Dangerous Girls
Page 21
Tate collapses on the couch beside me. I put my bare feet in his lap and snuggle closer. “I didn’t know you got wasted at Jordan’s. Was that why your parents flipped?”
Tate shrugs. “I guess. It was nothing. You were there.”
“No, I had that flu thing,” I remind him.
He looks away. “I don’t remember. Elise is just pushing, that’s all.”
I drop it. Tate’s parents found an empty stash of bottles when they got back from a weekend in New York last month, and even though Tate swore he’d barely touched them, he told me about the massive lecture they dispensed on responsibility, and choice and consequence. Whatever they said, it was enough to make him cut down. Senior year is halfway over, college acceptance on the horizon—he’s been wound so tight for weeks, I can understand why he doesn’t want to mess anything up, not so close to the finish line.
“Try to relax this week,” I say, and kiss his neck, following the line from his jaw to his collarbone. “You’ve been too stressed.”
He gives me a halfhearted smile. “I know. Sorry.”
“It’s not a crime.” I lace my fingers through his. “I just want us to have fun, that’s all.”
“Fun, I can do.” He leans over and kisses me, light and true. I reach up to stroke his hair, and the kiss deepens, lasting—
“Get a room!” A cushion hits us square in the face. Tate pulls back, then hurls the cushion back at Max. He grabs another two and flings them back at us. I duck, my arms up to deflect the barrage, but I’m laughing all the same. There’s a buzz of excitement in all of us, I can tell, despite the long trip; the prospect of a whole week away from reality finally sinking in, after all our planning and prep back home.
“Speaking of sleeping arrangements . . .” Chelsea comes back inside, her hair down and already tangled in the breeze. “What is the bedroom situation, anyway?”
“There are five rooms,” AK replies, snapping a photo of her on his phone. “So do whatever.”
“I call the big one, with the balcony!” Elise calls from the kitchen. “I’m not dragging my shit up those stairs.”
Melanie’s voice follows, a whine. “But I thought we were going to share.”
“Yeah, no,” Elise saunters back over to the living area. “I’m going to have fun this week.”
“Slut!” Max hollers.
“Fuck yeah!” Elise strikes a pose. I laugh, tossing one of the stray pillows at her.
“We’re in the one by the front door.” Tate looks to me for confirmation. “I already left my stuff.”
“Fine with me.” I pull myself to my feet, and grab my case. “I need to go change. I feel like I’ve got airport all over me.”
“Then we need to go shopping,” Elise declares. “There’s nothing here.”
“But the fridge is full.” Melanie frowns.
“Yes, with fruit, and salad.” Elise wrinkles her lip. “We need limes, mixers, mint for mojitos . . .”
“Chips,” Lamar adds.
“Ice cream,” Chelsea agrees, resting her hands on his shoulders.
“Beer!” AK adds.
I leave them planning our grocery list, and drag my suitcase back down the hall to the room Tate mentioned, by the front door. I push the door open and smile: There are two bedrooms on this level, and another three upstairs. Those have another deck and even better views, but this one is private, with its own bathroom and nobody next door to hear anything through the walls.
I stash my case by the closet and step into the green-tiled bathroom, already set with fluffy towels and a cabinet full of shower gels and shampoos like some fancy hotel. Not that I’d expect anything less from AK’s family. His dad struck it rich in the tech boom and has a thing for shiny toys: AK always has the newest phones and laptops before they hit the market, and a garage of five different sports cars to choose from. Some of the other parents look at them sideways during school events, but if Mr. Kundra notices, he doesn’t let on, strolling around with his designer suits and ten-thousand-dollar watches, a chauffeur waiting at the curb.
I pause for a moment, thinking about my dad, and the hushed phone conversations and late hours he’s been working recently. Some nights, he’s not back from the office until after midnight, looking worn-out and pale, but whenever I ask, he waves away my concern with excuses about tax season and demanding clients. I want to believe him, but even I can’t help but pick up the murmurs from everyone’s parents, muttering darkly about the economy, and how everyone is cutting back.
But this is my vacation from all of that. I shake off the worry and turn on the multijet shower, stripping off my jeans. I’ve got my shirt halfway over my head when I hear Tate in the bedroom. “Hey, do you still have my necklace?” I call. “The one I forgot to take off through security? I think I put it in your bag, the front pocket.”
Hands close around my waist, cool, and I squeal, whipping my head around. It’s Elise.
“You scared me!”
“Shouldn’t leave the door open,” she teases, hugging me tight from behind. “Anyone could walk in.”
“Most people knock,” I point out, but I’m smiling. My eyes meet hers in the mirror, our expressions full of delight. “Pretty sweet setup, don’t you think?”
“Fancy,” she agrees, kissing my shoulder. “You feeling better?”
“Miles and miles.” I agree, and it’s true. The stress of Boston and my dad and school is suddenly a world away, dissolving into the bright, clear sunshine that’s spilling all around us, warm tiles against our bare feet. “You were right about this place.” I hug her back. “And Tate seems better too.”
“You didn’t say he was down. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, everything.” I sigh. “School, family, the usual. But it’s fine now. We just needed to get away.”
“Told you.” Elise lets me go. “You better get moving! We’re heading to the market in ten.”
“Yes sir.” I mock-salute. She slaps me on the ass and exits before I can protest, leaving me alone with my steamy-edged reflection in the mirror. I take in the sight of my own smile—relaxed and happy—and vow not to give another thought to my dad. For the next seven days, life in Boston doesn’t exist. The real world can wait.
