“You’re killing me with these long silences, Valentine,” Ryan says, his blue eyes dropping to his feet. “Don’t tell me that means you’re preparing to say no…”
“I’m sorry, Ryan, but I —”
“She’ll be there,” a cheerful female voice interjects from behind me.
“We’ll make sure of it,” an eerily similar voice adds.
Jumping in surprise, I whirl around. The Wadell twins are leaning against their lockers, blatantly listening to our entire exchange. Before I can ream them out for eavesdropping, Ryan extends one balled hand toward them.
They both fist-bump him, giggling.
“Sweet.” Ryan gives my shoulder a quick squeeze, winks playfully, and walks away. “See you tomorrow, Valentine!”
When he’s gone, I glance at Ophelia and Odette. They’re both sucking on lollypops — the big, pink kind with bubblegum in the center. They offer no explanation for their interference.
“Why did you do that?” I ask suspiciously.
“Because clearly you were about to say no to Ryan.” Odette shrugs.
“Total self-sabotage.” Ophelia nods.
“I still don’t see how it’s any of your business.”
“Sweetie, we all know at a private school, nothing is ever private.” Ophelia moves her lollypop into the side of her mouth, rounding out her cheek. “Ryan’s hot. And he likes you.”
Odette’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you want to go out with him?”
“I barely know him!”
“Is that even relevant?” Ophelia asks.
“Isn’t getting to know someone better the whole point of going out with them?” Odette adds.
She does have a point. “I… I’m not really looking to date anyone right now…”
“Date? Who said anything about date?” Ophelia’s nose wrinkles. “It’s just a party.”
“Just a party,” Odette echoes, nodding.
“Right…” I find myself murmuring. I feel like I’m being conversationally bludgeoned into compliance. Resistance is futile.
“Great.” Ophelia grins. “So you’ll go to the game!”
“I didn’t buy tickets,” I lie. “So even if I wanted to—”
“We have an extra! You can sit with us.” Odette smirks. “We were supposed to take our second-cousin Molly, but she’s a total drag. Our Mom will let us ditch her if we explain the direness of your situation.”
“But I really—”
“We’ll pick you up!” Ophelia announces, pushing off her locker. “You live over by Crow Island, right? The big house on the point?”
“Um, yes, but—”
“Cool. See you at seven!” Odette calls over her shoulder as she walks away, after her sister.
“Bring beverages!” Ophelia tacks on, just before they step around the corner, out of sight.
For a second, I just stand there, totally frozen, wondering what the hell just happened.
Why do I feel like I’ve been bamboozled into something I never wanted in the first place?
The following evening, I pace back and forth on the front steps of Cormorant House. It’s hot outside, a muggy late-May evening. Sweat dots my brow. I’m wearing bright white sneakers with my favorite jean cut-off shorts — the ones with ripped hems I bought forever ago. They’re a little tighter than they were last summer, riding high on my thighs, but I didn’t have time to upend my closet in search of a looser pair. At least the dark green t-shirt is breathable, hanging loosely around my sides. The front bears an image of a howling wolf — Exeter’s official mascot.
I glance at my watch.
7:07PM.
They’re late.
A fissure of nerves spikes through me. Maybe they aren’t coming. Maybe they were never coming. Maybe this was all just some elaborate prank to make me feel like an idiot and—
The outer gate buzzes.
I race to the intercom box embedded by the front door and punch in the access code. A few moments later, a custom-painted bubblegum-pink Range Rover rolls up the circular driveway, braking to a halt at the bottom of the steps. The passenger window rolls down. Odette sticks her head out.
“Will you be my Valentine?” she sing-songs, grinning.
I roll my eyes, laughing as I jog down the steps. The plastic grocery bag swings with each step. I wince as its weight clangs against my kneecap.
“You brought beverages?” Ophelia asks, turning to face me once I’m settled in the back seat.
I hold up the bag. “Grapefruit seltzer.”
The twins look at each other and burst into raucous laughter.
“She brought seltzer!” Odette wheezes.
