She shook her cast angrily in the air and saw Sebastian smile sheepishly in the rearview mirror as he brought the speed back down. Chelsea went in for the 360 but lost her balance in the middle and found herself sprawled out in the lake a second later, cold water lapping at her face and seeping in through a gash in the plastic bag wrapped around her cast.
“Damn!” she screamed as she swam clumsily toward the boat, trying to keep her bad arm above the lake’s surface. She climbed into the boat to find Sebastian suppressing a grin.
“What are you smirking about?” she asked grumpily.
“Nothing,” Sebastian said, snorting laughter through the hand he’d clapped over his mouth.
“No, what?” she insisted.
“It’s just…” Sebastian’s eyes danced. “We had this cat at home, and one day she jumped into the bathtub not realizing it was full of water, and the expression on her face—well, that’s what you look like right now.”
“Shut up,” Chelsea snapped, playfully smacking him on the arm with her good hand. The water seeping into her cast was making her skin itch so much, she wished she could crawl right out of it. She ripped the plastic bag off her arm and reached across Sebastian to grab a towel. As she leaned over him, he caught her by the shoulder and brought her face down to his for a gentle kiss. “You’re adorable when you’re angry,” he told her.
“Stop,” Chelsea huffed. “I don’t want to be adorable. I want to be good.” She shook him off and grabbed the towel, rubbing ferociously at her stringy wet hair.
“You are good,” Sebastian tried to assure her.
“Oh, shut up, I am not,” Chelsea said. “And you’re not helping any with your driving skills—or should I say lack thereof.”
“Hey!” Sebastian sounded genuinely angry for the first time since she’d known him. “I’m doing you a huge favor. I’m putting your health and my job at risk, and the least you could do is thank me. I didn’t think this was a good idea in the first place, and now I’m starting to think that it just plain sucks.”
“You don’t understand,” Chelsea snapped, knowing she was being obnoxious, but beyond the point of caring. “You don’t know what it’s like to want something this bad. I mean, you gave up a competitive career to teach—how could I expect you to know what I’m going through?”
Sebastian’s eyes flashed. “You are being mean and ungrateful,” he said. “And I really don’t appreciate it.”
Chelsea knew that she was being unreasonable, but she couldn’t stop. Everything was wrong, and for once Sebastian wasn’t making anything better.
“Forget it, Sebastian!” she said. “I don’t need your help.” She leapt onto the dock and began running up the gravel path away from the boat. Sebastian and the memory of her whole botched attempt at wakeboarding bobbed in the shallow water and seemed to be mocking her as she ran away.
As Chelsea ran, her breath grew short and ragged and her eyes began to burn. When she ran past a tourist family strolling lazily toward the lake, they turned to look at her, mouths and eyes gaping open in surprise. But Chelsea didn’t stop. She had to get away. To get somewhere she could be alone.
The path curved through the rear buildings of the resort and turned to dirt at the base of the mountains. The ambient resort noises faded behind her until all she could hear was the twittering of birds, the burbling of a stream, and her own uneven breathing. A canopy of leaves blocked out the sunlight as she veered off the path and toward the stream. Her face felt like it was on fire, and she squatted on a large flat rock by the water, scooping handfuls of it onto her burning cheeks.
It wasn’t until her chest heaved and she let out a loud sob that Chelsea realized she was crying. She hated crying! And that just made her cry even harder.
She felt like she couldn’t do anything right anymore, and her life was just falling to pieces. She had lost the ability to do the one thing she was good at, and all the competitive spirit she could muster wasn’t sharpening her ability to perform with an injury one bit. What if her parents did find out? Not only would she be dead meat, but she’d be letting them down once again.
But if she couldn’t wakeboard, what would she do? It was bad enough that her parents, whenever they weren’t yelling at her for doing something wrong, were acting like she barely existed and like Sara was the best thing to ever happen to Glitterlake.
It was bad enough that, ever since the incident with Sebastian in the Shag Shack, she hadn’t been able to decide if she was still a virgin or not…and that either way, thinking about it made her feel kind of slimy. Being around Sebastian had gotten pretty weird, and the fact that he was always treating her like a gentle, delicate flower was starting to get on her nerves. Ever since they had done it…or not done it…or whatever…he had taken kind of a protective stance toward her and was always telling her she was “adorable.” It was the kind of attention she’d thought she wanted, but now that she had it, she wasn’t so sure.
Chelsea’s body continued to convulse with sobs as the thoughts rolled through her mind in long, confused waves. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried for so long or so hard. It felt like all the emotion she had bottled up over the past year was pouring out, and there was no way to stop it. And the weird thing was that it actually felt kind of good.
