This basement was particularly choice, furnished with a sofa, plush giant bean bags, a Perspex sling-chair hanging from the ceiling, a huge flat-screen TV and stereo system, and a pool table covered in purple felt. There were two bathrooms, two bedrooms, and even a kitchenette with a microwave and fridge, fully stocked with every type of salty snack, cereal, and candy.
There was a table set up for poker, already encircled with boys, as well as two pinball machines and a foosball table. There were a bunch of closets in the back with white double doors. And their host for the evening—a Gregory Hall kid called Denver or Portland or some other city name—had gone to the trouble of hanging little VACANT/OCCUPIED signs on each of the door handles, just in case anyone forgot the point of the party.
A. A. arrived with Lili, who was checking herself out in every available surface to see how cute she looked in A. A.’s clothes. They got themselves sodas and talked to a few people they recognized. Ashley hadn’t arrived yet, and A. A. couldn’t see Lauren anywhere either. Lili, she knew, kept anxiously scanning the room for any sign of Max. She had told A. A. she both wanted and didn’t want him to be there.
She felt bad for Lili, especially because some of the girls were still whispering and giggling about the hidden camera footage in the Preteen Queen broadcast. Jealous losers! They would faint in a heap if someone like Max even looked at them, which he would never do. She felt proud of Lili for brazening it out, telling those gossip-mad wenches that she’d been acting up for the camera, but nobody really believed her.
A. A. spotted Tri, playing pool in the back corner. She was a little surprised to see him. He had come over to their penthouse suite earlier with Ned and a bunch of other guys. She’d mentioned she was going to be at the party, and he said he wasn’t planning to be there.
So what was he doing there, then? Ugh. As soon as Ashley arrived, the two of them would be all over each other as usual. A. A. didn’t intend to run away this time, but she didn’t want to witness any more of their PDA. Maybe they hadn’t kissed, but they sure couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
“You made it.” Hunter sidled up next to her and leaned against the kitchen counter. A. A. smiled at him. He wasn’t bad to look at, she supposed. Red hair, green eyes, and a kind-of-dashing cleft in his chin. Taller than her. Not bad at all. Did she want to spend seven minutes making out with him? Maybe. Maybe not.
“Did you meet my friend Lili?” A. A. made the introductions, pointedly ignoring the Ashley wannabes staring at Hunter so hard their eyes were about to fall out. Hunter took her elbow and led her away from the gaggle, bending toward her to whisper in her ear.
“Get out your phone,” he murmured.
“Why? Have you sent me a message?”
“No. Just let me see it.”
“It’s an iPhone.”
Hunter sighed and shook his head.
“Why do you have to make everything so difficult all the time?” he asked her, clearly trying not to laugh. A. A. didn’t know what he was talking about.
“This is it, if it means so much to you.” She slid her iPhone out of her Mulberry shoulder bag and held her palm out so Hunter could see.
“Cool.” He stared down at it. A. A.’s mom had had her iPhone bedazzled with rhinestones by some celebrity phone “customizer.” A. A. thought it was silly to pay someone a ton of cash just to ruin the back of your phone, but she hadn’t been able to stop Jeanine.
“You haven’t seen an iPhone before?” A. A. was incredulous.
“I haven’t seen your iPhone,” he whispered. “Or felt it. Don’t you know the rules of ‘Seven’?”
A. A. shook her head.
“All the girls put their phones into a big bowl. That one over there”—he gestured with his left shoulder—“on the coffee table. When a guy’s ready to play, he finds the Bowlmaster. See that dude there in the T-shirt?”
A. A. followed his gaze. A guy with an almost-shaved head, wearing a T-shirt with a goldfish bowl drawn on it in crude black lines, was stationed in the swinging Perspex chair.
“He blindfolds you, and then you get to fish a phone out of the bowl. After that, you take off the blindfold and then you have to cruise the party to find the girl who owns it. Kind of like Cinderella with the glass slipper. You have heard of Cinderella, haven’t you?”
“Ha-ha.” A. A. rolled her eyes. This all sounded pretty exciting. But what if the guy who grabbed your phone was fugly? She glanced around the room, checking everyone out. Nobody here was too bad. And at least it would be dark in the closet.
