I go back to my room, furious.
“What the hell are you doing here, Tristan? Sleeping with me? Have you lost your mind?”
“I’m so so sorry,” he says sleepily. His hair is a mess and his eyes are barely open. “But the couch in the living room got so cold. We don’t even have a blanket there, did you know that?”
“Yes, of course, I know that! That doesn’t explain what you were doing in MY bed.” I cross my arms across my chest.
“Well, I came into your room with the intention of sleeping in Juliet’s bed. But it was so dark and her bed was full of clothes. I couldn’t figure out where the blankets began.”
“So you just got into bed with me?”
“You were all the way over to one side with your head toward the wall. There was so much space. And I was so tired.”
Tristan shrugs. His hair is all ruffled and out of place, but his eyes are twinkling. I’m mad at him, but I know I can’t stay mad for long. Not over this.
“How can I make this up to you?” he asks. “What can I do? Do you want me to go talk to Simon?”
I think about that for a second. Maybe that’s a good idea. Maybe if Simon could hear it from Tristan that we’re really over then he would actually forgive me. But what if it makes things worse? What if Tristan mouths off to Simon (and there’s a very high possibility of that)? What if they get into a fight? That would make things worse.
“No, I’ll talk to him. It’s fine.” I shrug. “You still shouldn’t have done that. You have no right to get into bed with me.”
“I know.” He shrugs. I’m disappointed that he’s not putting up more of a fight.
“You wouldn’t get into bed with me if I were Juliet, would you?”
“No, but you’re not Juliet.”
“Or some strange girl?”
“No, but you’re not some strange girl. You’re Alice. My Alice.”
He catches me off guard. His Alice? What does that mean? I stare at his face to try to gather any more clues. But I can’t read him. His expression isn’t blank, but it isn’t very revealing either. Tristan’s lips form into a mischievous smirk, which reminds me of junior year. Tristan had the exact same expression on his face when he and his best friend, Tom, broke into the principal’s office, stole her keys, and moved her car from its assigned parking spot to the back lot. Afterwards, they’d returned the keys to her purse and went on with their day. Very few of us knew what had happened, and the administration never found out. When Tristan finally admitted it to me, he had the same smirk on his face that he has now.
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not your Alice anymore.”
Thump! Thump! The sound of something hitting the furniture startles me.
“Shit, shit,” someone cries out in pain.
I run after Tristan to the living room. Juliet’s is doubled over in pain, grasping her ankle.
“Fucking couch!” she says.
“Are you okay?” Dylan asks. He’s standing in his doorway dressed in a t-shirt and boxer shorts.
I look at Juliet more closely. She’s wearing the dress that she wore out that evening, but it isn’t zipped up all the way in the back. And she’s barefoot. Her shoes are in her hand. Suddenly, everything becomes crystal clear. I look at Tristan. I can see that it’s pretty clear to him too.
“You know what this means, right?” he asks. “You need to get yourself a costume for the masquerade ball. Oh yeah, and it’s not in a couple of weeks. It’s this weekend.”
He won our bet. It wasn’t Peyton in Dylan’s room. It was some other girl. Juliet! All I can do is roll my eyes.
“What, were you guys betting on who was in there with me?” Dylan asks. For a second I think he’s mad. “That’s awesome! Who did you think it was?”
“Peyton,” I say.
“And you bet on Juliet?” Dylan asks Tristan.
“Not her specifically. Just someone who’s not Peyton.”
“You guys can go fuck yourselves.” Juliet gets up and wobbles to our room. I doubt that she’s mad about the bet. But she looks like she’s still in pain.
“What do you think you want to dress up as?” Tristan asks me. He’s actually excited about taking me there.
“I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m not going. Not after what you did,” I say and turn to walk away.
“Wait, wait, a second.” Tristan puts his hand on my shoulder. “You lost the bet. You have to go.”
“No, I don’t. You just jeopardized my whole relationship with Simon with that little stunt of yours. Someone I really liked. So I’m not going to be your date at some stupid frat party.”
“I apologized for that already. Besides, what does that have to do with the bet? We made the bet way before that. I’d still be doing your laundry for two weeks if it had been Peyton,” Tristan says.
“I’m not so sure,” I say. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go.”
“That’s the point. If you lose the bet then you have to do something you don’t want to do.” Tristan looks at Dylan for support. “Talk to her, man.”
“Yeah, Tristan’s right, Alice. You lost the bet.”
“So?” I ask.
“A bet’s a bet,” Tristan and Dylan say almost in unison.
“So?” I ask.
“So, if you don’t go, you’re going to get some bad karma or something,” Dylan says.
“I already have bad karma.” I shrug. “I’m living with my ex!”
30
I go to my room and slam the door. It’s 5 am and I have class in a few hours. I need more sleep, but there are more pressing matters.
“So? Are you going to tell me what happened?” I ask Juliet.
“I’ve been dying to tell you,” she says and climbs into my bed.
“I first saw Dylan at a club a few days ago. He was dancing and drinking, but then he saw me and started moaning about Peyton. That girl really fucked him up. She’s in love with her R.A. now, did you hear that?”
