Take a Chance on Me

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  “Anyway, man, peace. Thanks for the good times,” Lucas finally said, once it was obvious Rhys wasn’t going to respond. One by one, the other hippies nodded as they followed Lucas out the door.

  Bye-bye, never come back!

  Rhys bolted up the winding stairs to his parents’ master suite two at a time, ready to survey the damage. He had a pounding headache, and even though he’d brushed his teeth, his mouth still tasted as if he’d licked the entire floor of the locker room at St. Jude’s. He was never going to smoke or drink again. Once his parents found out what had happened, he’d never be allowed to go out again anyway, so it would work out perfectly.

  He opened the door of his parents’ suite, relieved when he didn’t see any tomatoes, joints, or osetra caviar tins littering the floor. Maybe he could meet his parents at the door when they arrived, blindfold them, and escort them to their bedroom so he’d have time to clean?

  Great idea!

  He collapsed on the bed on his back, kneading his temples. He just needed a moment before he figured out a plan. There had to be some disaster-fixing Saturday morning cleaning service, right? He looked up at the ceiling, feeling lonelier than ever. The house was a shithole. He was a loser. And he’d bitched out Owen.

  Not knowing what else to do, he pulled his swim bag out of the hall closet and jogged over to the Ninety-second Street Y. It was the last thing he should be doing right now, and yet… it was also the first. He needed to feel the water around him, to actually put some effort into something. He wanted to care, instead of just smoking his way through life.

  “Coach?” he asked, making his way over to the makeshift office in the locker room. He was going to apologize and see if Coach would let him back. It was a long shot, but he had to try it.

  “Sterling!” Coach clapped his hand on his back. “You smell.” He wrinkled his nose. “Anyway, get your banana hammock on and get in the water. You’re swimming the hundred fly. Goddamn Chadwick has chicken pox. What a pussy!” Coach shook his head with annoyance. While Rhys felt bad for the super-skinny, super-awkward freshman, he could barely conceal a grin.

  When his event was called, Rhys walked to the blocks as if in a dream. He noticed Owen in the lane next to him, a shocked expression spreading on his face once he realized he was swimming with Rhys. Rhys rolled his shoulders back, trying to loosen up. He’d talk to Owen later. Right now, it was just him and the water.

  Once he dove in, he was surprised at how easy it was to find his rhythm in the pool. A long time ago, he used to think the butterfly was like sex—or like sex would be, if he’d ever had it. Now, he just felt the power, the control. After days of smoking and eating greasy food, it felt good to banish the laziness from his body and actually use his muscles again. Feeling a final surge of energy, he slammed into the wall.

  “You won, buddy!” Owen was in the next lane, pulling off his maroon swim cap and dunking his head under the heavily chlorinated water. He held out a hand. “Seriously great job, man!”

  Rhys could barely conceal a grin.

  “It’s over,” Owen whispered as they pulled themselves out of the pool. “I broke up with her.”

  What? Did Owen mean he and Kelsey were done? Before, Rhys would have wanted to jump up and down in happiness. Now, he just felt… fine. Like he couldn’t care either way. Everything was falling into place, but even if it hadn’t been, he knew he’d be okay.

  And he thought he didn’t learn anything from his hippie friends!

  Rhys walked toward the locker room, feeling ridiculously happy and wanting to wave at everyone sitting on the rickety metal bleachers. There were a lot of girls there. Why had he never noticed before? One with freckles and long bangs that almost covered her eyes waved at him, mouthing good job in his direction.

  Coach clapped his hand on Rhys’s back. “Awesome job, my man! We won!” He pumped Rhys’s hand enthusiastically. “But you’ve got to get used to the chlorine again. Your eyes are all red.”

  Right. The chlorine.

  “So, are you back?” Coach asked, knitting his brows together. “Because if you are, then I’ll need to have a chat with you and Carlyle.”

  “No need, sir.” Owen caught up to them and opened the wooden door of the locker room, allowing Rhys to pass. “I want Rhys to take back the captainship. If he’ll have it.”

  Rhys surveyed the locker room, where the guys were all busily getting dressed. The dented blue lockers looked the same as ever, but Rhys felt a huge wave of nostalgia. He locked eyes with Owen, who simply nodded in a way that said, Take it, it’s yours. Finally, he nodded.