“Cutest thing I’ve ever heard!” Ophelia snorts.
My brows lift. “Did I do something wrong? I can get regular water if you guys don’t like bubbles…”
For whatever reason, this makes the twins laugh even harder.
“Don’t worry, Josie.” Odette’s finally calmed down enough to speak. “You don’t mind if we call you Josie, right?”
I sort of do mind, but I don’t say anything. In my experience, when the popular kids pick a nickname for you, there’s very little point in protesting.
“Anyways…” She fixes her lipgloss in her handheld mirror. “Like I was saying, don’t worry about it — we brought extra.”
“Check the YETI,” Ophelia suggests, jerking her chin at the seat beside mine, where a large cooler rests. When I open it, my eyes widen. It’s fully stocked with a dozen or so spiked lemonades.
Of course they meant alcoholic beverages.
“Oh,” I murmur, feeling like an utter idiot. “I didn’t realize—”
“Don’t sweat it, honey.” Odette glances over her shoulder at me. “Pass up a lemonade, will you?”
I pull out a bottle. It’s cold with condensation as I hand it to her.
“Now crack one for yourself!” she orders, twisting off the cap. “We have to toast to the Wolves winning tonight! It’s good luck.”
I don’t let myself think about the brutal hangover I experienced last time I put alcohol into my body. I don’t let myself think about anything. Frankly, I’m tired of thinking. Tired of doing what everyone expects of me all the time. Tonight I just want to be a normal teenager for once.
Tonight, I just want to forget.
Clinking my bottle against Odette’s, I twist off the cap, put it to my lips, and let a large gulp pour into my mouth. Flavors explode across my tongue — tart lemonade, sickly sweet sugar. The sharp after-burn of alcohol.
“‘Atta girl!” Odette cheers, pumping her fist in the air.
I cough slightly, taking another large sip.
We roll through the exterior gates of Cormorant House, onto the main road. Ophelia meets my eyes in her rearview mirror as she accelerates. “Gorgeous house, by the way.”
“Thanks.” A thought occurs to me. “How did you guys even know I lived here?”
They look at each other briefly.
“Our Dad subscribes to Architectural Digest,” Odette says finally. “There was that article a few years ago—”
Oh.
The photo spread.
How could I forget?
For a week straight, Cormorant House was a circus of florists and photographers and lighting consultants. Interior designers and historical society members and journalists. They catalogued the entire property, pouring over the most minute details. While they interviewed my parents at length, for the most part they ignored my presence — like I was a particularly well-mannered family pet, trained to sit nicely but never to speak.
The profile was eventually published alongside a picture of me and my parents on the front steps. It took about a zillion takes to get one with all of us smiling at the same time, my braces glinting in the sun. But when the magazine hit shelves six months later, the article’s title was far more mortifying than my untimely orthodontia.
NEW ENGLAND’S OLD MONEY: BEHIND CLOSED DOORS AT CORMORANT HOUSE WITH THE INDOMINABLE VALENTINE
CLAN
I found the whole thing so pretentious, I like to pretend it never happened.
“Right,” I say slowly, taking another big sip of my lemonade. “The article.”
“It’s a stunning house.” Ophelia’s eyes flicker to mine again. At the next stop sign, she pulls a JUUL vaporizer from her center console and puffs on it twice. “You could have, like, a Gatsby-level party there.”
Odette squeals. “Oh my god, yes! Fill the pool with champagne and swing from the chandeliers!”
“Not sure how my parents would feel about that…” I mutter.
Despite my protests, there’s a certain allure in the idea. The thought of Vincent and Blair’s faces if they walked in after their latest business trip to find fifty drunken teenagers rampaging through their picturesque estate…
“At least think about it,” Ophelia encourages. “We still need a location for the prom after-party. Lee Park was supposed to host it, but his parents flipped after his last rager. Apparently someone fucked with his mom’s koi pond.”
“Did you say after-party?” My brows lift. “I thought prom was the party.”