I nod.
“Anyway, I got tired of his complaining, so I kissed him.”
“Just like that?” I ask. “Where? How?”
“We were standing at the bar waiting for our drinks. He was talking on and on about Peyton. I told him that he needs to move on. That the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Then he started complaining about dating and how hard it was, blah, blah, blah. So I asked him what dating had to do with it. He just stared at me like I’d lost my mind. And then I leaned over and kissed him.”
“And?” I wait with anticipation. “How was it?”
“It was good. He’s a really good kisser. Well, you know that, already,” she says nonchalantly. I’m glad that it’s pitch black and she can’t see me blush.
“And tonight? What happened tonight?” I ask.
“I saw him out, again. I wasn’t going to come over. I wanted to party and dance and let loose. But he came over to me. Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” was playing and everyone was going wild. He said that he liked kissing me. And kissed me again.”
“Oh my God!” I squeal like a little girl.
“We made out for awhile, and then decided to come back here. I was going to sneak out of his room sometime later, but you two were out there forever! What the hell were you doing anyway? And then I fell asleep. Can you believe it? I actually slept over at a guy’s place? This is big for me.”
“You live here,” I say. She shrugs.
“Still a big deal,” Juliet says.
“And?” I ask. “What happened between you and Dylan?”
“I’m not telling you that,” she says. “It’s private!”
“No! You can’t leave me hanging like this!”
She shrugs again. She gets out of my bed and climbs into her own.
“I need to get some rest.”
“Did you guys do it? Tell me that, at least.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” She rolls away from me.
I can’t believe she’s leaving me han
ging like this. It must only mean one thing. She really likes him.
“Fine.” Juliet turns back around. “I’m just going to tell you one thing about tonight and that’s it.”
I wait impatiently.
“If I were Peyton and he did to her what he did to me tonight, I’d never let him go.”
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for a few moments. I listen to Juliet’s breathing and I know that she’s not asleep yet. And even if I’m wrong, I don’t care.
“So, what does this mean then?” I ask. “Are you two, like, dating?”
“No. I can’t date him! He’s a mess. Plus, I don’t date,” Juliet says.
“Oh, c’mon. I think you like him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do!” I insist.
“Well, you like Tristan. Are you two going to date again?” she asks. She shuts me up and falls asleep.
I flip over on my stomach and stare out of the window. The sun won’t be up for a bit, and New York is still asleep. I’m not much of a morning person; I can barely drag myself out of bed at 9 o’clock. But I no longer feel the least bit sleepy and I decide to go for a walk.
I’ve never seen New York at this hour. Riverside Drive is wet from last night’s rain and it glistens in the morning sun. There are a few joggers and dog owners out braving the world, but otherwise the park is empty and feels like it’s all mine. I sit down on the bench and search my purse for a pen and a new thank you card.
* * *
Dear Tristan,
Thank you for walking in on Simon and me. Things were moving too fast and I think I would’ve regretted what was about to happen if you hadn’t walked in. I can’t tell you this in person, out of fear that your already enormous head will get even bigger, but it was nice to sleep with you again. I hate that you didn’t get my permission (though I wouldn’t have given it) and that Simon found us, but it was nice. It reminded me of all those sleepovers we used to have when we were kids. Back when we were really friends. I hope we can get back to being those kids again, sometime. I don’t know what I will do if we can’t.
Love,
Alice
* * *
A bird prances to me just as I finish the letter. The pigeon looks at me inquisitively, tilting her head from side to side. I spread my arms open to show her that I don’t have any food. When she convinces herself that I’m not lying, she walks away.
I come back upstairs with fresh bagels and donuts. The bakery on the corner just opened and I couldn’t resist not getting something from their first batch of the day. When I walk in our suite, I expect to have some time to myself to enjoy a cup of coffee over some morning news. Instead, I find Tristan studying at the dining room table.
“That smells amazing,” he says.
“You can have some. I’ve got plenty.”
He had made a fresh pot of coffee and pours me a cup. We don’t speak for some time while we eat the sugary goodness and drink our coffees. The silence between us is comfortable. We have known each other long enough to not have to talk all the time. I relax and lose myself in the moment. When I come back to reality, I glance over at Tristan, who has buried himself in his Econ notes. None of the formulas make any sense to me and I’m grateful that I’m not taking that class.
“So I’ve given it some thought,” I say. “And I was wondering what I’m supposed to wear to this masquerade ball of yours.”
His eyes light up and a wide grin spreads over his face.
“Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you!” Tristan pulls me up to my feet and gives me a big hug. He then presses his lips onto mine and gives me a big kiss. I taste the sweetness of a chocolate donut on his lips and inhale the aroma of fresh coffee.
At first, the kiss feels like something a friend gives another. A friendly kiss without much meaning. But as I try to pull away, it suddenly morphs into something else. Tristan seems to be just as taken aback by it as I am, but neither of us pull away. At least, not in time. Instead, we linger. A little too long. When we finally do pull away, the tone of the morning has changed. Clouds blow in and kill the sunshine outside. Darkness descends on us and we stare at each other without saying a word.