  “All right.” Coach’s face cracked into a huge grin. “And I have to say, that was very manly of you, Carlyle. All for one, and all that. I’m proud of you men!”

  “Thanks, sir,” Hugh called back angelically. He leaned over and rifled through his maroon swim bag, pulling out a slightly crushed-looking black pirate’s hat. He placed it on Rhys’s head, and the whole team started cheering.

  When everyone had showered and changed, Owen and Rhys found themselves standing next to each other again. “Hey man,” Rhys began, wanting to thank Owen for Kelsey and the captain-ship and just about everything, when his phone rang. He pulled out his black iPhone. An unfamiliar number flashed across the screen. “Hello?” he asked curiously.

  “Rhys, Anka’s been playing the most absurd trick on me this morning!” The clipped voice of Lady Sterling emanated from the phone. She sounded hysterical, like the time on Tea with Lady Sterling when they’d invited all the dogs from the Westminster Dog Show and the Best in Show dog had peed on Lady Sterling’s pink Chanel suit. “She called to say that there was a party at the house last night. The house is in quite a state, and she’s not even talking to me, she’s so angry!” Lady Sterling fretted.

  Rhys collapsed heavily against the worn wooden bench of the locker room, resting his elbows on his knees. Fuck. This wasn’t good. His head hurt.

  “Rhys?” Lady Sterling’s voice rose an octave. It felt like someone was taking an ice pick directly to his brain.

  “You’re in trouble!” Hugh mouthed.

  “Why did Anka say my heirloom tomatoes were taking a swim in the pool!” Lady Sterling screeched.

  “It’s… uh, bad connection,” Rhys said brilliantly. “You’re breaking up.” He pressed end call, then hastily turned the phone off. When his parents got home today and saw that Anka was telling the truth, he was going to be in for it. “Know a good cleaning service?” Rhys smiled lopsidedly at Owen. He really hoped his parents didn’t disown him.

  “I do!” Hugh swaggered over. “What are you looking at? Puke stains, fingerprints or minor burns?” He whipped out his phone and squinted seriously at the screen.

  Any tomato juice–removing specialists?

  “Which do you recommend?” Rhys asked. Of course Hugh would know. His parents spent most of their time on their yacht, so Hugh’s town house had been the de facto party house since middle school.

  Once Hugh had given Rhys a full analysis of his various post–party house rehab services, Rhys made a few calls. Immediately, he felt a bit better. But he still didn’t want to go home. “My mom’s going to have my ass,” he sighed to Owen.

  “So give her a little time to cool off. Just come stay at my place,” Owen offered shyly.

  “Could I really?” Rhys asked excitedly.

  Bromance, part deux?

  uptown girl

  Jack looked up at the bay window of the austere, four-story nineteenth-century Greek Revival town house on Bank Street that belonged to her father. Inside, she could just make out the dining room, and the white shock of her father’s hair presiding over the dinner table. After she told J.P. she couldn’t stay at the lofts anymore, she’d slowly packed up her belongings and made her way to the West Village. She hadn’t called her dad first, because it would just have been too awkward to explain the whole situation over the phone. The last thing she wanted to do was beg her dad to take her in. She’d hoped that once sh
e got here and he saw her bags, he’d understand and take her to the guest room, no questions asked.

  But now that she was here, watching her happy stepfamily eat dinner through the bay window, she couldn’t go in. She couldn’t face ringing the doorbell and admitting that her dad was right, she needed help. She couldn’t deal with her twin stepbrat sisters, or her only-eight-years-older stepmother, Rebecca.

  She plopped down on the steps, feeling the cold seep through her Citizen skinny jeans. She couldn’t believe she’d moved out of the Cashman Lofts.

  Jack pulled out her cell, wondering whom she could call. There was always Genevieve, but her apartment was positively tiny and her mom, a former actress who now starred exclusively on Lifetime Television dramas, was incredibly loud and embarrassing. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Just as Jack was debating whether she could live with a histrionic and self-obsessed mom who wasn’t related to her, her phone rang.

