“Whoa, girlie!” Jade beamed as my cheeks flushed with elation. “These are ferocious!”
I had mustered every ounce of courage I had and brought my designs to Incubator to find out if I had the goods from my fashion god, Jade. I was unprepared for her reaction, especially since she was the queen of low affect. But she held up each of my pieces, surveying the cuts and details, and smiled over and over again. “Laura, I’m dying! These cap-sleeved blouses are so well tailored!”
“Thanks…,” I said meekly. I was so nervous and excited—this was my fashion idol talking and I was semi in shock. She confirmed that my hermetic sewfest had been worth it.
“I think I have a design prodigy on my hands,” she marveled. “I can’t believe you’re only sixteen!”
“Almost.” I smiled. “I’m technically fifteen for twenty-four more hours.”
As she went on and on, I became more and more proud. It was amazing to be validated, and awesome to be praised for doing something that I worshiped.
January 4, the last night of Christmas break before school started again, was my birthday. My Sweet Sixteen. I hadn’t reminded anyone and didn’t even send out invitations, because I knew no one would show except Kaitlin and Ava, who had called me repeatedly over the vaycay from their respective beach resorts to check in. It was finally dawning on me how surreal it was that my ex–best friend of a decade, Whitney, wasn’t coming. Nor was Sophie. Even though they were both racked with guilt, they were now semi-scared of me, so they wouldn’t dare to show up. Not that I was bummed, since both of them had been such monsters. We had our little votive-lit glistening table in the corner at Chez Michel, and my mom ordered some apps for the little but loving group.
“What else would you girls like?” my dad asked.
“The bruschetta looks amazing,” said Ava, her mouth watering.
“Ooh, and that onion tartlet,” gushed Kaitlin, looking at the neighboring table in the bustling restaurant.
“Laura?” my mom probed.
I was in the zone. “Oh, whatever you guys want…” Busted. I had been staring off into space. Well, not space, exactly. As I’d heard the waiter drone on with the interminable list o’ specials, I looked around the small restaurant. A hot guy squeezing his model girlfriend’s hand in one corner. A cute yummy mummy and her gorge husband with their sophisticated child at another. A kiss here, a hand hold there. I sighed. My sixteenth b-day wasn’t turning out so sweet.
“Oh my God,” Kaitlin said, shattering my reverie. “Laura, do I have goss for you! Okay, guess what? Sophie flipped on her mom last night!”
“What?” I asked, actually sort of curious.
“Yeah, she basically called her out on all her sh—” She stopped, looking at my parents. “—on all her bad behavior.”
According to Kaitlin, Sophie had confessed to her mom that she was feeling really bad about the way she treated me, and rather than take the high road, as parents are supposed to (right?), her mom told her she was a spineless fool and to get a life. Then Sophie bitched out her mom and told her she was a social-climbing loser who lived in a friendless universe and she wanted nothing to do with her.
When Kaitlin finished telling her story, even my parents were shocked.
“No way!” I said, in awe.
“Way,” replied Kaitlin, eyes ablaze.
“I don’t believe this!” said Ava, stunned.
“Why not? Sophie has guts, we knew that,” said Kaitlin.
“No, no, not that,” said Ava. “I’m shocked because Whitney did the exact same thing this morning!”
“What?” we all asked.
Yes, it was true. Whitney had told her mom that she was dreading going back to school and felt bad about me, and about Sophie, and her mom told her she was pathetic, and Whitney just lost it. She finally stood up to her mom (about time, in my opinion) and told her she was cruel and critical and that she could never please her and—according to Ava—told her mom that “Laura was a better person than she would ever be”!
Whoa. I never thought Whitney would ever stand up to her mother. I was impressed.
Ava looked at me earnestly. “She really feels bad about everything, Laura.”
“So does Sophie,” added Kaitlin.
“Wow,” I said, feeling slightly more forgiving toward my two torturers. “Good for them.”
I was glad they were feeling remorse. I hoped they would grow up and stop all this nonsense, and it looked like they might finally be on the right course. But if Whitney and Sophie’s sudden chutzpah in my defense was the dawn of a happy new year (for the calendar and my life), the next thing I beheld was an even better forecast: stunning blush pink peonies placed in front of me. I looked up, instantly feeling my cheeks match the hue of the buds.
“Happy birthday, Finnegan,” Jake said, tan and smiling. “Sorry I’m late.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
It turns out Jake had called again over Christmas break and asked my parents how I was doing, in addition to calling on New Year’s Eve. They had weirdly struck up some sort of parental friendship with Jake and had invited him, unbeknownst to me. And when he sat down at the table after greeting everyone hello, I felt a flush of pride and…I don’t know…well, love wash over me. I mean, the guy was gorgeous and like the most sought-after dude in the city, and he had come to my birthday. My birthday! He didn’t care that Sophie and Whitney had discarded me and declared me a loser. He didn’t care that it wasn’t at a million-dollar venue. My party had no frills, no fancy dresses, no lights, and no music except for the harmonized voices of three starving actors slash waiters singing “Happy Birthday.”
