You Just Can't Get Enough

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  “Oh, okay,” Jack said softly. She eyed him critically. He was cuter than she had anticipated, with broad, athletic shoulders and a trim waist. His blue eyes reminded her of the disastrous Saint-Tropez vacation she’d gone on with her mother a few years ago, when her mother had fallen in love with some native who’d almost convinced her to move there. Owen loosened his maroon tie, still not looking at her. He was nervous, Jack realized. She decided to give him something to really be nervous about. “Are you running back to meet Kelsey?” she asked innocently.

  It worked. The tips of his ears turned bright red against his blond hair. Jack smiled as if she were really a concerned citizen, just interested in current affairs.

  “Kelsey?” Owen choked. He could almost feel the lump of pizza he’d just eaten coming back up.

  “Isn’t that your girlfriend?” Jack widened her green eyes.

  They were still standing on the corner, and suddenly Owen felt very exposed. He looked inside the pizza place. The pizza guy was by himself, bopping up and down to some song. The cars had stopped, and the WALK sign was on.

  “Let’s walk,” Owen instructed. He couldn’t believe he’d been discovered. There really were spies everywhere. No wonder Avery was always so paranoid. They reached Eighty-seventh between First and York. “First of all, she’s not my girlfriend. I barely know her, except that she used to date my buddy, Rhys,” Owen announced.

  “Are you sure?” Jack demanded. It was kind of fun doing this. She felt like a sexy girl spy, like Anne Hathaway from that totally dumb movie, Get Smart.

  “Why do you care?” Owen asked point-blank. His voice rose. He’d had enough of everyone scrutinizing him.

  “Because I need a favor.” Jack dropped the spy tack in favor of a more demure, sex-kitten-with-a-heart-of-gold persona, sort of like Marilyn Monroe in Bus Stop, an old movie she and J.P. had once watched in his screening room. She’d had the idea the instant she realized Owen might have a secret: She had nothing to lose by pretending she knew about a Kelsey/Owen tryst. If they had been together, then Owen would have to do pretty much anything she asked to keep her from spreading the rumor. Why not have a little fun with him? She could totally drive Avery and Baby crazy in the process.

  “My boyfriend broke up with me last week. I haven’t been able to sleep, I haven’t been able to eat—I just feel so ugly,” Jack continued, really getting into it. It felt good to tell someone how shitty and out of control she felt lately. And Owen actually seemed like he was listening. He’d fallen into step with her and was nodding like he really cared about what she had to say.

  “You’re so hot, and every girl on the Upper East Side wants you. But I know that something happened with you and Kelsey and you have to keep it a secret. I don’t want to blackmail you.…” She batted her eyelashes and smiled. She was skipping English right now, and she still hadn’t even cracked open Moby-fucking-Dick.

  Who needs literature when you’re the mistress of dark subplots?

  “What do you want from me?” Owen narrowed his eyes at her. She looked so innocent and vulnerable and beautiful that he momentarily softened. He did know firsthand how much breakups sucked.

  “Could you pretend to be my boyfriend?”

  “What?” Owen demanded in case he’d misheard. He knew girls were weird, but this seemed absurd. Even Avery wouldn’t ask a guy to do that.

  They were nearing East End Avenue and Owen noticed a group of St. Jude’s guys across the street. They turned and stared silently. Great. Every guy in his school thought he batted for the other team. He looked at Jack, whose beautiful green eyes pleaded. They almost reminded him of his golden retriever, Chance, when he really wanted a walk. Not that he was comparing her to a dog or anything.

  What do you call a female dog again?

  The St. Jude’s guys elbowed one another as Jack and Owen walked past, and suddenly Owen had a flash of inspiration. If he went along with her plan, at least no one would think he was gay. In fact, having an insta-girlfriend might not be such a bad idea.

  “Um, I have to go to class,” Owen said, evading the question. “Can we talk more about this later?” He pulled out his iPhone and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “What’s your number?”

  Jack grabbed the phone away from him and quickly punched in her phone number. Her hands were cool and Owen felt a jolt of electricity as her fingernails brushed against his palm.

