“Hope your first day is awesome,” Ricky said as he let me go. “Are you still coming by to paint my portrait afterward?”
“Only if Cliff’s there to talk about gay stuff,” I teased.
“Shut up. Don’t waste the first day of senior year, Codi, all right? Or any of it.”
“I hear you.”
“And tell Grant I said hi.”
“I will.”
We loitered by the cars after they left. JaKory walked off when he got a call from Daveon, a grin on his face before he’d even answered, and then it was just Lydia, Maritza, Vivien, and me.
“I’m staying on dance team,” Maritza told me, rolling her eyes but smiling. She gave Vivien a look.
“What?” I asked.
Vivien grinned. “I had a little chat with Rona. Apparently she’s terrified of me? Yeah, I don’t know, I’ve been told I come off as intimidating. Anyway, I told her to leave Maritza alone.”
Maritza smiled the same way JaKory was smiling these days. “Turns out dating the captain has its perks.”
“Have you told your team?” Lydia asked.
“Hell no,” Maritza said. “We’re trying to fuck with them, see how long it takes them to catch on.”
“Most likely the entire year,” Vivien said, and Maritza laughed and kissed her on the cheek, which was the most un-Maritza-ish thing I’d ever seen.
“Vivitza,” Lydia cheered under her breath, raising her fist in a victory pump, and Maritza rolled her eyes and smiled bigger than ever.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as JaKory came back over to the group. “Meet at my locker?”
“Yeah,” JaKory said hastily. “I’m bringing copies of my curated summer reading list. I laminated them and everything. Mrs. Barley’s going to hate me. But Daveon—”
“Daveon loves you,” I finished. “We know.”
“I was going to say Daveon added a couple of suggestions,” JaKory said. “But yeah, same thing.”
We split off between the cars, the other three jumping into Maritza’s—she didn’t let JaKory drive this time—and Lydia and me into hers. It was baked with heat, and for a minute we sat with the doors open and the AC blasting, coughing and wiping the sweat off our faces.
“Precious Vivitza,” Lydia said wistfully. “Reminds me of when we first met.”
“No way, we’re cuter than them,” I said, grabbing her hand.
She pretended to think about it, her face screwed up comically. “You know what?” she said, turning to me. “You’re right, we are.”
We didn’t talk on the short drive back to my house. We were that summer-sun kind of exhausted, and I was content just to sit there holding her hand. I’d held her hand for almost two hours the night before, when I’d taken her to the movies. We’d done all the classic date-night things: the popcorn, the shared soda straw, the making out in the car afterward. It had been like something out of a teen dating PSA, and as I’d lain there in the back seat of my car, making out with Lydia on top of me, I thought of how Mrs. Wexler, my seventh-grade sex ed teacher, had never been able to describe to the girls what would happen to our bodies when we were turned on. If I had known Lydia then, I wouldn’t have found the whole thing so mysterious.
The garage doors were up and both my parents’ cars were in their spaces. When we sat down to dinner tonight, they would launch into their usual start-of-the-school-year speech, emphasizing good grades, good behavior, and trying new things. I was pretty sure I’d have that last part covered.
“I hope you have the best first day,” Lydia said, idling her car in my driveway. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
“I’ll come see you tomorrow night,” I said, kissing her goodbye. “We can go for a drive.”
We were putting off the conversation we needed to have about whether we’d keep dating, and I knew that; but in that moment, with the thrill of a new school year fresh in my stomach, I was too hopeful to be afraid. Whatever happened with Lydia and me over the coming year, I knew I’d be able to handle it, and so would she. We were braver than we’d been two months ago.
Lydia kissed me long and slow, her hand on my face, her hair still wet from the pool. I squeezed her hand and got out of the car, waving as she backed out of the driveway.
My parents were lounging in the family room, watching their favorite news program. They told me dinner would be on the table in twenty minutes. I hurried up to my room, keen on taking a hot shower, but before I could do more than shrug off my pool towel, there was a knock on my bedroom door.
Grant was standing there, looking perplexed. He crossed his arms and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“What’s up?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
He shuffled into my room. “I didn’t mean to see, but my window looks over the driveway—”
“Oh god…” I said, rolling my head back and covering my eyes. “You and that damn window.”
“Is that the girl who was in your bed? Is she the person you took the popcorn to?”
I hesitated. This was supposed to be a big moment for my brother and me, and part of me still wasn’t ready for it.
Grant searched my expression, waiting for an explanation—not just about Lydia, but about me. I was probably never going to be ready for this conversation, but after everything that had happened between Grant and me this summer, I knew he’d earned a bit of faith.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “Her name’s Lydia.”
“And you’re dating her?” Grant asked.
I tried to keep my expression cool. “Yeah, I am.”
“Do Mom and Dad know?”
“No. Just us.”
My brother considered this. He nodded, and I knew what question was coming next.
“How did you—?”
I expected any variation of How did you know, How did you come to terms with it, How did you hide it this whole time, but I guess that goes to show that I still had a lot to learn about my brother, because the question that came out was “How did you know she liked you?”
I blinked. “What?”
“What if—you know, what if you can’t tell if a girl likes you?”
He asked it cavalierly, his eyes on my wallpaper like it didn’t matter—but I remembered that night at the movies, and the skinny girl he’d nearly kissed.
“She does like you,” I said.
“What?”
“The girl from the movie theater, with the long brown hair and the braces, right? She likes you, I could tell.”
My brother blushed. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Uh, actually … I’m talking about a different girl. I met her at orientation on Thursday, and Darin and Ryan and I hung out with her and her friends yesterday.”
I laughed in surprise. “Damn, Grant, you’ve got all the prospects.”
