Rules of Summer

by Joanna Philbin

  “That’s good,” Rory said, trying to sound encouraging. “Now shift back into drive.”

  Isabel yanked the gearshift back down and slammed her foot on the gas again. The car leaped forward, narrowly missing a child on a bike.

  “Slowly!” Rory cried.

  “I am going slowly!” Isabel yelled. “See?” She touched the brake slightly. “Everything’s fine. What’s the problem?”

  Rory took a deep breath. No wonder nobody in Isabel’s family wanted to do this. “Okay, how about we practice parking?” she asked.

  “Why don’t we just drive for a while?” Isabel said, turning off Lily Pond and onto the road that led to the highway.

  “Maybe we should stay in the neighborhood,” Rory said. “While we’re still getting the basics down.”

  “Nah. I think we should go to Wainscott.”

  “What’s in Wainscott?” Rory asked.

  Isabel unsnapped the beaded clutch bag at her hip. “Want some gum?”

  “What? Uh, no. No, thanks.”

  Isabel pulled out a pink pack of bubble gum and unwrapped a piece as the car swerved to the left.

  “Watch it!” Rory yelled.

  Isabel grabbed the steering wheel.

  “Just… pull over!” Rory said.

  Isabel pulled over to the side of the road and then calmly popped the gum in her mouth.

  “You really are kind of bad at this,” Rory marveled.

  Isabel narrowed her eyes.

  “I mean, no offense.”

  Isabel chewed her gum for a moment in silence. “I’m sorry about the other night. About Mike sneaking into your room. That was really cool of you to take the blame.”

  “That’s okay,” Rory said, a little stunned.

  Isabel pulled some blond hair behind her ear. She slid her iPhone out from her bag and clicked it on. “I wonder if I should just text him.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy who tried to sneak into your room. Here, look.” She held up her phone so that Rory could read the text on her screen. “What do you think that means?”

  Rory read the three lines. “I guess it means he wants to hang this week.”

  “Uh-huh,” Isabel said. “Then why hasn’t he written back?”

  “Wasn’t that just yesterday?”

  “Yeah, but normally he would have written again by now.”

  “What do you mean, normally?” Rory asked.

  “I mean, when I’ve been with other guys. You know.”

  “So in the past, guys have texted you back right away, every time you text them?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Rory looked out the windshield. Another thing we don’t have in common, she thought. Among thousands.

  “What about you?” Isabel asked. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Well, how many guys would you say you’ve gone out with?”

  Rory turned to look at her. “Why?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “I don’t know,” she muttered.

  “Ballpark.”

  “I’m not really sure.”

  “Two? Three? Six, seven?”

  “I don’t know,” Rory said, dusting the dashboard with her fingers. “Not that many.”

  Isabel gave Rory a searching look, as if she were trying to count the number of pores on her face. “You’ve never had a boyfriend, have you?” she finally said.

  Rory looked back in front of her and sat up straighter in her seat. “Um… well… if you mean, like in the actual sense of dating someone? Uh… no.”

  Isabel sat up straighter. “Oh my god.” She put her hand on the steering wheel to brace herself. “Seriously?”

  Rory felt the telltale burning behind her eyes. She was turning beet red. “Yes.”

  “Are you a lesbian?” Isabel asked. “Because, if you are, that’s perfectly fine—”

  “No, I’m not a lesbian,” Rory said. “I’m busy. I work every day after school. I pay all the bills, I do the grocery shopping, I make sure my mom goes to work and doesn’t drink herself into a coma every night…. I have more important stuff going on, okay?”

  Isabel seemed to consider this for a moment. “We need to find you a boyfriend.”

  For a second, Connor’s face flashed across Rory’s mind.

  “Or at least a fling,” Isabel added. “Have you even been kissed?”

  “Of course.”

  “And other stuff?”

  “Oh my god,” Rory said, starting to fidget. “This is so none of your business.”