I miss Todd, Chelsea thought, sniffling loudly. The thought lodged itself in her head, crowding out all the others as she pictured Todd expertly driving a boat as she clung to the towrope, Todd smiling at her in the late afternoon sunlight right after they had docked; Todd’s lean, spare wakeboarding style. She missed more than just boarding and competing with him, though: She missed talking and joking with him, and the way he looked at her, and the way her heart fluttered in her chest every time he did.
I still have it pretty bad, she realized miserably, launching into a fresh volley of tears. Her whole relationship with Sebastian, even finally maybe-sorta-kinda having sex with him, hadn’t made her want Todd any less. And now it was too late for there to be anything between them—even friendship.
Chelsea sat on the rock and cried her eyes out until the sun had stopped sending dappled patterns through the trees overhead and the air had grown chilly and dark.
It seemed like she would cry forever, but finally the tears stopped and Chelsea picked herself up and went home.
Chapter Twenty
Chelsea could hardly believe she was actually going to the Keep Tahoe Blue Gala with a date. She had been attending the annual fund-raiser for the League to Save Lake Tahoe every year for as long as she could remember, first with her parents and then with whichever summer staffers found themselves without summer loves by mid-August, but this was her first time ever going with a guy…or wearing a dress that cost more than her competition-only wetsuit.
She reminded herself that Sebastian was worth it. After their fight he had found her and apologized, even giving her a small bouquet of wildflowers he had picked himself. To her surprise, she found herself not only accepting his apology (and his kisses) with open arms, but asking him to be her date for the dance as well. And she had even told her father that she was taking him. Surprisingly, he hadn’t argued. Maybe, despite the occasional nagging doubts that lingered in the back of her mind, she still had a chance of falling in love with Sebastian. And her father would somehow accept him.
Chelsea took a break from rearranging her wallet, lip gloss, and car keys in her tiny black satin clutch to stare one more time at her reflection in the mirror. The slinky royal-blue halter dress draped low on her back and clung to her legs, making them appear sky-high in her black patent leather Steve Madden peep-toe pumps. She had to admit that she looked fantastic…well, at least from the neck down. Her face and hair were another matter entirely. She had carefully followed the directions for “smoldering evening eyes” and the “classic starlet up-sweep” on teenglamour.com, but even after several passes at each, she was pretty sure she looked more like a raccoon with a Mohawk than a glamorous diva with smoky eyes.
She frowned as she reached for her Neutrogena makeup remover pads, which were half gone even though she had just bought the package that afternoon.
Someone knocked softly on her door as she was wiping at the deep black liner ringing her eyes.
“Who is it?” Chelsea prayed it wasn’t Sebastian. He had said to meet him at the main lodge, but thanks to her continuous makeup disaster, she was running late.
“It’s Sara,” the voice at the door said.
“Come in.” The door cracked open and Sara appeared, looking more perfect than ever in a ’50s retro-looking baby blue dress with white polka dots and amazing red patent leather heels. Chelsea felt a wave of jealousy when she looked at Sara’s expertly waved retro hair and dewy, fresh makeup, accented with a shade of lipstick that matched her shoes.
“I was just coming to see if you needed a ride,” Sara said. “I’m leaving as soon as Leo gets here.”
“Thanks, but it’ll take me forever to get these eyes right,” Chelsea said.
Sara squinted at Chelsea’s reflection in the mirror, trying not to smile. “Let me guess…you went for smoldering and ended up looking like a raccoon?”
Chelsea couldn’t help laughing. “Like five times now. How did you know?”
Sara laughed. “Been there. I can help, if you want.”
“Really? That would be amazing.” Sara suddenly seemed less like the too-perfect older sister who had been stealing her spotlight all summer and more like an angel of mercy sent to help her just in her time of need. Chelsea felt a stab of guilt. Why had she spent all summer snooping around in Sara’s things and giving her the cold shoulder?
“It’s really no problem.” Sara pulled up Chelsea’s desk chair and rolled over to her, reaching for something in the pile of brand-new makeup crowding her vanity. “The secret is to do it mostly with shadow, not eyeliner. The liner’s too dark and it smudges easily, which is what gives you the raccoon-eye look. Close your eyes, okay?”
Chelsea did as her half sister asked, and the room slipped into a semi-awkward silence. “So you’re going to the gala with Leo?” Chelsea asked, just to say something.
“Yeah, but only just as friends,” Sara said, sliding something cool and damp over her upper lids. “I know he’ll make me laugh the whole time.”
Chelsea recalled Sara’s diary entry and wondered if there was anything helpful she could say without giving away what she’d seen.
“Open your eyes,” Sara instructed. Chelsea turned slowly to face the mirror—and nearly squealed with delight. Sara had somehow transformed her face from “Ashley Olsen after a bender” to “Ashley Judd at a premiere.” Even her irises seemed to have a twinkling, come-hither look.
