Diamonds are a Teen's Best Friend

by Allison Rushby

  My heart stops beating, pauses for a second, then begins racing crazily.

  What the . . . I think. His head. It’s tilting. Is he going to…

  Ugh, I really wish I hadn’t had that second fajita, my stomach cuts in.

  That’s the least of your problems, my brain replies. You’ve lied about a lot of stuff. Like being sixteen, for a start. And now look what’s happening. Let’s see you get out of this one!

  Quickly, awkwardly, I take two steps back. “I . . . I can’t believe you said that about me.” I look out at the ocean again, crossing my arms. And I can’t. I can’t believe anyone would think that about me, let alone Marc. Everything’s gone wrong. This isn’t how things are meant to be. I think I’m going to cry.

  Marc must see this. “I’m sorry, Nessa. I didn’t think you’d do something like that, but there’s something going on. I know that much. Can you tell me what it is?”

  There’s another long pause. And then, still not looking at him, I shake my head.

  When I finally look back over again, Marc’s gone.

  That night, I write a super-long email to Alexa telling her everything that’s gone on. I tell her about the Marilynisms. I tell her about Nessa’s Lessons in Love. I tell her about Holly and Antonio and Ted, and Dad’s study, and Marc, and how a week of cruising around the ocean is turning out to be far, far more stressful than it really should be.

  After I press send, I avoid Holly and Dad as best I can for a full twenty-four hours, telling them I’m not feeling a hundred percent, and hole up in the cabin. And then I wait, checking my emails several times a day. Right now, I need the kind of comforting words only a best friend can give.

  From: “Alexa Milton”

  To: “NJM”

  Subject: Oh, Nessa . . .

  I don’t know what to say. Nessa’s Lessons in Love? Oh, Nessa. I know if I say what I want to say you’re not going to like it, but here it goes anyway . . .

  Be careful. You’re messing with people’s lives here. It’s just that . . . well, you know how things get with your Marilynisms, don’t you? And you know I think you’re a complete scream and I wouldn’t change you for anything, but sometimes . . . hmmm…how can I say this? Okay, straight to the point: you get a bit excited about it all and things don’t turn out so good. How do you really know that Ted’s right for Holly? You’ve only spoken to him a few times. Try to stop and think about what you’re doing. Make sure you’re doing the right thing for everyone, won’t you? Oh, and the lying about your age thing—is that really the best idea? I know I sound like I’m nagging and I don’t want to sound like that, I truly don’t. I’m just worried about you. Especially because I’m not there.

  Look, I’ve got to go. I’m not supposed to be emailing as it is. Please, Ness, be careful. Don’t get yourself into any trouble.

  Alexa( )( )( )

  Oh.

  I really do feel like crying when I read this. Comforting words? Not likely. So much for best friends. So much for any friends. Because I don’t seem to have any at the moment. I sniff, and then, just as the tears are starting to well over, the cabin door opens, and my dad comes into the room. He wanders about for a bit, sorting through some papers on his bed, and I try to distract myself from crying by snapping Sugar Kane shut.

  “Oh, hi, sweetheart. I didn’t notice you there.”

  Didn’t notice me. In here? How is that even possible?

  He must have found what he’s looking for, because he straightens up and comes over to plant a kiss on the top of my head. “Must dash. I just forgot a few papers. I won’t be back until dinner.”

  And then he’s gone.

  I really do cry then.

  No best friend. No friends. Not even any Dad to annoy me.

  Wow. Not even any Dad to annoy me . . . Things really are bleak.

  I spend the time until dinner trying to calm myself down and taking stock. Maybe my run-ins with Marc and that email from Alexa are just making me over-dramatize things? After all, everything else is going pretty well. Holly and I worked out the Nessa’s Lessons in Love thing. And she looks happier for it. As if a weight’s been taken off her shoulders. That’s good. She doesn’t have much time for Dad’s study, with all her dates. That’s good as well. Really, I should try to be more positive—Holly and Ted have spoken a number of times now, and the other day, I even caught them having a laugh about something. So, that’s good as well, isn’t it? That’s progress and—

  Oh. The phone’s ringing.