“So, what should I wear?” I ask, trying to change the subject. Something deep within me tells me that if we were to talk about this, what had just happened, the whole world would disappear. I know this to be true the way I know that I will come back down to Earth if I jump up in the air.
“Um, it’s black tie. So a gown and a mask should be fine,” he mumbles.
I nod and leave.
31
Juliet and Dylan are so annoying. Now that they’re sleeping together out in the open, Tristan and I have to sneak around to make sure that we don’t disturb them! Luckily, for me, though, they stay locked in Tristan and Dylan’s room, not Juliet’s and my room. I don’t know how Tristan puts up with it, but he has been a good sport about it so far.
Simon and I have also managed to mend fences. The day after the incident, I looked for him everywhere on campus and finally managed to track him down in the coffee shop on Amsterdam Avenue. After an hour of talking about it, he agreed to give me another chance, which I know I don’t deserve. I don’t know why I pushed for the second chance so much.
Do I really like Simon? I do. But something about us also seems off. Perhaps it’s all the guilt that I feel about the kiss. I didn’t tell Simon about the kiss. I couldn’t. I can’t. Our relationship, if I can call it that, is in this fragile state where it feels like if I breathe wrong it might dissipate entirely. And the kiss between Tristan and I – well, that’s much more than breathing.
The kiss. It has been days since the kiss. The kiss that Tristan and I still haven’t talked about and probably never will, if I have any say in it.
Besides the kiss, there’s something else that has been weighing on my mind: the masquerade ball. I am going with Tristan to his stupid event and that’s yet another thing that I haven’t told Simon about. I’m not sure I owe it to him. He’s not my boyfriend or anything, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that I’m wrong. I should tell him. I just can’t.
I’m pretty sure that if Simon knew about the ball, he’d never want to see me again. And I like him. I hate to admit it, but the fact that Tristan hates him makes me like him even more. Simon’s the first guy I had really liked in a long while. I don’t know where this thing with him is going, but I don’t want to ruin it before it gets the chance to get off the ground.
I shouldn’t feel bad about not telling, right? This masquerade ball isn’t anything. Tristan’s with Tea. And I’m with Simon. Tristan and I are friends who are going to a party together.
I pound on Dylan’s door. I can hear them inside. They sound as if they’re reinventing sex in there.
“Go away,” Dylan mumbles through the moans.
“I need to talk to Juliet,” I say.
“Go away,” he says, louder this time.
I refuse to give up. I need expert advice. I can’t do this without her.
“Juliet, I need your help,” I plead. “I need to get a gown for that masquerade ball and I don’t know where I should go or what to get.”
Suddenly, all sounds disappear.
“You’re leaving? Really?” I hear Dylan’s shocked voice through the door.
“She needs me,” I hear Juliet say through the rustling of clothes. I smile. Girls before bros! Juliet’s my girl.
* * *
After a few hours of extreme shopping – searching through 5 stores and trying on at least fifteen dresses before I stopped counting – we finally get back home with my entire outfit. We found the dress in the last place we looked – a little nondescript boutique in Soho called Francesca’s. The dress is a gold Ralph Lauren sequined v-neck gown that “catches the light in all the right places and doesn’t make your hips look any bigger than necessary,” according to Juliet.
I don’t buy a pair of shoes because Juliet has again insisted on
lending me a pair of hers. And as for my mask, since this is a masquerade ball, after all, it’s a black mask with jewels and feathers that Juliet found at this posh Halloween boutique in the East Village.
“That mask makes your eyes look amazing!” Juliet says. “Wait till I do your make up – you won’t be able to keep Tristan’s paws off you.”
She’s talking like that and she doesn’t even know about our kiss.
“I don’t want Tristan’s paws on me,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “No, you want his paws on you, but you want to get to reject them.”
I can’t stand this anymore. “Okay, can we stop talking about paws, please?” I ask.
* * *
The following evening, Juliet and I spend two hours getting me ready for the ball. I tell her that she doesn’t have to help if she doesn’t want to, but she insists. She reminds me a lot of Cher from the movie Clueless – she can’t walk away from the chance of giving someone a makeover.
The door to our room is open due to all the hairspray fumes, which would undoubtedly kill us otherwise. I sit in the chair in front of Juliet’s mirror while she blow-dries and then curls my hair. From here, I can somewhat make out the conversation taking place in the other room.
“I’m so glad you’re in,” I hear Dylan say to Tristan. “You’ll see you can’t go wrong working with this guy. He guarantees a 15% return on investment, no matter what.”
“I didn’t know that was possible,” Tristan says.
“Oh yes, it is. Bank says that it’s not to the public, but it’s a complete lie. They just don’t want to get in trouble in case something happens.”
“So then something can happen?” Tristan asks.
“No, that’s the beauty of it. This deal, it’s just for insiders. Everyone’s doing it. At least, everyone who’s connected,” Dylan says. “My dad made $8 million last year with this guy. He’s the man.”
“Are you hearing this?” I ask Juliet. She shakes her head and shrugs.
Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract Page 115