“When he finds you, you have to go into the closet with him and spend seven minutes there. Ideally not just because you’re hiding from someone else.” Hunter nudged her.
“Uh-huh.” A. A. smirked. Hunter was a terrible flirt.
“If you drop your phone in the bowl, it means you want to play. So think about it before you back out like a baby,” he teased.
“Like you’re so mature,” A. A. said, nudging him back even harder. “You haven’t even seen an iPhone before.”
“You’re not listening to me, are you?” Hunter feigned exasperation. “I wanted to feel your phone because I knew you’d have some girly stuff hanging on it or whatever. You’ve got those diamonds stuck to it, right? So when I’ve got a blindfold on and I’m sticking my hand into the bowl, I’ll know what to reach for. Got it now?”
“Oh.” A. A. realized what he was saying and felt her face flush. Hunter wanted to make out with her. In the closet. For seven minutes. It was kind of flattering to see how determined he was to pick the right phone.
“This is just for your sake, you understand,” he told her with a sarcastic grin, his eyes twinkling. “I don’t want you stuck with some kid with braces or a major case of acne. I’m prepared to bite the bullet—you know, suffer through seven minutes with you in a closet—just so you’re not traumatized. You should really be thanking me.”
“Let’s wait until the seven minutes are up, shall we?” A. A. flashed back at him.
“Bowl’s right over there,” he responded breezily, walking away.
A. A. fingered her phone, wondering what to do.
Maybe, maybe not. Maybe . . . why not?
She noticed a commotion around the pool table: Tri had sunk the winning shot and was being slapped on the back by the rest of his team. He looked incredibly happy, maybe because he was good at something for once, she thought nastily. All her annoyance at him returned in full force. Mustering her courage and trembling with a strange sort of exhilaration, she marched over to the glass bowl, already half full, and slid her phone in. She wanted to play.
24
IN A GAME OF CLUE, LAUREN HOPES NOT TO BE CLUELESS
IT WAS JUST LIKE HER favorite board game, Lauren thought. There was Christian, in the living room, with the pool cue. And then there was Alex, in the bedroom, with the foosball table. And then there was Miss Page, moving from one room to the other, hoping her sneaking back and forth would go undetected. Someone was going to be onto her before long. But until that happened, she was going to have a really good time.
This was a problem she’d never experienced in her life before. How to hide the fact that she was dating two boys from the two boys she was dating? Madness. Complete and utter madness.
In the bedroom, during a break in the complicated pool tournament the boys had set up, she stood in a corner with Alex. Make that very, very close to Alex. The room was packed with players and spectators, as well as a steady stream of couples going in and out of the closet, so getting pressed up against him was inevitable. Being this close to Alex was thrilling. No other word for it. And when, midway through a sentence, trying to make himself heard over the music and the shouting, he bent his head down so their foreheads were touching, Lauren almost gasped with excitement.
But there was no time to gasp, or anything else, because he kissed her.
Lauren Page had been kissed by a really cute boy. And not because she’d dumped her cell phone in a bowl.
Because he liked her and wanted to kiss her.
She was afraid she was going to melt into a puddle on the floor at any second.
“I’m sorry,” Alex mumbled, stepping back a little and smiling sheepishly.
“Don’t be,” she said quickly. “I mean, it was nice.”
What a stupid thing to say! “Nice.” Is that all she could come up with?
“I kind of thought so too,” he said, his dark eyes boring into hers. Lauren wanted to shriek with happiness.
“Alex—you’re up!” Another boy walking past slapped him on the shoulder. “Quarterfinals, dude!”
“Sorry,” he told her. “I can drop out of this stupid tournament if you like.”
“No, no,” she reassured him. “You go ahead. I need to go find my friend . . . Lili. She has this big story she wants to tell me. I’ll come back here and find you, okay?”
“Don’t run away,” he said, squeezing her hand. Oh my God! She’d just kissed Alex and then lied to him. She was the Mata Hari of Miss Gamble’s. She might have to be put to death by firing squad when all her sneaky behavior was revealed, just like in that old black-and-white movie she saw with her mother one afternoon.
