Bittersweet Sixteen

by Carrie Karasyov

  “Okay, you guys,” Kaitlin said, gripping her cell phone. “Max just texted me and they’ll be here in ten minutes!”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Sophie cried. “I need the bios again! I can’t believe I am finally meeting the Bradley crew.”

  “Okay,” began Whitney earnestly. “Josh is such a cutie. I’ve known him since we were zero. He’s now madly in love with Laura, and so I am trying to work that.”

  “Oh, please,” I responded. Josh was nice, but pas de sparks.

  “What?” said Whitney. “He’s a total catch!”

  “Then you go for him,” I responded, knowing full well she’d never go for someone like Josh—he was too insecure and not as hot as her string of boyfriends. It kind of bugged that she’d so eagerly pawn him off on me. That was one thing that nudged me about Whit. She, like, would stake out a man and then make me be the one to talk to him and strike up the friendship, then she’d snake him for herself and stick me with his best friend. This always happened when we were on vacation together. I mean, sometimes the best friend was cool and it worked out even better, but other times I was stuck with a total NOTL. But why was she trying to hook me up with Josh? Although he wasn’t a total loser, she knew I didn’t like him.

  “That would be, like, incest! Our dads were roommates at HBS,” Whitney responded.

  “What, he’s not cute, Laura?” asked Sophie.

  “He’s totally cute and nice, but there’s no chemistry,” I answered.

  “He’s a little insecure but he means well,” said Whitney, looking in the mirror.

  “Speaking of insecure,” said Sophie, checking herself out as well, “I could not feel fatter right now. Greenpeace is going to harpoon my ass and drag me back to sea.”

  “Oh, Oprah’s thinner than me,” Kaitlin added, scoping her butt.

  “I’m such a cow!” Ava said, chiming in. “I think I just heard myself moo.”

  “You guys!” I interrupted, annoyed. They were all drop-dead-gorgeous sticks. “You are all skeletons! It’s so dumb and boring to talk weight. Next topic!” I said, silencing them. It was too yawnsville to waste time on thighs. It’s the same old routine: One person complains they’re fat, we all chime in on how fat we are, then we all tell one another how thin they are. Snooze.

  “Okay,” Sophie agreed. “Back to the boys.”

  “So,” Whitney continued. “Max is Kaitlin’s new macking partner—”

  “Shut up!” squealed Kaitlin, turning hot pink.

  “What?” said Whitney. “Don’t pretend you haven’t gone to third with him!”

  “Whatever,” Kaitlin replied sheepishly.

  Kaitlin was, let’s just say, very forward with the gentlemen. She was the first to go to first, the first to go to second, the first to go to third, and the first to do those other things that don’t have bases to describe them. Like left-field, right-field stuff. She had no problem getting guys and was currently dating Max. Whitney tried to warn her that she could start to get a bad rep, but she didn’t care.

  “Bobby is a total babe,” Whit continued. “And amazing at lacrosse. He wants to go pro. His coach says he has a chance. You’ll really like him, Sophie. I’ve told him all about you. You should fully go for him.”

  I’d had a feeling Whitney would try to hook Sophie up with Bobby. He was definitely hot but also a total jock and hard to talk to about anything but sports. Not Whit’s type at all.

  “Perhaps,” Sophie considered, smiling. “And what about that other guy…Jake?”

  We all looked at Whitney, who took a deep breath. “Jake Watkins. He is…gorge. And legendary. His mom is a Thurston, as in Thurston Industries—blood doesn’t run bluer. They invented the brown paper bag as we know it.”

  “But he’s more than just a stud horse with a stunning face,” I added. He was not only hot but also the nicest guy ever. “He’s kind of like a New Yorker cartoon—there’s more than meets the eye with him.”

  Was I too gushing?

  “Great analogy,” Whitney said. “It’s like he’s sort of mysterious. He’s fully besties with Bobby, Max, and Josh, but he also does his own thing. He and I totally hit it off this summer as well.”

  “Hot,” said Sophie as the buzzer rang, announcing the arrival of the Bradley posse. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

  And for some weird reason, I couldn’t wait to see him.