After Jake’s arrival, I suddenly felt like I was glowing in the flickering candlelight, and I was so happy looking around at my friends and family sitting at our cozy little table on this snowy night. His presence made everything seem right. In the middle of random conversations, like when Ava was telling us about her ski instructor in Sun Valley or Kaitlin was talking about the new Four Seasons in Hawaii, Jake would catch my eye and smile, and I felt this weird warmth. Sixteenth birthdays didn’t come sweeter.
After putting Ava and Kaitlin in a cab uptown, my mom and dad announced they were heading home to catch Charlie Rose. I was about to go with them and bid farewell to my crush when Jake asked me to go for a walk with him. Before I could even respond, my parents fled, telling us to have a good time. I think they wanted me to be with Jake even more than I did. Not possible.
“Thanks again for my present,” I said, looking down at the beautiful and chic Tiffany gold-link bracelet that Jake had given me. It had a little gold charm on it—a goldfish—to commemorate our visit to the kois by the Met.
“I thought you should have a pet goldfish. Plus, this guy has a longer memory than twelve seconds.”
I laughed. “I love it so much,” I said, staring into Jake’s beautiful eyes.
We crunched along the snowy sidewalk, weaving our way down the little streets that make up the West Village. The snow had silenced the cars, and the frosty weather had kept most people at home, so it felt like we had the city to ourselves. It was just…magical.
“So how do you feel? Older?” asked Jake, cocking his head to the side. I loved how he never asked rhetorical questions but always wanted an answer, just like my parents.
“Oh…pretty much the same.”
“Well, I think you kicked it off right. That was a really good time.”
“Thanks for coming. I mean, I know it wasn’t a full-on bash like Whitney’s or Sophie’s will be—”
“Laura,” he said, coming to an abrupt stop and putting his hand on my shoulder. “It was better.”
“Oh, thanks, but I know they’re like—”
Again Jake interrupted. “Laura, I don’t care about Sophie or Whitney. I never have.” He looked at me with a sly smile and I thought I’d break into a fever. “I care about you.”
I was so stunned that I sputtered my response. “But—but—but, what about making ou
t with Sophie in the closet?”
Jake looked surprised. “What? I blew her off. I told her I wasn’t into her, and she accused me of liking Whitney, and I told her I wasn’t into her either.”
No way. Oh joy, oh joy, oh joy! “Really?” My beaming face bespoke my utter elation and over-the-moon uncontainable euphoria.
“Finnegan, don’t you get it? I call you. I only go to parties if you are there. Those girls mean nothing to me, and they should mean nothing to you because you are so much better than them,” he said, coming closer to me and taking my hand. “You’re smarter, you’re prettier, you’re funnier, and your party, I guarantee you, was a whole lot better than theirs will be. You have something they don’t have. You have a soul. And you shouldn’t waste your time comparing yourself to them, because there’s no comparison. You’re it.”
And before I could respond, Jake—the normally cool cat—pulled me into his arms and started kissing me.
There are no words. Zilch. Okay, fine, one: heaven.
I was in heaven. I felt his hand slide down my back and protectively clasp me, pulling me closer to him. It may have been two degrees outside, but in his arms I felt like I was on fire. And for the first time ever, I threw myself into the flames without fear of getting burned.
When we finally stopped kissing, Jake took me by the hand and led me up the street.
“I want to show you something,” he said, and I followed, giddily.
He stopped in front of a beautiful brick town house with black shutters and now-frozen window boxes for flowers. He took out a key and led me up the stairs.
“Jake, whose house is this?”
“I’m just breaking in,” he replied, smiling.
“Seriously.”
“It’s my dad’s architect’s place. Come on. He’s away, so we have it to ourselves.”
Jake unlocked the door and ushered me inside the beautifully restored entrance. He grabbed my hand, and we walked up the sweeping mahogany staircase until we reached the tippy top. He opened French doors that led outside to the roof, and when I walked out, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
The skyscrapers in the distance were ablaze with light. I looked around and suddenly stopped in my tracks. The roof looked out on the Chrysler Building. Little Christmas-tree lights were strewn along the planted trees, and my eyes followed the longest extension cord I’d ever seen to a small record player on a low table. It looked exactly like the poster in my room that Jake had admired. He’d remembered.
“My God, Jake, it’s just like the poster!” I gasped.
“Not until we do this,” said Jake, walking over to the record player. He turned it on and an old song by Stevie Wonder came on, “I Believe.” He took my hand, wrapped his other arm around me, and we started to dance. I was dancing with Jake Watkins in the rooftop of my dreams. Oh. My. God.
“This is so surreal,” I said, dizzy with joy. “I can’t believe you’d do this for me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know…why would you?” I said, looking straight into his piercing green eyes.
“Because, Finnegan, I just love…your…way.”
And then we kissed, the most amazing kiss of my life. I was living the grainy, sublime, simple wish that had floated above my dreaming head since I was a child. And I never wanted to wake up.
