I make a face at him. “Hardly.”
“Why don’t I take you then?” He’s leaning against the driver’s-side door now, his face only inches from mine.
I try to make an expression that suggests the thought hadn’t already occurred to me. “That’d be awesome.”
“Or bonza?”
I laugh. “Yeah, that would be totally bonza.”
“Bonza,” he says again. “I’m really liking that word.”
“Well, I better go,” I say, suddenly uncomfortable. “Thanks for showing me Sleepy Hollow.”
“Hey, no problem. And thanks for the shades. The name alone will always make me think of you.”
“Cool.”
“Bonza.” He remains at the door.
“See ya,” I say quietly.
And then he is kissing me. Not in an overpowering way but just softly and gently — on the mouth. And then he straightens up and it’s over. I look up at him and despite my Billabong sunnies, I am certain I see stars.
“See ya,” he says, then picks up his board and walks over to his car.
Somehow I manage to turn on the ignition and wave as I pull out of the parking lot. But I feel like I’m flying. Just get home safely, I tell myself, no bungles on the highway.
And somehow I do. But for the life of me I can’t remember the trip. Can’t remember taking the exits, changing lanes, staying on the right side of the road. But here I am in Uncle Ron’s garage and the Jeep is still in one piece. And so am I, but I feel like I’m walking on clouds.
“What are you so happy about?” asks Vanessa when I go inside. She is in her favorite veg-out position: on the leather sectional, remote in hand, flipping endlessly through the channels.
“You really want to know?”
She sits up and pats the seat beside her. “Yeah, tell me everything.”
And so I do. Oh, I don’t mention that I’m the one who bought the matching sunnies. Somehow that seems as if it would tarnish my story a bit. Although I like to think of myself as a “liberated” woman, as my mom puts it. But I think I’m a bit old-fashioned when it comes to romance. Not that I’m an expert. Ha! The honest truth is that Wyatt is only the second guy to kiss me.
The first one was Caleb Milligan back in PNG. Caleb is a class ahead of me, and we went steady for a couple of months last year. I’m not even sure why. Probably because other kids were pairing off, and it seemed like the thing to do. But “going steady” in a mission school consists of walking together without holding hands or any public show of affection, although kids have been known to sneak around and give private unmentionable displays of affection. And although her family still denies it, we all know that Rebecca With-erspoon got pregnant last January, and that’s why she got shipped back home to Sydney. But when Caleb Milligen kissed me, I never saw stars. I never walked on clouds.
“Do you think he could be the one?” I ask Vanessa.
She considers this. “Maybe. I think that Bryce could be the one for me. But we’re awfully young to know these things for sure. I do know that I like Bryce’s family.”
“You mean his money?”
She shrugs. “It’s part of the package.”
“Would you marry someone for money, Vanessa?”
“Not money alone. I’d have to love him too.”
“But what if you fell in love with someone poor? Would you marry him?”
Her face scrunches together as if she’s really considering this. “I don’t think I could fall in love with someone who was poor.”
“Oh.”
“Now, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t fall in love with Wyatt, Hannah. And even though he’s a bit hard up for money these days, his family is good for it. And he’s worth getting involved with.”
I nod. But what I was really wondering was whether Wyatt would want to get involved with someone poor like me. Then again, why should he know that I’m poor? Maybe he assumes since I’m Vanessa’s cousin and dress like the other wealthy kids, I must be rich too. Or maybe it doesn’t matter. That’s what I prefer to think. I reckon that Wyatt’s like me, accepting people for who they are. That’s why he wasn’t troubled about being with me and Jessie. We’re certainly not in the “in” crowd. And yet Wyatt doesn’t seem to mind.
It’s not until I go upstairs that I realize I left my beach bag and clothes in Wyatt’s car. I wonder if he’s noticed yet or if I should call him. It’s not that I really need those things, although that is one of my best outfits and there are things I’d like from my beach bag. I decide to let it ride until after dinner. Then, just as I’m helping Aunt Lori load the dishwasher, the phone rings. It’s Wyatt.