  “Um, hi?” Jack began, trying to whisper. The last thing she wanted was one of the nosy stepbrats to peek out the window and see her.

  “Hey, it’s Avery.” Avery’s voice always sounded perky, like she’d drunk three Dean & Deluca lattes in a row. How come Avery didn’t feel as hungover as she did?

  “How are you?” Jack asked suspiciously. She still couldn’t believe they’d ditched the lofts party to hang out with a bunch of off-duty cops at a dive bar last night. Still, it had been pretty fun.

  “Good. A little hungover,” Avery giggled easily into the phone. Jack imagined Avery in her gorgeous Fifth Avenue penthouse apartment. She suddenly felt very small and lonely. “How are you surviving at the lofts?”

  “Um.” Jack paused. “I actually moved out. It was just…” Just what? Too nice? Too elegant? “It wasn’t working.” There. She said it. Somehow, once the words tumbled out, Jack fully realized what she’d done. She’d moved out of the most awesome apartment she’d probably ever live in. She’d practically rejected J.P., although technically they were still together. She’d fucked up her own goddamn life.

  Suddenly, a sob began working its way up her chest, but she didn’t want to lose control over the phone. Instead, she twisted an auburn strand of hair around her index finger, sticking the ends in her mouth. It was a gross habit, one she only engaged in when she was under extreme emotional duress. But it wasn’t like Avery could see her.

  “That’s too bad.” Avery sounded like she really meant it. “Do you want to come over?” Avery offered in such a small voice, at first Jack thought she hadn’t heard properly. “I’m just hanging out,” Avery added uncertainly.

  “Sure,” Jack said slowly. “But I have a lot of stuff with me….” She gazed down at the two slightly battered Louis Vuitton steamer trunks propped against the concrete fish-patterned planters at the foot of the steps.

  “Whatever, there’s plenty of room. Seriously, stay as long as you want. It’ll be fun.” Avery sounded so sincere and sweet, but instead of being annoyed by it, Jack was almost… touched.

  “Well, I guess I could stop by,” Jack said matter-of-factly, still sucking on the just-trimmed ends of her auburn hair. She slid off her trunk and dragged it over to Seventh Avenue. Immediately, a cabbie stopped on the corner.

  “Seventy-second and Fifth,” Jack rattled off. The cabbie nodded, opened the trunk of the car, hoisted her trunks inside, and slammed it closed.

  “I’ll take you to where you belong,” the cabbie said gallantly. Jack nodded as she slid onto the black vinyl seats of the cab and shut the door. She wasn’t quite sure where she belonged, but at least she knew her first stop.

  where love is just a glance away…

  “I made carob bars!” Edie wandered onto the moonlit terrace, trailed by a tall, broad-shouldered man in jeans and a button-down. He was in his mid-forties with salt-and-pepper hair, and looked shockingly normal next to Edie in her flowing maxidress and Princess Leia buns.

  “Thanks!” Avery called from her perch on Baby’s hammock, where she and Jack were sitting in companionable silence, flip-ping through magazines and listening to Avery’s iPod, which was playing a steady stream of John Mayer and Jason Mraz. Owen and his friend Rhys were having an earnest discussion on a pine bench, just out of earshot, and Baby was coming out as soon as she finished cleaning her closet or whatever she was doing in her room. Avery felt surprisingly content. After last night, it was nice to just relax and not have to worry about trying to impress anyone.

  “Anyone?” Edie asked hopefully, proffering the plate into the chilly night air. Once she realized there were no takers, Edie placed the plate on the terra-cotta floor and absentmindedly ruffled Jack’s auburn hair.

  “Hi,” Jack said uncomfortably. She wasn’t 100 percent sure Edie was aware she wasn’t a Carlyle.

  “Hello, darling! You’re the lovely girl who was here for our dinner party a few weeks back!”

  “That’s me!” Jack smiled politely, trying to sound enthusiastic. Back when she’d been pretending to date Owen, she’d been over to the Carlyle penthouse and experienced the world’s weirdest intergenerational dinner party.