  Chapter Eight

  Sophie opened the door and four very cute but very different prepsters stood on the threshold. Okay, full description: Max was kind of short, with gorgeous blue eyes, dark curly hair, and a prominent nose. He was the funny-guy type who would be the next-door neighbor on a sitcom and walk in and out making hilarious quips. It was amusing but sometimes did get a little tiresome with the chronic zingers. Bobby was tall and jocky, with blond hair and blue eyes—he looked like your all-American high school football star (maybe because he was wearing a varsity letter jacket). Josh was very thin and medium height, with sandy brown hair and brown eyes—kind of nondescript looking. He was super smart but a little defensive and kind of, I don’t know, testy. Totally someone who will be a catch when he’s, like, thirty and has some self-esteem, but not now.

  Then there was Jake, the leader of the pack. He was tall, with brown hair and giant green eyes, and he totally knew how to dress. His features were perfect, almost pretty-boy perfect, and that could have been a total turnoff, except for one major redeeming quality: his teeth. The front one just slightly overlapped the other, and that minor imperfection is what made him so unique and beyond gorgeous. It’s funny how one little flaw could make someone even more babe-a-licious.

  “Hi, I’m Sophie,” our hostess said, swinging open the door wide enough to let them in. Although not wide enough that they all didn’t brush by her ever so slightly on their way.

  “Soph, this is Bobby, Max, Josh, and Jake,” said Whitney, pointing out the boys in a territorial manner.

  “Sweet crib,” said Bobby, waltzing in the door confidently and looking around.

  Sophie brightened. “Thanks. Nothing compared to our house in L.A., but it’s a roof.”

  “Cool art,” said Max, pointing to the giant plain white canvas that hung on the front wall. “Except someone forgot to use paint!” He laughed.

  “Max!” said Kaitlin in a singsongy voice.

  “It’s Kasimir Malevich, you idiot,” murmured Jake.

  Impressive.

  “Sophie’s fam has the most amazing art collection,” added Ava, glancing at the boys nervously. She was always a little shy around guys. “Hello, MoMA!” she added with a hair flip.

  Sophie ignored Ava’s compliment and walked over to Jake.

  “Wow, you really know your stuff—Jake, is it?” Sophie asked, cocking her head to the side.

  Uh-oh.

  “Yeah,” Jake answered.

  “How’d you know that? Do you have one?” continued Sophie. I could see Whitney watching this interaction very carefully.

  “Nope,” replied Jake. He walked over to the painting and looked at it closely.

  “Hmmm…a man of few words,” said Sophie, teasing. Okay, whoa. Was Sophie flirting with Jake? Hadn’t Whit just gushed about him? Sophie was being pretty bold.

  “Jake, don’t you miss the Hamptons?” asked Whitney, walking over to him while twisting a lock of blond hair around her finger.

  Looking at Whit and Sophie, I really saw how visually opposite they were. Both were all dressed up for the guys to come over, and for Whitney that meant putting on a new camel-colored Ralph Lauren cable-knit cashmere sweater, a long suede skirt with high chocolate brown Jimmy Choo boots, and her family heirloom diamond studs. But Sophie was all about short, tight, revealing, and logos.

  “Nah. I was bored and ready to come back. How ’bout you?” he asked, turning to look at Whitney.

  “Oh, yeah. I totally agree, I mean…” Whitney paused, trying to regroup and say something more, but obviously Jake didn’t pick up on that, because he turned to me.r />
  “Hey, Laura, what’s up?” he asked.

  “Not much, just hanging,” I said. Lately when I was around Jake, I got a little tongue-tied. Which is so not moi.

  “How was camp in Maine?” he asked. I was surprised he remembered.

  “Good,” I said. Okay, I was being a monosyllabic idiot. Bizarre.

  “Hey, Laura,” interrupted Josh. “I thought I saw you walking across the street last week.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “Madison and Ninetieth,” he said.

  “Could be. That could be.” I nodded, still watching Jake out of the corner of my eye. Josh bugged me, and I did not want Jake to think I liked him at all.

  “Everybody, I ordered vats of Mr. Chow’s takeout, so I hope you guys are hungry,” said Sophie, walking toward the kitchen and taking control of the evening.

  “Right on, minced squab with lettuce leaves. I’m all over that,” said Josh, purposely walking next to me.

  “Dude!” said Max, putting his arm around Kaitlin. “Give me some grub.”