“I noticed you left your things in my car,” he says. “Want me to drop them by?”
“Would you mind?”
“Not a bit.” He tells me he knows where Vanessa lives and that he’ll be by in about twenty minutes.
“A boyfriend?” asks Aunt Lori with raised brows.
“Maybe.”
“Ooh, fun. You’re not even here a full month, and you’ve already got a boyfriend. Who is he?” I tell her, and she thinks that’s great. “Wyatt seems like a nice kid. And not hard on the eyes either.”
“Right.” I turn and glance at the clock. “Maybe I should scrub up a bit before he rocks up.”
She nods. “I would.”
So I pop upstairs and after a quick rummage through my closet, which seems sparser than usual, I decide on my Diesel jeans (which Vanessa lusts over but can’t squeeze into). And after trying several tops, I settle on the turquoise DKNY tank, which really makes me look tan. I put on my Prada belt and sandals and then go downstairs trying to act cool and casual.
“I hear Wyatts coming over,” says Vanessa in a singsong voice.
“Just to drop some stuff by,” I tell her. “I forgot my work clothes in the back of his car.”
Vanessa is walking with her arms crossed and nodding as if she’s just discovered some big secret. “You left some clothes in the back of his car? Very interesting, Hannah. What’s up with that?”
I pick up a pillow and toss it at her. “Very funny. That’s not how it was at all.” So I explain how I changed into my bathers at Mac’s and needed a place to stow my clothes.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
“It’s true.”
“I know, Hannah. I’m just jerking your chain.”
“Jerking my chain . . .” I nod, considering this new slang. “Yes, that’s rather what it feels like.”
Then he’s at the door, and I’m desperately hoping that Vanessa won’t make innuendos in front of Wyatt.
“Here you go,” he says, holding out my things.
“Thanks so much. Do you want to come in? Have a soda or something?”
“Sounds good.”
So I lead him into the house, and thankfully Vanessa has vanished, although she could be lurking about somewhere listening. I set my clothes on a bench by the stairway, go to the fridge, and list off the choices of soda. I can feel Wyatt standing behind me now and know that he can easily see Uncle Ron’s beers in there. I’m sure that he’d be interested, but there’s no way I’m going to do something that stupid.
“Pepsi sounds good,” he finally says.
So I take out two Pepsis, even though I don’t especially care for the stuff, and set them on the counter. “Do you want a glass and ice?”
“Sure.”
So I find two glasses, fill them with the miraculous ice that falls right out of the fridge door, and take them over to the counter.
“Got any lemon?” he asks.
“Lemon?”
“Yeah, lemon is good with Pepsi. Haven’t you tried it?”
I shake my head and go back for lemon. Thankfully, Aunt Lori keeps them sliced and in one of those bags that fasten on top.
I drop one in each glass. “Want to go out by the pool?”
“Sounds good.”
And I lead him outside. For some reason I feel more at ease out here. Maybe it’s be
cause of the way I grew up, being outdoors most of the time. I walk over to the table and chairs on the far side of the pool, knowing that it’s unlikely Vanessa can hear us over here. Not that I have anything to hide. But for some reason I want this conversation to remain private. At least until I report back to her, which I’m certain to do before the night is over.
Mostly we just yabber about nothing much. But it feels like a flirty kind of conversation, like we’re trying to find out about each other and yet don’t want to reveal too much or anything that would put the anchors down. Finally it’s starting to get dark, and I shift in my chair, almost as if I’m getting up, although I’m not.
“I should go,” he says suddenly. “I know you have to get up early for work.”
“Well, yeah,” I admit. Then I walk him through the side yard and through the gate that leads to the front of the house.
“So I’ll pick you up around seven thirty tomorrow?” he says.
“Sure, that sounds great.”
We’re at his car now. And I’m just standing there, knowing I should say good night and go inside, but it’s like my sandals are cemented to the driveway. He puts his hands on my shoulders now. “You’re really special, Hannah,” he says in a quiet voice. Then he leans down and kisses me again. This time I make sure that he knows I’m kissing him back, and we stand there for what feels like seconds but might be minutes before we stop.