In the living room she found Christian leaning on his pool cue. His dreamy face cracked into a big puppy-dog grin when he saw her walking over.
“I was wondering where you were hiding,” he said, ruffling her hair so it was almost as messy as his. “You haven’t been climbing into a closet with anyone, have you?”
“Oh, no,” Lauren said, widening her eyes. That was true. No closet required. She and Alex had kissed in public. But no need to bother Christian with all the gory details . . .
“So.” He looked down at his shoes and then back up at her. “What do you say we give this Seven game a whirl? See if it’s as fun as everyone says.”
“You mean . . . ?” Lauren wasn’t sure if she was hearing right. It was bedlam in this room. Christian gestured with his left shoulder toward a closet. The sign read VACANT.
“Do you want to? ’Cause if you don’t, it’s okay. I just wondered . . .”
“It’s okay,” she said without thinking. Christian looked so adorable, so hopeful. How could she resist him? It was only seven minutes, after all. “I was wondering as well.”
Miss Page, in the closet, with Crush Number Two.
Thank God there weren’t TV cameras at this party.
25
SEVEN MINUTES IN . . . WHERE?
LILI DIDN’T FEEL LIKE PLAYING seven minutes in Heaven. All she wanted to do tonight was avoid Three Hours of Hell. And her idea of hell was being at a party—any party—where Max was anywhere in sight.
She was sitting as elegantly as she could manage on one of the squishy, eggplant-colored beanbags splattered around the basement’s largest room, half listening to some girl on an adjacent beanbag dish about the last Seven party she’d attended. Every ten minutes or so the Bowlmaster led a blindfolded guy over to the bulbous glass bowl on the coffee table and watched while he fished out a cell phone. Lili shivered. That wasn’t her idea of fun.
She didn’t have A. A.’s nerve. Judging by the number of phones crammed in the bowl, Lili didn’t have the courage of half the girls here tonight. After kissing Max at the last party, Lili had no interest in making out with anyone else for a long time. Maybe never. She’d really liked kissing Max, and he seemed to like kissing her. That is, until he freaked out and ran away. Lili didn’t want to risk that happening again, so her cell phone was staying safely inside her bag tonight.
It must have been at least half an hour since A. A. had dropped her phone in the bowl, but she hadn’t been “claimed” by anyone yet. Lili could see her sitting on the kitchenette’s counter, chatting away with a couple of other girls from Miss Gamble’s. The girls may have been willing, but it looked like the boys were more hesitant to really get Seven Minutes going. Typical! Ashley was right: Boys were so slow.
Ashley herself was AWOL. Lili had sent her a couple of texts, and Ashley had responded that she was busy washing her hair. Yeah, right. Ashley probably just wanted to make a grand entrance as usual. Tri was at the party, playing pool and looking pretty cute. Ashley had better get herself down here pronto if she didn’t want her boyfriend lured away by one of these Seven-playing hussies.
Lauren had arrived, looking amazing in her dress and strappy wedges. Damn, that girl looked good! Ever since she’d started hanging with the Ashleys, she was looking more and more put-together.
The folks at AshleyRank had certainly noticed. Thinking of AshleyRank made Lili sit up a little straighter, clamp her knees together a little more firmly, and smile at the girl next to her, who was talking a little more brightly. Now that anyone could vote, the world had to see that Lili was the superior Ashley. She totally deserved to be number one.
Something was up with Lauren tonight. First of all, Lili saw her talking to one of the lax players—that one with the messy hair and the dimples. Christian, maybe? They were huddled in one corner for a while, and it looked like he was hanging on her every word. Then Lauren was in another huddle with Dark and Handsome over by the pool table. Well, she wasn’t lying after all! Lauren was Miss Popularity! Well, as long as Lauren steered clear of a certain Reed Prep player, Lili didn’t mind.