  I pick it up. “Hello?” I say hesitantly. Wondering if it’s Marc.

  “Hey, Nessa. How’re you feeling?” It’s Holly.

  Phew. And it doesn’t sound like Marc’s told her about the Ted thing. Double phew. “Um, good. I think. Better.”

  “Great!”

  “What’ve you been up to?” Please say you’ve been spending time with Ted, please say you’ve been spending time with Ted, I send up a silent prayer.

  “Um, this and that. I spent quite a bit of time with Antonio today, actually.”

  Oh.

  “There’s some kind of crazy ‘80s disco on tonight. We’re going to that. Want to come?”

  No, I think, but then I remember: be positive. Maybe I can use this as an opportunity to get Holly and Ted together again. To get them to see each other outside of their usual roles. To get those eyes to meet across the crowded dance floor. “Okay,” I say. “That would be great.”

  “Fantastic!” Holly replies. “I’ll see you up there at eight. And don’t forget to dress ‘80s!”

  ***

  That evening, Dad and I have dinner and head back to our cabin. Within minutes, he’s sorting through some more papers. I flick on the TV and throw myself down onto the bed.

  “I’ve got quite a few interviews to do tonight. Will you be okay watching TV?”

  “Um, sure.” I’d been ready to argue long and hard about why I should be allowed to go to the disco, but maybe I won’t need to do much arguing at all. Fine by me! He plants another kiss on the top of my head (seriously, I’ll be getting a bald patch to match his soon) and is gone.

  It takes me a good half-hour to sort out something ‘80s, including begging a steward for a spare pair of white cotton gloves and snipping the fingers off (I knew I should have bought a bedazzler during the recent ‘80s revival). And after a lot of eyeliner and hair-teasing and spending a good five minutes piling all my jewelry on, I’m ready to go. The clothes aren’t great—just plain and black—but it’s all I can do with such short notice. I’ll have to remember that the next time I go cruising, an extra suitcase full of costumes will be mandatory.

  Before I head off, I leave a note for my dad saying I’m hungry and have gone for a “midnight snack” . . . at 8.15 p.m.. Still, after the way I’ve been eating on this trip, Dad’s sure to buy it.

  “Hey, Nessa!” Holly calls out from the dance floor. “Over here!”

  I blink hard, trying to get a good look at her, the strobe lights making it difficult, but then they stop. And I practically lose it when I see her. Her outfit is amazing. “Where on earth did you get a bubble skirt?” Not only is she wearing a bubble skirt, she actually looks good in it. How can anyone look good in a bubble skirt? Honestly, she should be arrested.

  “I saw some girl wearing one the other day, tracked her down, and paid her a hundred bucks for it. Thank goodness for that recent ‘80s revival.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing before. But a hundred bucks?! You’re crazy,” I laugh.

  “It was worth it to see her out of that bubble skirt.” Holly shudders. “It was not a good look.”

  “Where’s Antonio?” My eyes search the dance floor.

  Holly shrugs. “He was supposed to meet me an hour ago for dinner, but he just never showed up.”

  My mouth falls open. “He stood you up?”

  Holly laughs. “Don’t look so shocked. It’s happened before.”

  Hmmm. Holly looks a bit too jolly for my liking. And I remembe
r what Marc said that first night at dinner: If she hides her feelings, it’s easier for her. “Holly . . .” I start, giving her a look. Sometimes that girl is a bit of a worry.

  But she waves a hand. “No, really. I mean it. Antonio’s a lovely guy, but he’s not the guy for me. He’s been a nice . . . diversion, though.”

  Oh. I thought she was just trying to make light of the whole Antonio thing, but I can see from her expression that she’s not at all. And then, just as I’m thinking all of this, Holly grins this amazingly big grin.

  “Holly . . .” I start once more. “Have you met someone?”

  Holly shrugs a little shrug and shakes her bubble skirt. “Maybe.”

  “Who is it?” I grab both her arms.

  “Hey, great gloves!” she says, avoiding my question.

  “Holly! Tell me!”

  “Nope,” she says with a laugh. “My lips are sealed. This time, I really, really don’t want to jinx it. This time . . . I think it might even be for real. He’s just lovely. Kind and caring and, well, just perfect.”