Then he takes in a breath and smiles. “See you tomorrow.”
I nod. “See ya.”
And once again I’m walking on clouds.
seventeen
AFTER I GET HOME FROM WORK ON FRIDAY, I SPEND MOST OF THE afternoon just getting ready for the big party. But it’s not as much fun as I thought it would be. The truth is, I am getting really worried about the expensive outfit I’m wearing, wondering why in the world I spent more than $ 1,000 for just one evening. I even go to the waste-basket in my bathroom, thinking I might find the tags and return the clothing tomorrow, but Consuela has already tidied up in there, and the trash is gone. Just to be on the safe side, I put on some extra antiperspirant. I don’t want to ruin this expensive top!
Then while I’m waiting for Wyatt to show up, I start feeling seriously worried. And it’s only partly about Wyatt. Oh, I reckon it’s possible he’s forgotten me or gone back to Felicia or been eaten by sharks while surfing some lonely beach this afternoon. But Wyatt’s lateness isn’t the only thing that’s eating me.
It all started when I picked up my paycheck after lunch break today. I had already done the math in my head, multiplying my hourly wage times the hours I’ve worked. And while I didn’t plan to get rich, I thought at least I could start getting out of debt and have a bit of spending money, although I still wouldn’t have any extra for school. But when I opened the envelope and looked at the amount on the check, I nearly screamed.
At first I thought there was some mistake. It couldn’t possibly be true. Then I looked at the slip of paper stapled to my check, some sort of bookkeeping thing I think, and it seemed that a fair amount of money had been subtracted from the total of what I should’ve been paid. I asked Carlita about this since she works in the accounting department. “Do you think it’s possible that someone made an error on my paycheck?”
She gave me this you-poor-daft-Sheila kind of smile. “There’s a little something you may not be aware of,” she said, “seeing you live in another country and all. But here in the good old U.S. of A., we pay taxes. Uncle Sam gets his due before we get ours. It’s the American way, sweetheart. Get used to it.”
Consequently, my two-week check, minus federal and state taxes and other various deductions, is barely enough to cover the $500 every other week that I promised to pay Uncle Ron for the draw he gave me from his own personal account. And then I discovered, also through Carlita, that my Macy’s charge account (which I’m only able to make the minimum payment on) is going to start accumulating interest — every day until the entire amount is paid off in full. Gulp!
It’s nearly eight when I finally see Wyatt pull up. I realize he’s only thirty minutes late, but that was thirty minutes of obsessing and worrying that I could’ve done without. Even so, I try to act cool and laid back, but inside I’m a complete mess.
I open the door and there is Wyatt with a big grin on his face. But does he apologize or even give any excuse for being late? Of course not.
“Hey, babe,” he says as he gives me a hug and then a kiss. “You look fantastic!” And of course, all my ill feelings are wiped neatly away.
“Thanks.” I walk ahead of him toward the passenger door, taking my time so that he can take me in.
“Seriously, Hannah, you look totally awesome.” Then he pauses and really checks me out. “But what happened to my little Aussie surfer girl?”
I frown and hold out my hands. “You mean you don’t like this?”
“No, not at all. I think you look way cool, babe. Totally amazing.” He opens the passenger door and waits as I get in. “I’m just glad to know there’s a surfer chick underneath all that glamour.”
I smile up at him. “Been surfing today?”
“As a matter of fact . . .” Then he closes the door and runs around to the other side and gets in. “Man, the waves were so rad today, I could hardly tear myself away from the beach. You should’ve been there, Hannah.”
“Wish I had been.”
Then he tells me about the place he went to and who was there and how the waves were “treacherous.”
“You mean it was dangerous?”
“No, just killer, you know. Great tides. Really huge waves. Think it has to do with the moon or something, but let me tell you, it was awesome.”