He glanced away, trying to hide his grin. “So how do I know if she likes me?”
“You just do. Hang out with her long enough, get to know her as a friend, and you’ll know it in your gut if she likes you. Or bring her around Maritza, JaKory, and me, and we’ll figure it out for you.”
He shook his head. “No, no, that’s okay. I’ll just … yeah, I’ll just keep hanging out with her. Thanks.”
He shuffled back out of my room, closing the door behind him.
I stood there in wonder for a moment, shaking my head at all of it, until a laugh bubbled out of my throat. Then I went to take a shower before I ran out of time.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First: None of this could have happened without my fearless agent, Marietta Zacker. Your heart for Codi, Ricky, Maritza, and JaKory has driven this entire thing from October 2017 through today. Thank you for your fierce advocacy and steady faith. Additional thanks to Erin Casey and the team at GZLA.
I prayed for an editor who would understand the heart of this book while knowing how to make it better, and I received just that. Mekisha Telfer, you are literally a godsend. You took a heartfelt but anemic manuscript and k
new exactly where it needed lifeblood. I’m so grateful for your brilliance, your vision, your instincts, and your kindness.
Annie Quindlen and Kim Quindlen (Ruane or whatever), thanks for being so game to read my drafts and offer feedback. I’m grateful to my other early readers: Debbie Savino, Sean Ruane, Meaghan “Fashion Secrets” Quindlen, Haley Neer (who wants people to know she’s single), Adrienne Tooley, Marquise Thomas, and Sana “The Dark Lord” Saiyed. Ruqayyah Strozier, your critique was especially helpful. Hurry up and finish your book. And Sarah Cropley, I couldn’t have gotten inside Codi’s artist brain without you. Thank you for sharing your talents.
I’m lucky to have an amazing hometown community. My deepest thanks to my FFF ATL family, especially Kathy Farrell, who always knows the way forward, and Casey Long, fairy gaymother extraordinaire. Julia B. and Dr. C., thank you for helping me be the healthiest version of myself while I wrote this novel. Decatur Writers Studio, I wish you had more parking, but I’m thankful for your classes and community-building. Thanks to Joshilyn Jackson, whose writing class I took at DWS in winter 2018, and to my critique partners, Kimberly Hays de Muga, Kay Heath, and Cassie Gonzalez.
I’ve wanted to write books my whole life. Thank you to three special teachers who nurtured and sharpened my writing talents: Mrs. Judy Miller, St. Louis School in Pittsford, New York; Mrs. Sandy Bensky, Singapore American School; and Professor Teresa Goddu, Vanderbilt University.
The beating heart of this story is friendship, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank my amazing friends. To my HR girls, QTCs, Spewies, Vandy gang, Keops krew, Louisiana loves, and Atlanta fam (even you, Thomas), thank you for being you. Special shout-out to my siblings, Kim, Michael, and Annie, for being my Day One best friends.
Melissa Correa, thank you for being my ride-or-die through this whole thing. The teenage version of me would have been ecstatic to know you’d walk into my life someday. You are Maritza’s roller-coaster drop, JaKory’s poetry, Ricky’s kindergarten friend, and Lydia’s green house. You are Codi’s renewed belief that she deserves good things. I couldn’t love you more.
More than anything, thank you to my family. Aunt Tish and Uncle Stephen kept me well fed and laughing while I worked on revisions down the Shore; Aunt Meggie and Uncle Bobby did the same while I worked on the second round of revisions over Christmas. To all the Quindlens and Kearneys, especially Grandmom, Grandpop, Mom-Mom, and Pop-Pop, I wouldn’t be who I am or where I am without you. A special note of gratitude to my godmother, Aunt Patty, to whom this book is dedicated.
Mom and Dad, you encouraged my writing passion from the time I was six years old. Thanks for acting like it was totally normal that I spent the majority of my high school years writing Harry Potter fanfic in the basement. I couldn’t have done this without you. Love you so much.
Finally: Maryse Alexandre was there the day I got the call that this book would be published. I wish you could be here to see it in print. I miss you all the time.
Praise for
LATE TO THE PARTY
“Perfectly captures the joys and hopes and thrills of being a real, authentic teenager … A fantastic read for queer teens today.”
—KACEN CALLENDER,
Stonewall Award– and Lambda Award–winning author of This Is Kind of an Epic Love Story
“Late to the Party is right on time to being your favorite read. I didn’t want my time with Quindlen’s characters to end.”
—SARA FARIZAN,
Lambda Award–winning author of If You Could Be Mine
“A stunning journey of discovery and friendship.”
—MASON DEAVER,
bestselling author of I Wish You All the Best
“A heartfelt exploration of self, love, and friendship … Quindlen has written a slow-burning, exquisite book well worth savoring.”
—AMINAH MAE SAFI,
author of Tell Me How You Really Feel
“A celebration of late bloomers, queer solidarity, and friendships both old and new. This book has a permanent place in my heart.”
—DAHLIA ADLER,
author of Under the Lights
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kelly Quindlen is the author of the young adult novel Her Name in the Sky. A graduate of Vanderbilt University and a former teacher, Kelly has had the joy of speaking to PFLAG groups and high school GSAs. She currently serves on the leadership board of a non-profit for Catholic parents with LGBT children. Kelly lives in Atlanta. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Acknowledgments
Praise for Late to the Party
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 by Kelly Quindlen
Published by Roaring Brook Press
Roaring Brook Press is a division of Holtzbrinck Publishing Holdings Limited Partnership
120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271
fiercereads.com
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019941018
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by email at [email protected].
eISBN 9781250209146
First hardcover edition, 2020
eBook edition, April 2020
Late to the Party Page 25