  “I understand.” Jack nodded, handing Owen’s iPhone back. She looked so guileless as she brushed her auburn hair off her shoulder. But Owen knew from experience that girls always had an ulterior motive. “So, I’ll see you later.…” She smiled and then kissed him on the cheek.

  “Okay.” Owen stepped back involuntarily. What exactly would pretending to be her boyfriend entail?

  Lots of benefits!

  “Thank you,” she whispered as she walked west, her uniform skirt swirling around her knees. Owen walked up the steps to St. Jude’s, a smile playing on his face.

  Watch out, flipper boy. Playing in the kiddie pool’s a far cry from jumping off the deep end. . . .

  heaven in a handbasket

  Rhys lumbered into the Eighty-sixth Street entrance of the park on Tuesday afternoon, weighed down by a custom-packed Dean & DeLuca picnic basket. He’d asked Kelsey to meet him right after her Seaton Arms tennis practice, which conveniently took place at the Central Park tennis courts on Ninety-third. Since she had to walk back home this way anyway, offering to meet her here seemed less stalkerish and desperate and more like they were two old friends catching up. At least he could fall back on that excuse if nothing went according to plan.

  But it would, Rhys told himself as he unfolded a Frette sheet on the grassy slope adjacent to the Egyptian wing of the Met. It was beautiful, and it was never too crowded. He nervously pulled out his phone, in case Kelsey was running late.

  She wasn’t. “Wow!” Kelsey squealed as she walked up the slope and saw the elaborate spread. In her tennis whites, perky white visor, and white sneakers, she looked like an angel. Her face broke into a wide, sunny grin as she yanked off her shoes and ran across the grass toward him, scattering a collection of pigeons in her path. Rhys sighed in relief. Already this was going better than he’d anticipated.

  “Hey!” Kelsey stopped right before she hugged him. Rhys stood up, then sat down on the sheet awkwardly. It was so weird being together, but not together together. At least not yet.

  Down, boy! Patience is a virtue.

  Kelsey sat down next to him and peered inside the picnic basket. She had a small scar on her nose from a nose piercing she’d gotten during a brief moment of rebellion in ninth grade. If you didn’t know her, you’d think it was a freckle, but that was the thing—Rhys did know her.

  Just not as, ahem, intimately as some people.

  “Oh my God, you brought jelly babies!” She pulled out a yellow package of the British, gummy bear–like candy his dad was obsessed with. “I love you! I mean… I love them,” she trailed off awkwardly as she bit her pale pink bottom lip.

  “Yeah, I just pulled together some stuff.” Rhys tried to sound like he hadn’t spent the entire weekend racing from Zabar’s to Citarella to Dean & DeLuca to prepare the picnic. “How was practice?” He passed her a water bottle he’d filled with Grey Goose–infused lemonade, her favorite drink.

  “Good…” Kelsey trailed off. “You think of everything,” she noted as she took a swig from the container. She leaned back on her elbows, and Rhys stared at her happily. He could have stared at her all day.

  “Rhys!” a male voice shouted.

  He looked up and saw Hugh Moore, surrounded by Jeff Kohl, Ken Williams, and Ian McDaniel. Fuck. Rhys looked down, pretending to be supremely interested in the pattern of the wicker picnic basket, hoping they’d just go away.

  “Hey Kelsey, good to see you again. We’ve missed you.” Hugh winked. “Might I say, you look lovely tonight.” His eyes lecherously flicked to her tanned upper thighs.

  “Thanks,” Kels
ey said sweetly. “How are you? You look really… manly with the beard,” she giggled. Rhys smiled tightly.

  “I do what I can to impress the ladies.” Hugh shrugged and plopped down next to them. He took a Carr’s cracker, smeared it with Brie, and sighed in satisfaction. “Rhys, Ian’s buying you a present right now.” He laughed mischievously. Rhys followed Hugh’s line of vision and noticed Ian’s skinny frame in front of an ice-cream truck. Oh no. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

  “Rhys wants a Mister Softee!” Hugh yelled loudly. Several people turned to stare. “I know that’s not what you need.” Hugh smiled lasciviously at Kelsey as Ian, Hugh, and Ken all lined up and looked down at them, Ian proffering a runny vanilla ice-cream cone.