  “Good,” Isabel said, undeterred. “So, we’re gonna find you a guy. It’s summer. You’re supposed to be having fun right now. And trust me, you really need to have fun.”

  “But guys are never just fun,” Rory said.

  “What? Of course they are.”

  “With my friends, it always starts out really fun, and then it can become really un-fun. They’re just waiting for him to call, or they don’t know how to read him, and then they get all insecure, and then they start to obsess—”

  “Because those girls don’t know what they’re doing,” Isabel said, folding her tan arms. “You just need to keep the upper hand.”

  “The upper hand?” Rory asked. “How do you do that?”

  “Every girl can have the upper hand,” Isabel said, rolling her eyes with the obviousness of it. “If you stay mysterious and you don’t give away too much information and you always keep a guy guessing and never let them know how you really feel, then you’ll be the one in control. And if you’re the one in control, then you’ll never get hurt.”

  Rory paused to take this in. “So you’ve never been hurt by a guy?”

  Isabel looked out the windshield, chewing her bottom lip as she mulled this over. “Nope,” she finally said. “Uh-uh.”

  “Well, my experience has been a little bit different.”

  “So you have had a boyfriend?”

  “There was one guy, but he wasn’t really my boyfriend.”

  “What happened?”

  Rory scratched a mosquito bite on her leg. She couldn’t believe that she was having this conversation with Isabel Rule, for one, and now she couldn’t believe that she was about to tell her about Jason Merrick, who’d flirted with her for most of last fall. He’d finally asked her out to see a Ben Stiller movie, then made out with her in his car, only to get back together the next Monday with his ex-girlfriend. “I’d rather not get into it.”

  “Fine.” Isabel took out her gum and stuck it in the wrapper she still had in her hand. Then she tossed it out the open window behind her. “But whatever happened, it doesn’t have to be like that next time.”

  “But what if you’re not that kind of person?” Rory asked. “What if you just want to be honest with someone? Why does it have to be a game?”

  “It’s always a game,” Isabel said, turning the key in the ignition. An earsplitting screech followed.

  “The engine’s still on,” Rory sighed.

  “And it works,” Isabel said, oblivious to her mistake. “Any girl can have a guy wrapped around her finger. You just need to know how to do it.” She checked her watch. “I guess I should head over to the Georgica. Can you drop me?”

  “I’ll drive,” Rory said, opening the car door.

  Isabel gave up her seat quietly and walked around the front of the car to the shotgun side. Once behind the wheel, Rory adjusted the mirrors—Isabel had twisted them into all kinds of unusable angles—and pulled back onto the road. Beside her Isabel began to tap out a text on her phone. “Um, where am I going?” Rory asked.

  “Oh, just take a right here, then take it all the way down, then make a left,” she said, not looking up from her phone.

  Rory drove as Isabel texted. As they glided down the winding back roads, past homes set back behind long sloping front lawns, Rory thought about dating. Isabel was right—for some girls, it was just a game. There were the three or four girls in her class who took turns dating a
ll the good-looking guys in school, trading them with as little emotion as if they were bottles of nail polish. There was her mom, who’d certainly broken her share of hearts. There were the girls at summer camp who practically seduced a few of the male counselors and laughed about it. And there was Isabel Rule, who could say with utter certainty that she’d never been hurt by a guy. So what was wrong with Rory? Why couldn’t she be one of those girls?

  Rory drove past an ancient-looking cemetery, with its rows of sun-bleached tombstones sinking into the grass, and then down Main Street, past a cluster of girls walking out of Blue & Cream with shopping bags. Maybe it really was just about knowing how to play the game, and maybe she could learn to do it here, in East Hampton, where nobody knew anything about her. But if all guys were so easily played, then how could you ever fall in love with one of them? Like Connor—he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would fall for all of that.