  “You guys are pigs!” Kaitlin giggled.

  “Hungry pigs,” said Bobby.

  After dinner, we all sprawled on the luxurious leather couches in the Mitchums’ screening room to watch Ben Affleck’s latest blockbuster. Dinner had been an interesting dance where we were all—except for Max and Kaitlin—trying to figure out if we were into one another, you know, on like, a romantic level. It was clear Whitney was way into Jake. And I actually think Ava was flirting (her feeble attempt at flirting, anyway) with Bobby. Despite Josh’s clumsy attempts, I was categorically not into him. You can’t be charitable when it comes to your heart. And although I felt bad, because he was so awkward and made all these stupid jokes, he was just so D.A.

  But the crazy part was Sophie and Jake. She was clearly into him. I’m talking too-loud laughs, boobies-in-face, twinkly-eyed smiles his way. And Whitney noticed. And was clearly pissed. On the one hand I was like, How dare she? He’s Whit’s. But on the other, just because Whitney says something’s hers, it doesn’t mean it is. Let Jake decide. The thing is, I just knew he would never go for Sophie. He’s not into flashy stuff.

  On our way out of the kitchen, Whitney took me aside.

  “What’s the deal with Sophie? Admit she’s, like, thrusting herself at Jake,” she complained.

  “Well…kind of,” I replied.

  “Do I have to spell it out for her that Jake is mine? Couldn’t she tell from the way I described him? What the hell is her problem?”

  “I think it’s just in Sophie’s nature to flirt. I mean, come on, she flirts with the guy in the deli, she flirts with the guy who plays the piano in chorus, she’s just that way. I’m sure if you tell her later to back off, she will,” I said. I hoped that was true, although I wasn’t sure myself.

  “You think so?” asked Whitney, twirling her hair.

  “Yeah. I mean, come on, she’s our friend.”

  “You’re right, Laura,” said Whitney. “Besides, Jake would never go for her,” she said, walking down the hall. I sometimes wished I had some of Whitney’s confidence.

  The screening room had been pretty quiet during the movie, except for the disgusting macking sounds that Kaitlin and Max were making in the back row. Of course, Josh had pushed himself next to me the second I sat down—I even waited, pretending I couldn’t decide where to sit so he would sit first—but he didn’t bite and was totally rubbing up against me, too close for comfort. Luckily Jake was on my other side, next to Whit. It was annoying because Josh kept “accidentally” brushing into me when he reached down to grab some popcorn, and I would move away, which meant that I kept knocking into Jake.

  Sophie’s maid came in during an endless car-chase scene with a huge silver serving saucer of chocolate fondue and an elaborate exotic fruit tray for full-on dippage. Bobby, Max, and Kaitlin dove for it.

  “Geez, Kaitlin and Max finally came up for air,” said Josh.

  Whitney leaned over. “They should get a room. Obviously didn’t get enough affection as toddlers.”

  “It’s all about zero to one, say the kiddie shrinks,” I said. Jake flashed me a smile and I felt myself turn red.

  “Now, now, you guys, let’s let everyone else have some,” said Sophie, carrying the fondue tray over in our direction. She leaned down toward Jake with the tray and totally thrust her boobs in his face. I saw Whitney grimace.

  “Would you like some dessert, Jake?” Sophie asked. “It’s Valrhona chocolate.”

  He stabbed a strawberry and dipped it in the fondue. “Thanks.”

  “If you want anything else, let me know. My chef will whip up whatever you want,” said Sophie, lingering.

  “Great, thanks,” said Jake again.

  Sophie wandered over to Ava and offered her some fondue while Josh again leaned in to me. “Isn’t this a great flick, Laura?” he asked.

  “It’s all right.” I mean, come on, it’s a Ben Affleck movie.

  “Yeah, sure, I mean, it’s okay,” said Josh, changing his tune. “I’ve seen better.”

  Okay, Josh, let’s make up your mind and stick to it. Before I could respond, we heard a thud. We all whipped around and saw that Kaitlin and Max had rolled onto the floor.

  “Wow,” I said, laughing. “The hazards of PDA.”

  “So not my style,” said Jake, turning to look at the fallen couple while shaking his head.

  “Hellooooo, vomitorious!” Whitney whispered, giggling. “That’s why God invented bedrooms.”