Odette giggles. “Oh, you innocent little flower. Everyone knows the after-party is more fun than some corny, school-sanctioned dance. The only reason to even attend is for an excuse to rent a limo and get all dressed up.”
“Don’t forget the corsages!” Ophelia’s lips part to release a thin stream of vapor from one corner of her mouth. “And the competition for Prom Queen, of course.”
“As if it’s even a competition.” Her twin rolls her eyes. “We all know Sienna is going to get all the votes. Who needs to stuff the ballot box when you’ve banged half the boys in our grade?”
Ophelia snorts. “True. But I don’t care about a stupid crown anyway. My dress is Alexander McQueen. That’s as close to royalty as I need to be on prom night.”
Odette glances at me. “Did you pick out a dress yet?”
“Dress?” I grimace. “I don’t even have a date.”
Brakes screech. The Range Rover slams to a stop in the middle of the road as both twins turn fully around in their seats to face me. Their mouths are agape in identical expressions of horrified disbelief.
“Prom is two weeks away, Valentine,” Ophelia says gravely.
“I know.”
“Most girls locked in their dates ages ago,” Odette informs me, equally grave. “We’re going with a set of twins from St. John’s.”
I laugh. “Seriously? Twins with twins?”
“Cute, right?” Ophelia winks. “But honestly… we assumed Archer asked you.”
“Totally assumed,” Odette agrees.
The laughter withers on my tongue. “At one point, I thought he might… but lately things have been so weird between us…”
Odette’s nose scrunches up in thought. “Weird how, exactly?”
I shrug.
“Come on. Spill it.” Ophelia puffs her vape again. Before I can answer, a car pulls up behind us, beeping angrily at the roadblock we’ve created. Unruffled, she merely rolls down her window and waves them onward. The dark sedan zips around the Range Rover with an angry squeal of rubber.
“Get out of the damn road!” the driver yells as he passes.
The twins appear unfazed.
“Anyway,” Ophelia says, lips twisting. “You two hooked up, is that it? Ruined the sanctity of your friendship by finally screwing?”
“No! Absolutely not.”
“It’s fine. You can tell us. Everyone at school already thinks you two have been doing it for ages.”
Great.
My teeth grit. “We didn’t hook up.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Not even once?”
“Not even once.” I sigh. “We’re just friends!”
“Maybe you were. But at some point, one of you must have started wanting to be more.” Ophelia shrugs. “That’s the only explanation for the new awkwardness between you.”
“It is not the only explanation!” I insist. “There are plenty of other reasons—”
“Oh my god!” Odette cuts me off in a gleeful tone. “You, like, totally love him! Oh my god. Look at her cheeks burning, O! Do you see it?”
Her twin nods. “Totally see it.”
My cheeks flood with even more color. “I don’t love him.”
“Look, it’s okay. You don’t have to lie. We won’t tell anyone.” Ophelia pauses, growing contemplative. “I am sorry, though. Falling for a friend is the worst kind of painful if they don’t feel the same.”
Odette nods. “Unrequited love… ugh. The angst. The torturous, torturous angst.”
“For the last time,” I practically growl. “I don’t love Archer. He definitely does not love me. We’re just—”
“Friends?” Ophelia finishes doubtfully. “Right.”
Odette’s eyes are brimming with sympathy. “Have you told him how you feel?”
I glance sharply out the window. I suppose there’s no use lying. They don’t believe me anyway. “No,” I murmur softly. “He doesn’t know.”
“And you think… he doesn’t return your feelings?”
I shake my head. “Definitely not.”
“But you’ll never know for sure unless you tell him,” Ophelia points out. “Maybe he’s hiding his feelings too, because he’s just as afraid to cross the line between friendship and… something more. Maybe he’s scared you’ll reject him and it’ll ruin everything.”
Her words tumble inside my head, stirring up feelings I’m not sure I’m equipped to process. Giving me foolish hope for something that’s never going to happen.
“He slept with Sienna,” I say bluntly, grounding myself back in cold reality. “At the party last weekend. I think that makes it pretty clear he doesn’t want to be with me.”