  Connor, she thought, sighing inwardly. Ever since their talk by the pool, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Knowing that he was under the same roof made it impossible to concentrate. She’d had to ask Bianca to repeat the names of the morning newspapers she was supposed to get at Dreesen’s, just because she thought she heard his voice outside the kitchen. In the breakfast room today, she’d almost broken out into a sweat when she had to deliver the FedEx envelopes. And when Mrs. Rule had asked her to give Isabel driving lessons, she’d barely been able to focus because Connor had been at the breakfast table, watching the entire interaction.

  But maybe the chemistry she’d felt between them was really just wishful thinking. He was so good-looking, and so smart, and so friendly, that of course she was going to think that there had been some kind of connection when they met. And, really, even if he didn’t have a girlfriend, which seemed impossible, what could a guy like Connor Rule ever see in her? She didn’t know a thing about college or growing up in New York City or living on your own private beach. Not to mention that he was, technically, her employer. Which meant that they couldn’t date anyway.

  “Just take this street all the way,” Isabel said.

  Rory headed straight for the shingle mansion that lay at the end of the road. The Georgica Club was only slightly bigger than Isabel’s house, and the approach to it was just as grand and intimidating, with a series of empty roads that wound around a pond that sat directly in front of the club like a moat. As they neared the building, Rory noticed a small sign that said PRIVATE PROPERTY MEMBERS ONLY NO TRESPASSING. Well, this place looks friendly, Rory thought, as she drove over the bridge across the pond.

  “So, there’s a beach party tonight in Bridgehampton,” Isabel said, reading her phone. “Wanna come?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah. What, are you busy?”

  “Um, no,” Rory said. “But is this just because you need a ride or you’re actually inviting me to go with you?”

  Isabel smiled. She seemed impressed with Rory’s honesty. “Yes, I need a ride, but I thought it might be good for you to meet some people. Unless you don’t want to.”

  “No, that’d be great,” Rory said. “Thanks.”

  “Cool,” Isabel said.

  The valet opened her door and offered Isabel a hand as she stepped out of the car. “Bye!” she called over her shoulder.

  Before Rory could respond, the valet slammed the door shut.

  Then I’ll just be on my way, Rory thought, as she drove off.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rory slipped on the top she’d bought at Hot Topic a week ago and stepped back from the mirror. The bright electric blue brought out her eyes. The shape showed off her narrow waist, which was just about the only body part of hers she liked to show off. And the lacy cap sleeves and deep V-neck seemed cute and on trend. But now she wasn’t sure. Would she just get the same look she’d gotten from Bianca the other night, like she was one of those fashion disasters on What Not to Wear? She added a stretch belt that made her waist look even smaller and her favorite pair of white jeans. She’d also gone for her fanciest dangly gold earrings. Hopefully she was inching her way closer to Hamptons style; she needed a second opinion. She looked out her window and saw Steve loading tennis rackets into his Jetta.

  “Hey,” she called to him through the open window. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Be there in a minute,” he called back.

  A moment later, there was a knock on her door. She opened it to see Steve on the threshold, his wraparound glasses on a string around his neck. His cuteness was starting to wear off, thank goodness.

  “Okay,” she said. “I need an honest opinion. Am I too dressed up for a beach party?”

  Steve looked her up and down. “I have no idea,” he said. “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because you’re the only one I can ask,” she said. “What do girls wear to beach parties out here?”

  “I don’t know. Jeans. A shirt. I think you look fine.”

  “But fine isn’t great. Is it?”

  “You always look great,” Steve said. “Every guy’s gonna want to talk to you. And I did see you talking to someone yesterday morning. Out by the pool. And both of you seemed pretty happy.”

  “Connor?” she blurted. “I mean, we were just talking. I dropped his phone into the pool by mistake.”

  “He didn’t seem too broken up about it,” said Steve.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Have fun tonight. And seriously, you look great.”

  “Thanks, Steve.”