I’m amazed at how long this guy can go on and on, just talking about surfing. Not that I mind since I’ve been enjoying it too. I’m just amazed. And I’m glad we share this interest. I just hope it’s not the only thing we both enjoy together. Well, surfing and kissing. And I guess I should be glad that he’s so talkative since nearly all I do while we drive is listen. But the way Wyatt talks, you’d think he’d like to spend his entire life on a board.
“You really love to surf, don’t you?”
“There’s nothing else like it.” Then he laughs. “Well, almost nothing else.”
“I’m surprised you’re going to school on the East Coast.”
He exhales loudly and shakes his head. “It’s not exactly my first choice.”
“Why’s that?”
Then he goes on to tell me how the only way he can stay in his dad’s “good graces” — which basically ensures Wyatt money — is to attend his dad’s alma mater. “I’d never go there otherwise.”
“Oh.”
“Sometimes I think I might bail on him anyway. Oh, I’ll give his school a try, but if it’s as bad as I think it will be, hey, I might just go AWOL or something. Come back and turn into a real beach bum. Maybe travel around the world, surfing all the best spots.”
“What will your major be in college?” I feel pleased that I remembered the word major since I only just learned it from Uncle Ron.
“I haven’t got a clue.” He shrugs and turns toward what I am thinking is the Hollywood area, although I’m still pretty unfamiliar with this place.
“Well, what do you like doing?” I persist.
“Surfing.”
I laugh. “Too bad they don’t let you major in that.”
“Yeah.”
Then we both get quiet, and I suspect that I’m pulling him down with all this talk about uni. “Where’s the party at?” I ask suddenly, hoping to change the subject. “I know that Vanessa’s been helping Bryce with it, but I don’t recall if she said where it’s at.”
“It’s at Bryce’s grandma’s house. She has this cool old place in Beverly Hills. Bryce doesn’t live with her, but it sounds like she lets him do pretty much what he likes there. As long as he doesn’t make too much noise or disturb her. But she’s half-deaf anyway, so it’s usually no problem. She just stays
in her room while Bryce throws the raddest parties.”
“Beverly Hills,” I say with a bit of awe. “I can’t imagine ever being so rich that I could afford a house in Beverly Hills. Vanessa took me on a little driving tour and showed me where some of your Hollywood celebs live. Pretty impressive.”
“It’s okay, but Beverly Hills isn’t the greatest place to live. Give me a place in Malibu or Laguna, and I’d be happy any day.”
“You mean a place with a beach?” I tease.
“You got that right.”
Soon he is turning into a driveway that’s flanked by open iron gates. We drive around behind the house, where there are at least a dozen cars parked already. Some I recognize. I smooth my skirt with my palms, I’m not even sure why — maybe just bracing myself. I’m sure Felicia will be here tonight. In some ways I feel a bit like the lamb being led to the slaughter, or maybe the fatted calf, because I know that Vanessa is out to get back at Felicia through me tonight. But what if her plan backfires? What if it’s Felicia who comes out on top?
Wyatt turns off the car and looks at me. “You nervous?”
I shrug. “A bit, I guess. I’ve heard that Felicia isn’t, well . . .”
“Felicia is history,” he says quickly. “As far as I’m concerned anyway.”
“What if she doesn’t feel the same way about you?”
He laughs. “From what I heard, she’s already working on a new guy.”
“Alright then.” I take in a deep breath. “Just breathe, right? Like I’m about to ride the big one in?”
He laughs. “Hey, I like your style!” Then he helps me out of the car and takes me by the hand. “And like I said earlier, you look really great, Hannah. You’ll be the prettiest girl here.”
And naturally, that makes me smile. So we both enter smiling and happy, and the first person I see — across the room by the open french doors — is Felicia. And she doesn’t look happy to see us.
But in the next instant, she is smiling and coming directly toward us. “Hey, Hannah,” she says sweetly, even giving me the kiss-on-both-cheeks thing that she and her friends do to each other. Does this mean I’m a member of the club? “Good to see you.” Then she steps back and looks at my outfit, her brows rising with . . . could it be appreciation? “You look absolutely gorgeous, girl. Is that Iceberg?”
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