  “No.” Rhys blushed furiously, especially when he saw Kelsey giggling. “Guys, I’ll see you later?” he asked in what he hoped was an authoritative tone. He looked over at Kelsey, hoping she didn’t think he was totally gross, or worse, totally lame.

  And, you know, a softy.

  “Very funny,” she said, laughing. “You guys want to hang out for a little? There’s plenty of food,” Kelsey offered, smiling at the guys. One of the things Rhys loved about Kelsey was she never minded his swim team friends’ totally lame jokes or inappropriate senses of humor, but tonight was not the night. Rhys held his breath, trying to send a telepathic message to Hugh that he would personally pull his balls off if he stayed.

  “No, looks like you’ve got things to do.” Hugh mercifully stood up. “Go get ’em, tiger!” he added to Rhys, running down the slope with the guys.

  “Sorry about that,” Rhys said desperately. The park was crowded, and people kept stepping over their blanket and peering into their picnic basket, as if they wanted to join in.

  “No problem. They’re kind of funny. That whole swim team bonding thing, right? That’s why you guys haven’t shaved? It’s cute.” Kelsey reached up and touched the scruff on Rhys’s chin with her thumb. “It’s good to see you. Thanks for calling.” She shook her head sadly. “I didn’t think we’d ever talk again.”

  “I’d never stop talking to you,” Rhys said simply as he refreshed their Snapple containers. A curious French bulldog wandered over and nosed his way into Rhys’s lap. Rhys awkwardly pushed him back and the dog scampered away, leaving a perfect paw imprint in the Brie Rhys had left out. Oh dear. Nothing was going to plan.

  Kelsey laughed at the distraught look on his face. “Don’t worry about the cheese. This is so much better than meeting at a restaurant. Really,” she assured him.

  Rhys grinned. She knew him, too, how neurotic he got when everything wasn’t… perfect. “So, how have you been?” he asked lamely.

  Kelsey sighed dramatically. “Not that good,” she confessed. She bit her blackberry-stained lip and looked off into the distance.

  “Really?” Rhys asked, surprised. He hated to think of Kelsey being unhappy, but could it be that she’d been missing him? “You could have called me. You know, to talk about things. I’m always there for you,” he said gallantly. Instantly, he began second-guessing himself. Did that sound too timid, too gay-best-friend? He didn’t want to be her gay best friend. He wanted to be her very straight, very manly boyfriend.

  Kelsey nodded to herself, as if she was deep in thought. Rhys loved the way she kept biting her lip. She always did it when she was nervous. Part of the reason why he loved her so much was how mercurial and mysterious she was, but now, he wished he could just read her mind.

  “I’m glad you don’t hate me,” Kelsey finally said, so quietly Rhys could hardly hear her. He shivered suddenly. The air was colder, and the sun had dipped below the trees behind him. He couldn’t imagine a cold, dark, New York City winter without Kelsey by his side. Now was the time, and he needed to just grow a pair and do it already.

  “I’d never hate you. You have to know that. In fact, I’ve been miserable without you, and I wish I hadn’t given you up so easily. If there’s somebody else, fine, but you need to know that I want to be your boyfriend still. I’ll be the best boyfriend ever, if you’ll just give me another chance,” he said in a rush. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest, like he’d just done two laps of butterfly, and he bit his lip nervously, watching Kelsey’s face intently. What if she told him to stop being such a lame, pathetic loser? Grow a sack, Sterling, he thought to himself.

  “I was really, really hoping that’s why you’d asked me here.” Kelsey finally nodded, her blue eyes seemingly shadowed by sadness. Rhys wished he could wrap his arms around her and tell her it’d be okay, but he couldn’t. Not yet. “There is no one else. … I mean, you’re amazing, and I… Yes. I’d love to date again,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. Rhys squeezed his eyes closed to make sure it wasn’t a dream, but it wasn’t—it was true. She wanted him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For everything.”

  “I…” Rhys began, but he stopped. What more was there to say? That he hadn’t been able to sleep because of her? That she was the reason he had this Wolverine meets–William Shakespeare beard? But, just then, he felt her fluttery, thin fingers on his hands. She placed her soft lips on his.

  “I missed this,” she whispered.