• • •
Tate shrugs. “I guess. It was nothing. You were there.”
“No, I had that flu thing,” I remind him.
He looks away. “I don’t remember. Elise is just pushing, that’s all.”
I drop it. Tate’s parents found an empty stash of bottles when they got back from a weekend in New York last month, and even though Tate swore he’d barely touched them, he told me about the massive lecture they dispensed on responsibility, and choice and consequence. Whatever they said, it was enough to make him cut down. Senior year is halfway over, college acceptance on the horizon—he’s been wound so tight for weeks, I can understand why he doesn’t want to mess anything up, not so close to the finish line.
“Try to relax this week,” I say, and kiss his neck, following the line from his jaw to his collarbone. “You’ve been too stressed.”
He gives me a halfhearted smile. “I know. Sorry.”
“It’s not a crime.” I lace my fingers through his. “I just want us to have fun, that’s all.”
“Fun, I can do.” He leans over and kisses me, light and true. I reach up to stroke his hair, and the kiss deepens, lasting—
“Get a room!” A cushion hits us square in the face. Tate pulls back, then hurls the cushion back at Max. He grabs another two and flings them back at us. I duck, my arms up to deflect the barrage, but I’m laughing all the same. There’s a buzz of excitement in all of us, I can tell, despite the long trip; the prospect of a whole week away from reality finally sinking in, after all our planning and prep back home.
“Speaking of sleeping arrangements . . .” Chelsea comes back inside, her hair down and already tangled in the breeze. “What is the bedroom situation, anyway?”
“There are five rooms,” AK replies, snapping a photo of her on his phone. “So do whatever.”
“I call the big one, with the balcony!” Elise calls from the kitchen. “I’m not dragging my shit up those stairs.”
Melanie’s voice follows, a whine. “But I thought we were going to share.”
“Yeah, no,” Elise saunters back over to the living area. “I’m going to have fun this week.”
“Slut!” Max hollers.
“Fuck yeah!” Elise strikes a pose. I laugh, tossing one of the stray pillows at her.
“We’re in the one by the front door.” Tate looks to me for confirmation. “I already left my stuff.”
“Fine with me.” I pull myself to my feet, and grab my case. “I need to go change. I feel like I’ve got airport all over me.”
“Then we need to go shopping,” Elise declares. “There’s nothing here.”
“But the fridge is full.” Melanie frowns.
“Yes, with fruit, and salad.” Elise wrinkles her lip. “We need limes, mixers, mint for mojitos . . .”
“Chips,” Lamar adds.
“Ice cream,” Chelsea agrees, resting her hands on his shoulders.
“Beer!” AK adds.
I leave them planning our grocery list, and drag my suitcase back down the hall to the room Tate mentioned, by the front door. I push the door open and smile: There are two bedrooms on this level, and another three upstairs. Those have another deck and even better views, but this one is private, with its own bathroom and nobody next door to hear anything through the walls.
I stash my case by the closet and step into the green-tiled bathroom, already set with fluffy towels and a cabinet full of shower gels and shampoos like some fancy hotel. Not that I’d expect anything less from AK’s family. His dad struck it rich in the tech boom and has a thing for shiny toys: AK always has the newest phones and laptops before they hit the market, and a garage of five different sports cars to choose from. Some of the other parents look at them sideways during school events, but if Mr. Kundra notices, he doesn’t let on, strolling around with his designer suits and ten-thousand-dollar watches, a chauffeur waiting at the curb.
I pause for a moment, thinking about my dad, and the hushed phone conversations and late hours he’s been working recently. Some nights, he’s not back from the office until after midnight, looking worn-out and pale, but whenever I ask, he waves away my concern with excuses about tax season and demanding clients. I want to believe him, but even I can’t help but pick up the murmurs from everyone’s parents, muttering darkly about the economy, and how everyone is cutting back.
But this is my vacation from all of that. I shake off the worry and turn on the multijet shower, stripping off my jeans. I’ve got my shirt halfway over my head when I hear Tate in the bedroom. “Hey, do you still have my necklace?” I call. “The one I forgot to take off through security? I think I put it in your bag, the front pocket.”
Hands close around my waist, cool, and I squeal, whipping my head around. It’s Elise.
“You scared me!”
“Shouldn’t leave the door open,” she teases, hugging me tight from behind. “Anyone could walk in.”
“Most people knock,” I point out, but I’m smiling. My eyes meet hers in the mirror, our expressions full of delight. “Pretty sweet setup, don’t you think?”
“Fancy,” she agrees, kissing my shoulder. “You feeling better?”
“Miles and miles.” I agree, and it’s true. The stress of Boston and my dad and school is suddenly a world away, dissolving into the bright, clear sunshine that’s spilling all around us, warm tiles against our bare feet. “You were right about this place.” I hug her back. “And Tate seems better too.”
“You didn’t say he was down. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, everything.” I sigh. “School, family, the usual. But it’s fine now. We just needed to get away.”
“Told you.” Elise lets me go. “You better get moving! We’re heading to the market in ten.”
“Yes sir.” I mock-salute. She slaps me on the ass and exits before I can protest, leaving me alone with my steamy-edged reflection in the mirror. I take in the sight of my own smile—relaxed and happy—and vow not to give another thought to my dad. For the next seven days, life in Boston doesn’t exist. The real world can wait.
• • •