“Oh…” The twins cluck their sympathy. “We didn’t know.”
For a moment, the car is completely silent. I stare out the window, trying to keep a tight leash on my tears. I will not waste any more on a boy who doesn’t deserve them.
“You know, this is exactly why we don’t have any male friends,” Odette announces, shattering the quiet. “Lines get crossed. Feelings get hurt. Sexual tension gets in the way… Such a mess.”
Her twin glances at her and snorts. “O, we don’t have any male friends because we always sleep with them.”
“That’s true, too.” Odette pouts against the glass rim of her lemonade bottle. It’s almost empty. “Did Archer ask someone else to prom?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Is he planning to?”
“No idea.”
“Hmmm.” She tilts her head to the side. “Well, if he doesn’t get his act together, we can definitely scrounge you up a date.”
“You guys don’t need to do that…”
The twins make eye contact. I listen in amazement as they fly through a roster of male names, their mouths moving rapid-fire.
“Chris Tomlinson?”
“Taking Sienna.”
“Andy Hilton?”
“Taking June Woods.”
“Steve Abbott?”
“Going with George Massey.”
“Wait. What about Ryan Snyder?”
“Bringing that slut from St. Mary’s.”
“Damnit.”
They persevere, running through practically every boy in our class. All of them already have dates or are deemed too weird to take me.
“It’s okay, guys, really,” I assure them, flinching as another car zips past us with an angry beep. “Forget about this. We should just go to the game—”
Odette’s expression has grown dark. “Don’t worry, Valentine. It’s short notice, but between our connections at St. John’s and Deerfield….”
“And Pingree!” Ophelia interjects.
“Mmm. Pingree, too.” Odette smiles reassuringly. “We’ll find you someone hot and hunky, who fills out a suit like Brad Pitt at The Oscars. Don’t
worry. You can even ride in our limo! There’s plenty of room. We rented a stretch.”
Ophelia leans forward. “A pink one, obviously.”
They both giggle.
I swallow another sip of my lemonade to quell the nervous butterflies swarming in my stomach. “Look… it’s super sweet of you guys to offer, but I’m not even sure I want to go to prom.”
The silence is deafening.
“You have to go to prom.” Odette sounds more serious than I’ve ever heard. “It’s, like, the pinnacle of your senior year experience. A night you’ll always remember. You can’t just skip it.”
“Non-negotiable,” Ophelia agrees.
Looking at them, I realize this is a fight I’m not going to win. More surprisingly, it’s a fight I don’t desire to win.
I’ve never had female friends before. Ever. And the thought of doing stereotypical girly things — getting ready together, styling our hair, sharing makeup, gossiping over our dates — actually sounds rather…
Lovely.
I’ve spent all six years at Exeter terrified to be myself around my peers. Especially the female ones. I always felt somehow insignificant next to them. An ugly duckling, masquerading amidst a flock of perfect swans. But as I stare at the Wadell twins, who’ve now gone out of their way to include me in their plans on more than one occasion… I begin to wonder if most of that insignificance was a figment of my imagination.
Maybe the popular kids didn’t exile me to the bottom of the social totem pole; maybe I exiled myself, rather than risk letting anyone besides Archer get to know the real me.
“Well?” Odette prompts.
“What’s it gonna be?” Ophelia nudges.
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll go to the stupid prom.”
They both scream so loud, it makes my eardrums ache. Turning back to face the steering wheel, Ophelia resumes driving toward Exeter. Odette and I finish our lemonades, exchanging our empty bottles for full ones. We dance in our seats to the beat of a new Ellie Goulding song blasting from the speakers.
“Tonight is going to be so much fun!” Odette yells over the music, rolling down her window and howling like a wolf. “Ahh-woooooo! Ah-wooooooo! Go Wolfpack!”
“Stop it, O!” her sister chides. “You’re gonna get me pulled over!”
We Don't Talk Anymore (The Don't Duet Book 1) Page 12