  Rhys pulled her close into him, smelling her apple-scented shampoo and feeling her tiny, delicate curves between his arms. She kissed him back hungrily. Her skin felt hot under his fingertips, even though it was getting colder outside. He pulled her closer to him, never, ever wanting to let go. This was it. He was almost glad they’d broken up. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe they’d needed that separation to get this close?

  Maybe.

  “Get a room!” a mom yelled at them as she walked past, pushing a Bugaboo stroller.

  Oops. Rhys pulled away and watched Kat pop a jelly baby candy in her mouth. She looked so happy. He was too. Soon enough they’d need that room after all.

  Not to mention a razor, stat!

  looking for labels, looking for love

  Baby sat on the concrete steps of Union Square on Tuesday after school, her face turned up to the sun. Surrounding her were the members of Underground Response, all dressed in Stella McCartney dresses, 3.1 by Phillip Lim skinny pants, and Rag & Bone waistcoats. They would have been the picture of Upper East Side sophistication, except for the fact that the guys were the ones dressed in the frilly frocks, and the girls were all decked out in slouchy hoodies and khakis.

  Fashion police! We have a major emergency!

  Baby smiled in satisfaction, pleased that so many people had turned up. She and Sydney had come up with the idea of shooting a back-to-school fashion spread for Rancor. A fashion issue, especially with well-known designers, would cause the bitchy girls of Constance to wet their pants in excited anticipation, then freak out when they saw the guys in girls’ clothing. They had discussed it over red wine and, when they’d begun using phrases like female-centered sexuality and rejecting binaries, realized they might actually accomplish something beyond making Rancor a little less lame. Luckily, Webber had been only too happy to help, volunteering Underground Responders to the cause. Constance girls would have no idea how to understand this type of mind-fuck.

  The mostly-Columbia-undergrad group milled about the stone steps, happily chatting as if they were at a really weird party. Baby sighed with contentment as she watched the double takes of passersby. This was so much better than mingling with traditional couture-wearing attendees at the fancy parties Avery obsessed over.

  Sydney stood next to the nearby Gandhi statue, frowning into a digital camera. Even from Baby’s perch, she could tell Sydney had no clue what she was doing. Baby knew she should go over and help her, but right now, she was content just to sit back and observe. These people, like Mateo, really got it: that life was supposed to be fun. It kind of reminded her of the best parts of a Bertolucci film, where characters realized their essential selves.

  “Hey!” Mateo’s strong arms circled her from behind. She could smell his smoky breath.

  “Hey!” Baby giggled n
ervously and gently pulled his hands off her. J.P. had said he might stop by later, and even though she and Mateo were just friends, she didn’t want J.P. to see them touching.

  “I have to go help Webber and Sydney.” She brushed off the back of her enormous tan Paul Smith cords. They were the smallest size possible, but were still way too large on Baby’s skinny frame. She ambled over to the Gandhi statue, where Sydney was now animatedly arguing with Webber, his lanky body bedecked in a Thread sheath dress.

  “Jesus, it’s a fucking nightmare here.” Sydney sighed dramatically, even though she was grinning. “Like, drag isn’t enough, now all these guys want to strip outside Forever 21 to protest consumerism. You can only do one thing at a time in a revolution, you know?” Sydney shrugged and turned her full attention to Webber. “I don’t care that they want to strip outside Forever 21. They can—I just need to get these shots first. Please?” She was wearing a pair of ridiculous-looking candy-cane seersucker shorts that Baby sincerely hoped no guy would ever buy, and a wifebeater, sans bra. Her nipple piercings were clearly visible, like little door-knockers.

  Come in!

  “It’s not so much consumerism as capitalism, man. It’s the trickle-down effect,” one of the URs explained in a voice Baby recognized, from years of dating Tom, as 100 percent stoner. He adjusted his ridiculous-looking fake boobs under a small white blouse that would have looked adorable on a girl but just looked obscene on a guy.

  “They can do the protest in fifteen minutes!” Sydney conceded loudly. “Remind me why I thought it was a good idea to freaking direct people who are self-proclaimed anarchists?” She sighed ruefully. “Hey Baby, is that your boyfriend?”

  Baby glanced over at Mateo, who was fake-wrestling his friend Fernando in their matching Catholic schoolgirl–style kilts. Around them, a small crowd had gathered.