Max Costa. Max Costa. She had to stop obsessing over him. It was silly: She’d almost forgotten him, really. He was out of her mind. Totally out of it. At French conversation class, Lili felt as indifferent to him as she used to feel to slacker Greg. Max was just some lame jock with a big ego. If he hadn’t called a halt to their relationship-in-progress, she would have ended it herself, probably that night. There were so many more attractive and available fish in the sea. Next!
Lili scanned the basement, looking for a better prospect. Maybe she would drop her cell phone in the glass bowl after all. Or maybe she’d take a leaf out of Lauren’s book and just work the room. If boys liked Lauren, they’d love Lili. She was still ahead of Lauren in the ranking. She shouldn’t waste another second of her life thinking about Max.
Then she saw him.
He was walking down the stairs that led into the basement’s living room. His blond hair was slicked back, and he was wearing a dark brown button-down shirt—the same cocoa color as his eyes—over a pair of faded jeans. His expression was kind of anxious and preoccupied, as though he wasn’t really happy to be there.
Not that Lili was staring at him.
She shrank back into her beanbag, wishing it would swallow her up. Max stepped into the room and turned, obviously waiting for someone else coming down the stairs. A tall girl with curly brown hair, smiling like a dumb Tiara Girl. Lili had met her at the last party: She was a seventh grader at Reed Prep, Max’s school, which was coed. Her name was Holly or Polly or Dolly or something.
Holly or Polly or Dolly had said that she was glad she went to Reed Prep because she couldn’t believe how unbelievably boy-crazy the girls she met from all-girls schools could be. She herself didn’t see what the big deal was about having a boyfriend.
But Lili noticed bitterly how Holly or Polly or Dolly extended a slender hand to grab Max’s arm, like a bird of prey wrapping its talons around a victim, and beamed a triumphant smile. Sure, it wasn’t a big deal at all.
Lili’s stomach felt like a concrete mixer, churning with sludge. Her eyes prickled with tears. The sight of Max at the party with another girl was devastating. Her evening was over. She had to get out of there.
26
RULES ARE MADE TO BE FOLLOWED
A. A. HAD LOST SIGHT of hunter: He was embroiled in a poker game in another room and seemed to have forgotten all about playing Seven Minutes in Heaven. Lili had already gone home. One look at Max and his smirking date, and Lili had called her driver and asked to be picked up right away. A. A. told her she’d stick around for a little longer.
When Lauren seemed to disappear as well, A. A. was the last Ashley in the room, but that was okay. She played two games of pool with some of
Ned’s friends, studiously avoiding any conversation with Tri. It was so embarrassing because she sucked at pool, and he kept looking over at her like he was desperate to talk to her. Maybe to give her tips on her form. Or maybe it was just because Ashley wasn’t here, she guessed. Too bad—she wasn’t an Ashley substitute.
But when she walked over to the kitchenette to get another soda, Tri followed her, obviously determined to get her attention.
“Do you want a drink?” she asked him, holding up the Diet Pepsi bottle and swinging it in front of him. “Or are you just following me to make sure I don’t go off with any guys I can’t handle? I know you’re a much better judge of character than I am.”
Tri looked down, not managing to hide his shamefaced grin.
“You’re still mad at me about what I said?” he asked, his bright blue eyes glancing up at her.
A. A. shrugged. It was hard to stay mad at Tri, especially when he looked so cute. And she knew, in her heart of hearts, why she was really mad at him, but she couldn’t tell him that.
“Good.” He looked relieved. “Because that would make this even more awkward.”
“What?” A. A. slung the bottle back into the mini-fridge and turned to face Tri. “This party?”
Tri shook his head.
“No, I mean . . .”
“What?” she asked again. What was wrong with this boy? He couldn’t even finish a sentence since Ashley had gotten her hands on him.
Tri said nothing at all: He simply held up a cell phone. Her cell phone.
“I pulled it out of the bowl,” he told her. “I knew it was yours before I even got the blindfold off.”
“The rhinestones,” she said quietly, her heart beating faster.
“Yeah. So, you know. We have to go into the closet. The Bowlmaster’s watching.”
They both looked over at the guy in the Perspex chair. He saluted them and pointed to the nearest closet. The sign on the door read VACANT.
Social Order Page 12