Chapter Twenty-nine
With the lilting sound track of Jake’s post-dinner evening carrying me through the air, the next morning I felt like my daily grind of a commute was a soothing magic carpet ride. The usual subway din was suddenly music, the stench of the packed car felt perfumed, and even the muffin that I picked up at the corner deli by Tate tasted like it was baked from scratch by a four-star chef. Life was good. My last day at Tate had been marred with humiliation from hell, and I now felt like a cupid-shot cloud niner. And that was all the armor I needed.
As I filled my hot chocolate at the morning coffee bar, Whitney approached me. Honestly, maybe I got a little jolt of nervousness, but it was nothing compared to what it would have been sans lovefest with Jake. I truly felt like what happened between us shielded me from all the unpleasant chaos that led up to Christmas break.
“Laura, I know you hate me,” she started. I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure I hated her, but I sure didn’t like her right now. “I would hate me, too. You have every single right to loathe me. What I did to you was…horrible.”
I stared at her. I was glad that she was apologizing, but I didn’t want to let her off so easily. She had let me down, to say the least.
“You’ve been my best friend for so long,” she continued. “And I miss you so much.”
“It really took you a long time to realize that,” I said.
“I know, I know. I became everything that I always swore I wouldn’t. I acted like my mother. I am so ashamed.”
Whitney burst into tears. It was weird, because in all our years of friendship, I had rarely seen her cry. And this time it wasn’t a few crocodile tears for show—her body actually started convulsing and shaking with sobs.
I felt sad for her all of a sudden. She seemed so genuinely devastated, that was clear. But my hurt feelings resurfaced—she had been so quick to drop me for Sophie, and then even quicker to freeze me out when I didn’t immediately go back with her like a puppy. “Whitney, you were…so unbelievably nasty to me” was all I could say.
Her sobs grew in response—I think she knew how right I was. “What can I do to make it up to you? I am so sorry.”
“You’re sorry? Sorry about which part? That you were psycho to me for weeks? That you got so wrapped up in your Sweet Sixteen party that you were ready to flush our friendship down the toilet?”
“I was wrong.” Whitney bawled. “I love you. I’d cancel my whole dumb party if you wanted me to. Just say the word.”
I exhaled slowly. It was too tough giving it to someone in tears, even though revenge had been on my mind since I’d been ambushed with faux period stains. As I was wondering what Whit could possibly do to make it up to me, Sophie came up, also red-faced.
“Laura, I am so, so mortified by the way I acted.” She sniffed. “I was just jealous of your friendship with Whitney. I wanted to fit in. I really messed everything up….”
I didn’t protest.
She continued. “I feel like I’m the girl who came in and ruined everything,” she said, crying harder. “I never meant for all this to happen.”
“Then why did you let it happen?” I asked archly.
Sophie was about to say something to defend herself but stopped. “I don’t know. There’s no excuse,” she admitted.
“You really hurt my feelings. I was trying to help you both. I was the peacemaker, and you turned on me,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” they both murmured in unison.
“And even before that, you both went off the deep end,” I said, very calmly. “Don’t you see now that it takes so much energy to hate someone? Doesn’t it wrench your guts and haunt your soul morning, noon, and night? Hate is so all-consuming, I can’t believe you guys didn’t pass out from exhaustion!”
“I almost did,” admitted Sophie.
“Me, too,” said Whitney, looking at Sophie. It was the first utterance they’d made to each other that wasn’t dipped in arsenic. “I haven’t slept in weeks.”
“Me neither,” said Sophie, looking back at Whitney.
“You both were so incredibly mean. Just mean.”
Whitney and Sophie started crying harder after hearing my pronouncement. Mean. They knew it wasn’t as haughty as “bitchy” or cool as “rude” or pointed as “snide.” Just mean. Like children.
“I know. And I’m so sorry,” said Whitney.
“Me, too,” said Sophie.
“Okay, then,” I said. “If you’re really sorry and you really want to make it up to me, then you two have to make up with each other. I can’t deal with another semester of war zones.”
Sophie and Whitney paused and looked at
each other. Then at the floor.
“What’s the problem, guys? Haven’t you had enough?”
Silence. Finally, Whitney broke the twenty hockey rinks full of ice. “Yes, I’ve had enough,” Whitney said. “I’m sorry, Sophie.”
Sophie upped the ante with—gasp!—a hug, which even Whit didn’t seem ready for. “I’m sorry, too!” she cried, embracing Whitney and then engulfing me into the hug. We stepped back, all reeling from the developments. I felt like doves were gonna come flying out and a full purple-robed choir singing “Hallelujah!” would be revealed behind a curtain.
“Not to defer the blame,” started Sophie, looking at us seriously. “But my mom totally goaded me on. I really never wanted to hurt you. Either of you. I can’t believe I was such a fool to listen to her.”
“My mom was involved, too,” said Whitney conspiratorially. “She egged me on the whole time.” She paused and looked at me. “And I do not want to end up like my mother.”
“Me neither,” said Sophie. “I was scared I was becoming her for a while there.”
“Me too!” Whitney laughed. “It was horrifying.”
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