  Bobby leaned over to Sophie. “Speaking of which, want to give me a tour of yours?”

  I could see Ava’s face fall. Bobby was obviously not into her.

  “Not really,” said Sophie rudely.

  Josh turned to me. “Laura, did you get Lilly McCracken’s Sweet Sixteen invite? I almost barfed up my Lucky Charms when that messenger came to my door dressed as a headless horseman. What the hell was that all about?”

  “’Cause it’s held around Halloween, dude,” said Jake.

  “Ooh,” said Josh, slowly getting it.

  “I think it will be a blast; I’m really excited,” Whitney said.

  “So, Jake, are you going to the party?” asked Sophie.

  “I guess,” said Jake, noncommittal.

  “You have to go!” interjected Whitney. “It’s going to be amazing. I mean, not as amazing as my Sweet Sixteen—”

  “Our Sweet Sixteen,” interrupted Sophie.

  “Right, the joint extravaganza that Sophie and I are throwing, but it will be a fine way to kick off the season,” said Whitney.

  “You guys are having a party together?” asked Josh.

  “Yes,” said Sophie proudly. “And let me tell you, there will be no contest once we premiere our blockbuster. All those other girls may think they know how to throw a party, but you’re talking to the girl whose father screened his latest movie on a submarine hovering over the Titanic.”

  “And my family practically hosted the first Thanksgiving with the pilgrims—we go waaaay back in the American party planning world,” said Whitney.

  Jake looked at them and smiled. He turned to me. “And are you involved with this?” he asked.

  “Oh no,” I said.

  Jake leaned in closer. “Smart move,” he whispered.

  “I’ve been helping out a little with their rager, but mine is going to be more on the low-key side. Emphasis on low,” I said, shrugging. “As in my parents and the gal posse going to a restaurant in the Village. Woo-hoo!” I hooted sarcastically.

  “Laura is going to have a great party, just more intimate,” said Whitney. “Girls’ nights out are a blast!”

  “That’s cool, Laura—you can do a really fun night, even on your budget,” said Josh.

  Ouch. I could feel my face getting hot.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Jake, throwing a pillow at him.

  “What, dude? I just mean she doesn’t have to drop millions to have a nice time,” said Josh. I know h
e wasn’t trying to be mean or anything, and it’s not like I hid the fact that I wasn’t a trust-fund baby, but I still felt a little mortified that he had to point out my family circumstances in a room full of people. In a private screening room in a penthouse triplex full of people, no less.

  “Oh, my party definitely won’t cost millions. No, no, no, the Finnegans certainly won’t have Beluga caviar pouring out of Baccarat cups or talent jetting in from Vegas,” I said quickly.

  “Who cares?” asked Jake. “It’ll be just as fun.”

  “Yeah,” Josh jumped in. “Yours will be just as fun.”

  “It’s going to be with my parents at some twenty-four-hour dive with fluorescent lights that do no justice to my pores,” I said.

  “Stop the drama!” moaned Whitney. “Chez Michel is hardly the greasy spoon you’re bitching about. It’s in Zagat.”

  “Whatever,” I mumbled. “It won’t be elaborate, just a mellow dinner. I don’t even care; I just want it to be…memorable.”

  “And it will be,” said Jake confidently.

  Jake was so cool and always supportive. What a gem. Ugh, I had to stop myself from getting carried away. I couldn’t like Jake that much. As far as Whit was concerned, the two of them were practically a done deal. Stealing the best friend’s man (as if I could) was way lame. That’s, like, a Paris Hilton move.

  Chapter Nine

  On Monday, after a seemingly endless day of classes (including a grueling pop quiz in French, which, thank God, I randomly knew the answers to), Sophie, Whitney, and I did a power walk down Fifth to the Pierre Hotel, site extraordinaire for the co-rager they would throw in just three months’ time. I have seen many beautiful buildings in New York, but the painted rotunda of the tearoom took my breath away. We sat in a corner banquette, and while I drank in the gorge landscapes, Whit and Soph perused mags and whipped out the piles of potential linens.

  “So here goes: I am so thinking toile for the tablecloths,” announced Whitney.

  “Oh my God,” Sophie said, putting her hands to her face in shock. “Total ESP!”