  “What? PM? You’re kidding!” I’m so excited I want to jump up and down on the spot.

  “Maybe. I hope so.” Holly smiles. “I just hope he sees me in the same way. I think he does, but I’m not quite sure yet. Anyway, it’s all thanks to you.”

  “Me?” My eyes boggle now.

  Holly nods. “Yep. You.”

  Oh. Oh, wow. It’s Ted she’s talking about. It just has to be! He’s the only guy she’s spent a decent amount of time with since the start of the cruise, besides Antonio. I’ve made sure of that. I take a quick look around, trying to see if Ted’s here (of course, I’d called him and told him Holly was going to be here). “So, your mystery man, is he here?”

  “I didn’t tell him I was coming,” Holly says. “I thought we could have a girls’ night out.”

  There’s a big pause as I stand, hands on hips, and wonder how I can get any more information out of her. In front of me, Holly keeps grinning her big grin, loving the fact that I’m dying over here.

  “Ugh! You’re so mean!” I dance up and down again. “Give me just a little something. His initials. The first letter of his name. Something!”

  “Nope.”

  “HOLLY! You’ve got to give me something. Anything!”

  “Oh, all right then. Maybe his first initial is T.” She shakes her skirt again. “Or maybe it isn’t.”

  But I only hear the first part of her sentence. T! T! His first initial is T! It’s Ted! It’s Ted! It’s Ted! I knew I was right. I knew it all along. All those Marilynisms, all those signs. It was meant to be.

  Holly grabs my arm, pulling me in next to her. “Now, stop busy-bodying and let’s go!”

  She drags me out onto the dance floor. It takes me a good song and a half to come down from cloud nine, but when I do, I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a good thing one of us told Ted where she was going to be tonight. It’s a good thing I pulled myself out of my funk and came, after all.

  Holly and I dance like mad things for an hour or so before stopping for sustenance. Every so often, while we’re on the dance floor, that surreal feeling washes over me again, especially when people stare at us. Me. Me and Holly Isles. We’re dancing. And laughing. And whooping like mad things. And drinking strange concoctions with 80s names. How can this be happening to me? How can this be real? My brain screams the questions at me over and over again. But whenever these thoughts come into my head, I just have to remember what Holly told me that day at cocktails/mocktails—that being me, Nessa, is the important thing. It doesn’t matter that Holly’s famous and I’m far from it. I just have to be me. We just have to be each other. Two gals on a dance floor. In the moment. And when I remember this, everything feels more real again and I have such a good time that I forget about the people staring and just go with it.

  After a second hour on the dance floor, Holly goes off to the bathroom and I race outside and give Ted’s cabin a quick call. He hasn’t turned up yet and I’m wondering where he is.

  “Ted?” I say when he picks up. “Are you coming to the disco? Holly’s here.”

  “Um, yep. In a few minutes. I’m just filing some photos and I’ll be there.”

  I wince when I hear this. I hope the photos are of another one of the famous people on board the ship (maybe even Antonio) and not Holly. “Okay. See you then.” I hang up and race back into the disco again, where I pick us up two more drinks. “Here you go,” I say, giving one to Holly when she returns.

  “Oh, thanks. I’m dying of thirst.” We guzzle them down and hit the dance floor once more.

  After another fifteen minutes or so of Thriller, Girls Just Want to Have Fun, and Wake Me Up Before you Go-Go, Holly signals to me. “Want another drink?” she bends over and yells in my ear.

  I shake my head. “You go. I’ll stay here.”

  Holly nods. “Be back in a sec.”

  I give her the thumbs up. There’s no way I’m leaving the dance floor when George Michael’s singing. I mean, that would be ‘80s sacrilege! Anyway, I want to keep an eye out for Ted and—

  Ugh. Yuk.

  “Well, hello, pretty lady,” the guy says, sidling up in front of me. And close. Too close.

  “Um, hi.” I take a step back. “Nice, um, costume.”

  He looks down. “What?”

  “You know, from the ‘80s.”

  “Huh?” He looks down again. And, with this look, I can see, in his world, the black skinny leather tie never went out of fashion. Oh, gross.