  He left, and Rory slipped on a pair of dark blue Keds. As she passed by a mirror she caught a glimpse of herself. She was blushing. So maybe the chemistry she’d felt between her and Connor hadn’t just been in her head. If Steve had felt it, too, from across the lawn…

  “Are you ready?” Isabel entered Rory’s room in a cloud of amber-scented perfume. She looked like she was on her way to a red-carpet event. She wore an ivory crochet dress, silver gladiator sandals, and a cocktail ring that looked like one large pearl set in gold. So much for feeling overdressed, Rory thought. Next to Isabel, she looked like she was about to do laundry.

  “You look nice,” Rory said. “Great dress.”

  “Oh, this? I’ve had it for forever. That’s a nice top.”

  “You think?”

  “Uh… sure,” Isabel said, less confidently. “Hey, I just need to get one thing. Come with me.”

  Rory followed her down the hall and out toward the dining room and study.

  Isabel darted into a room, which turned out to be a bar, and crouched down in front of a small refrigerator and opened the glass door.

  “What are you doing?” Rory asked.

  “Just getting something for the party,” Isabel said, pulling out a bottle of champagne.

  “We can’t drive with that in the car.”

  “Why not?” Isabel asked. “It’s not open.”

  “Because we’re underage.”

  Isabel smiled as if Rory were an adorable toddler. “You have got to relax. Come on.” She stood up and walked out of the room swinging the golden bottle.

  “Do your parents just let you take champagne?” Rory asked.

  “This isn’t just champagne,” Isabel replied. “This is Cristal.”

  Rory didn’t say anything as they walked out to the car.

  “So, where are we going?” she asked when they got in the Prius.

  “Sagg Main Beach. You just take the highway past Wainscott and make a left on Sagg Main. And I’m gonna think of some guys who are probably going to be there.” Isabel opened another clutch—this one raffia—and took out her phone as Rory drove down the gravel driveway.

  “You know, I was thinking that tonight I’d just focus on trying to make some friends here,” Rory said. “Like maybe with some of the girls.”

  “Have fun with that,” Isabel muttered in a cryptic way.

  Rory made a left onto Lily Pond. Did Isabel mean that Rory wouldn’t be able to make friends? Or that Isabe
l’s own friends weren’t worth knowing?

  “So, tell me some cool stuff about you,” Isabel said, putting away her phone. “Do you play sports? An instrument? What do you do?”

  “Why?”

  “Because we need to make you sound amazing,” Isabel said. “And it’s better not to lie.”

  “Well, they showed some of my photos at the Farm and Horse Show last summer,” Rory said.

  “The what?”

  “The Farm and Horse Show. It’s, like, a huge, three-day fair. It’s a really big deal where I live.”

  Isabel was quiet. “What else?” she asked.

  “I’m the president of the science club.”

  “Uh, no.”

  “What’s wrong with that? I can’t let him know I’m smart?”

  “You can’t let him know you’re a dork,” Isabel said, and then turned on the radio. “I mean… you know what I mean.”

  “I like making documentaries,” she offered. “I won a special prize in my film class last semester.”

  “Okay, that might be cool. What was your documentary about?”

  “This woman who lives in my neighborhood. She’s collected, like, a hundred of those black velvet paintings of Elvis. And all sorts of other stuff about him. She’s sort of like a walking Graceland.”

  “That’s who you made a documentary about?” Isabel asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?” Isabel asked.

  “I don’t know. Because she’s passionate about something. I think that’s cool. To be so into something that you don’t care how it looks or if it’s weird or if people are going to make fun of you.”

  Isabel changed the radio station. “I guess,” she said listlessly.

  A song started playing. It was one of her mom’s favorites, from the seventies. Rory opened her mouth to sing along, but Isabel beat her to it.

  “Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and wouldn’t you love to love her…” she sang in a surprisingly throaty voice.

  “You like Fleetwood Mac?” Rory asked in disbelief.

  “Sure,” Isabel said. “So?”

  “So I just think that’s weird that we both like Fleetwood Mac. I mean, how many people like Fleetwood Mac to begin with?”

  Isabel yawned. “I don’t know.”