Max home and cut this out. You’ve been like a wet dishrag all night. If you can’t go through with the party and defy your parents, go home. Max can drive you. Oh wait, no he can’t because you can’t do that either, can you?”
“Let me talk to Max. I want to get him out of my head.”
“He grew up in a country where nothing works right. Of course he’s going to be questioning the guys’ motives. Drugs, Daisy? Come on, we’ve known these guys since kindergarten. They wouldn’t know how to buy drugs if their lives depended on it.”
“Of course they wouldn’t, that’s why they asked the only Hispanic guy at St. James. Racist and dumb.”
“You think Chase is dumb now? I thought you liked him because of his intellect.”
I grab my head. “I don’t know what to think. I only know I can’t get what Max said out of my head. He’s got no reason to lie.”
“Um, he does have a reason, and you’re standing in front of me. Go out and talk to him and tell him to leave. Sarika and Angie will hopefully be here for dessert. Just go.” She pushes me toward the door. “I did not play your fairy godmother for you to turn into a wicked stepsister all night!”
She opens the front door and pushes me out. I stumble directly into Max.
“Bellissima!”
“Stop it. No Italian.”
He holds his hands up. “Sometimes only Italian will do. No one appreciates beauty like the Italians. There’s an old saying in Buenos Aires: ‘Porteños are Latin Americans who talk like Italians, act like the British, and think they live in Paris.’”
“Enough sweet talk. You have to go.” I push against his chest with both hands.
“You look so beautiful, Daisy. That dress was made for you. You were made for dresses. Why do you hide yourself in those pants all the time?”
“You noticed?” I shake my head. “No, you’re not lulling me in. I’m leaving.”
Sarika and Angie pull up, and I step back from Max. “Hi, gals. Everyone’s in back eating. The band is going to start any minute, and then the rest of the people arrive.”
“The luminaries look so pretty,” Sarika says. She’s wearing her full-length Indian sari in a canary yellow with silver and gold beading down the front.
“You look gorgeous, Sarika.” I look over at Angie, who’s dressed in a tailored sailor dress that fits her snugly and hugs all the right places. “You too, Angie!”
“Are we Gossip Girl?” Angie asks.
“How would I know? I can’t watch it either.”
Max opens the door for them, bowing at the waist. “She’ll be right with you.”
I try to act flustered with Max’s defiance, but the truth is, it’s hard to walk away from someone who seeks you out like he does. This would make a great life lesson about God if I weren’t spending my whole night totally pretending at a party that shouldn’t be happening.
“Go on, Max. Leave or come join the party. I’ll watch out for her.”
“For who?”
“Chase must have asked you about the . . . you know . . . for Greg. Maybe he’s tired of playing the gentleman with Claire. I’ll make certain nothing happens.”
Max frowns. “I’m not wrong. Is that what you think? You think I’m going to accuse someone of trying to buy a drug off me, which by the way is extremely offensive, as if all Hispanics are drug dealers!” He stops to let me assess the craziness of the situation. “Do you think I want to tell the girl I desire for myself that her crush thinks I’m a drug dealer?”
“I just meant Chase wouldn’t—” I stop. “What did you just say?”
“I know I look like a jerk. I get it. No one wants me here. You think it’s easy to stand out here on the porch, knowing no one wants me here? Ask yourself.” He holds me at the arms. “Why would I be here if it weren’t true?”
“You don’t look like a drug dealer. You look like an Argentine model who starred as Nacho.”
He offers the dregs of a smile and my heart breaks. I want to tell myself there’s nothing here, that I don’t feel anything for Max, but instinctively I know that isn’t true, and I feel every bit the betrayer. I had my mind set. Chase is my date. Chase is the man I’ve always loved, and yet, so easily, my heart could be swayed by another. What kind of true love is that?
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