  He steps forward again, this time even closer.

  “Hey!” I say.

  “I recognized you from across the room. You’re the girl with the pop-off top, aren’t you?” He gives me a suggestive wink.

  Pop-off top? Ugh. I twist my head, having a quick look in the crowd for Holly. Where is she? I can’t see her.

  I turn and look the guy straight in the eye. “Do you know how old I am? Thirteen!” I hiss my age at him, not wanting everyone around me to hear. I turn to go, but he moves in even further again and grabs my arm.

  “No, you’re not. You wouldn’t be in here, if you were.”

  All of a sudden my anger at the guy crumples inside me and a new feeling rushes in: fear. I wish I really was back in the cabin watching TV, like I’m supposed to be. Where’s my dad? Where’s Holly?

  I look around again quickly. No-one’s really noticed there’s anything untoward going on because the music’s so loud. When I turn back and face him again, he leers at me.

  And I’m scared now. Really scared. And I turn my head and yell hard. A light flashes in my face. Ted?

  “Ted?” I yell. I thought it was him, but I can’t see him anywhere. Before I can get Ted’s name out again, the guy’s arm is yanked off me.

  “Get lost!” a voice yells.

  Everyone realizes something’s going on then and pulls back.

  I’m left standing on my own, kind of stunned, in the middle of it all. I can’t move. But then I do, because the person who’s got rid of the guy comes back over to touch me on the arm. I go to jump as his skin touches mine, but then realize it’s okay and lean in toward him instead, because suddenly I feel safe again with Marc beside me. He leads me through the crowded disco, and as we leave the room, a security guard asks him if I’m okay and he nods.

  “Just tell Holly she’s with me, will you? She’s at the bar.”

  “Sure,” the guy says, and moves off to find her.

  It’s cold out, and I don’t complain when Marc pulls his sweater off and dresses me in it. Telling me to stick my arms up and through, like I’m two years old again. The sea air, though, is good, after the stale air of the disco. So is the cold. I think it helps me to separate myself from what’s just gone on inside.

  “Nessa, you shouldn’t have been in there,” Marc says. “You’re only sixteen.”

  I turn and look at him, finally in the moment.

  “Are you okay?” Marc continues.

  I go to n
od and then can’t. Am I okay? I don’t know.

  “Did you want me to get your dad?”

  Yes, my head says, but “No” is what comes out of my almost fourteen-year-old mouth (oh, yeah, I feel so grown up right now). The fact is, if my dad ever, ever, ever finds out about this, my life won’t be worth living. I’m doubting I’ll even be able to tell him when I’m fifty. “No, I’m . . . fine,” I tell Marc. At least I think I’m fine. Or I will be soon. I take a deep breath and look back in the direction of the disco, trying to get a grip on all of this. I can’t quite remember how we got out here and everything feels so strange and . . .

  Oh. Hang on a second. Tears. I’m crying, I realize, as tears roll down my face. “You’re right. I know I’m only, um, you know, young,” I say. “I know. I wish I hadn’t gone at all now.” And I try to stop myself, but the tears and the words all fall out, tumbling over each other. “I wish I’d stayed in the cabin and watched TV, and I wish my dad was here, and I wish I could email my friend Alexa and make up, and I wish you weren’t angry with me and . . .”

  I wish I hadn’t lied and lied and lied.

  Marc watches me, a concerned look on his face. And, as my tears start to dry up and we continue looking at each other, I realize what’s just happened has changed something between us. The vibe I’m getting now isn’t like the other day when I thought Marc was going to kiss me (was he? I’m still not sure). This disco business has meant Marc has seen me as I really am. He might not know I’m thirteen, but he’s sensed it.

  And so, when he steps over and hugs me, I let him.

  Because I need that hug right now and it’s warm and good and, somehow… right.

  ***

  I continue to ignore Alexa’s email and keep to myself for most of the next day, not wanting to remember the events of last night, or for anyone to ruin Holly and Ted getting together at last.

  I’ve arranged to meet Holly for the special Chocoholics Anonymous afternoon tea at 4 p.m.. I call Ted a few minutes before I’m due at the restaurant.