  “Well, we’re not going to bother you chickadees! We’re just taking in the night air!” Edie said, knitting her eyebrows together as if affronted that her adolescent children didn’t want to hang out with her. Behind her, Remington shuffled nervously, smiling politely. “Anyway, Remington was telling me about this fantastic all-night poetry salon in the Village. So we’re going to go to that. I was going to invite you to come.” Edie raised her eyebrow expectantly.

  “That’s okay!” Avery said quickly. She was not about to tag along on her mom’s all-night date. How serious was Edie getting with this guy, anyway? She raised an eyebrow, surveying Remington. He was kind of handsome, actually, for someone her mom’s age, and way more normal-seeming than anyone she would have imagined winding up at her mom’s art collaborative. Interesting. Now that she was done at Metropolitan, at least she’d have time to keep tabs on her family.

  And turn it into a best-selling novel?

  “Have it your way.” Edie shook her head sadly, causing her heavy wooden necklace to click together loudly. “You kids need to learn to live!” she added. Remington nodded in agreement, picking up the platter of carob bars and following Edie through the French doors and back into the house.

  “Sorry about that.” Avery shrugged and pulled out the unopened Corona she’d halfheartedly tried to obscure behind a planter. “Want one?”

  “Sure.” Jack took the cold bottle. Instead of opening it, she held it against her head, still trying to get rid of her headache. Surprisingly, she felt better now that she was hanging out at the Carlyles’, even though she was homeless and not sure about her boyfriend anymore. The moon hung over Central Park perfectly, round and full, almost like a set piece. The terrace, with its sweeping view of the park and the fog that was clinging to all the tops of the buildings, felt almost magical.

  “Hey!” Baby clattered through the French doors, wearing a pair of Citizen jeans that actually fit her, along with a cool Marc Jacobs–style purple tunic. She still looked hippieish, but less bag lady. “Oh, you’re here.” Baby announced it like a fact, staring at Jack with her wide brown eyes. “And so is he.” Jack followed Baby’s gaze over to the corner of the terrace, where Owen and his friend Rhys were sitting side by side on a pine bench, looking over Central Park. In the almost-darkness, Jack could just make out Owen’s handsome, athletic silhouette. He and Rhys kept bumping their fists together and laughing, involved in some sort of private guy-bonding moment.

  “Guys!” Avery called bossily over to them. What could they possibly be up to?

  “What?” Owen and Rhys lumbered over together.

  “We need more drinks.” Avery smiled. That was the great thing about having an older brother.

  Three minutes older. Makes such a big difference.

  Just then, the iPod switched from Avery’s party mix to a slower song.

  “Oops!” Avery quickly picked up her i
Pod, embarrassed. It was some cheesy Frank Sinatra song she only listened to by herself.

  “‘Strangers in the Night,’” Rhys said. “Leave it on—I like it.”

  “Really?” Avery arched an eyebrow. Rhys looked so athletic and masculine, she couldn’t imagine him listening to dorky Frank Sinatra songs.

  “Yeah.” Rhys shrugged. Avery scooted over a bit on the hammock to see if Rhys would sit down. “I’m Avery. We’ve never officially met.”

  “Rhys.” Rhys stuck his hand out. Avery took it and shook, then leaned back against the hammock.

  “Anyone need anything from inside?” Owen asked. Baby shook her head. Avery shook hers as well, then pulled her dark purple Milly sweater closer around her shoulders.

  “I’ll come with you!” Jack said, quickly standing up and following Owen inside.

  “You cold?” Rhys asked, holding out his royal blue Ralph Lauren letterman-style sweater as an offering.

  “Thanks.” Avery took it shyly and wrapped it around her shoulders. It smelled like Ralph Lauren Romance with a slight trace of smoke. She was surprised at how much she liked the smell, and how much she liked that Rhys sat down next to her.

  In the corner, Avery noticed Baby sitting cross-legged, petting Rothko and looking perfectly content. Avery sighed and scooted a little bit closer toward Rhys. He smiled back at her. Somewhere inside, she could hear Jack’s laughter, followed by Owen’s dorky-sounding chuckle. He only laughed like that when he was trying to impress someone.

  “Strangers in the Night” continued to play and Avery took a deep breath of the crisp fall air. No one was fighting or gossiping or making out or crying. It was so unexpected and weird and beautiful.