“Wow,” Chelsea said, her mouth hanging open in shock. She shook her head. “This is…amazing.”
“Thanks,” Sara said, looking down bashfully. “If you want, I can do your hair, too.”
“That would be great,” Chelsea said. She watched Sara’s reflection in the mirror as her sister began removing pins and brushing out her hair. “Seriously, Sara, you’re great at this.”
“Oh, it’s just something I learned to do,” Sara replied. “I used to go out a lot.”
“You’re lucky,” Chelsea said.
“Eh. It gets old after a while,” Sara said. She didn’t sound very happy, and Chelsea couldn’t figure out why. She would do anything to have guys pay as much attention to her as they did to Sara. Her half sister clearly didn’t know how good she had it.
“You’re lucky to have Sebastian,” Sara said, twisting Chelsea’s hair into the style she’d been struggling with for hours with just one easy flip. “He’s nice, and he’s obviously crazy about you. It’s not easy finding a guy like that.”
Another wave of guilt rolled through Chelsea. She couldn’t believe she’d just been thinking about how annoying Sebastian could be. “Leo’s great, too,” she offered.
Sara sighed. “Leo is just a friend,” she reminded Chelsea. “And a friend is all I want right now. I am officially taking a break from boys this summer.”
And I’m just waking up to them, Chelsea thought.
She was about to ask Sara more, but was interrupted by her phone beeping to tell her she had a text message.
At lodge, the text from Sebastian said. Where r u?
“Wow, I’m totally late,” Chelsea said. “I better run and meet Sebastian.”
“Do not run in those heels,” Sara cautioned, and they both laughed.
“Hey, Sara,” Chelsea said as she hurried toward the door. “Thanks for fixing my hair and face.”
“No problem,” Sara said. “Thanks for listening to me rant about guys.”
“Anytime—and that was hardly ranting.” Chelsea threw her wrap around her shoulders. She headed out into the night air feeling sultry and glamorous…and thinking that maybe having Sara around the resort wasn’t so bad after all.
As Chelsea ascended the steps of Ponderosa Manor, the sprawling Victorian mansion where the Keep Tahoe Blue Gala was held each year, she felt like she was walking into a fairy tale. The stately porch was adorned with thousands of tiny blue Christmas lights that twinkled like stars, and she could already hear strains of music and laughter coming from inside.
Sebastian offered her his arm as they made their way through the sumptuous lobby with its velvet wingback chairs, large potted ferns, and sweeping mahogany staircase. When they reached the entrance to the ballroom, an actual butler in a tuxedo helped Chelsea off with her wrap and whisked it away.
“Wow,” Sebastian breathed as they entered the ballroom. “These people really know how to throw a party!”
The large parquet-floored ballroom glimmered in the subtle light of the crystal chandeliers overhead. Long blue candles burned in candelabras that reflected against the floor-to-ceiling windows, and tea lights floated in water bowls, illuminating the blue balloons and silver streamers strung festively about. A band played onstage on one side of the room, and a table piled high with punch bowls, crystal goblets, and dainty finger foods occupied the other. Most impressive about the ball, though, were the partygoers: a selection of the Tahoe region’s wealthiest and most influential families, from resort and casino owners to old money dating back to the gold mining days, all the men in dapper evening jackets, and all the women wearing gowns in various hues of blue in honor of the lake that had brought them all together.
“Why, Chelsea McCormick!” Deirdre LaClaire, chairwoman of the gala, exclaimed, rushing up to them. “Don’t you look fabulous! But whatever happened to your arm? Wakeboarding accident, I suppose—you daredevil, you! You know, I practically didn’t recognize you. You look about twenty-five and like you just stepped off the pages of Vogue. And who is this young man you’re with?”
Deirdre’s double chin wiggled as she reached out to take Sebastian’s hand. Sebastian brought it to his lips as he introduced himself, and Mrs. LaClaire nearly melted into a puddle of royal blue sequins at his feet.
“I’ve known her since I was a little kid,” Chelsea whispered to him after Deirdre had waddled off. “I’m not supposed to know this, but she and her husband are some of Glitterlake’s key investors.”
“Ah,” said Sebastian. “Well, she’s right: You do look like you just stepped out of Vogue. In fact, you look better. I’m glad I’m your date.”
“Thanks,” Chelsea said, forcing herself to smile at the compliment. She knew it was supposed to make her happy, but for some reason it just made her feel anxious and slightly oppressed. Why can’t I just appreciate him more? she wondered.
“Want to dance?” Sebastian asked. He took her hand and led her to the middle of the dance floor, where several couples and a gaggle of preteen girls were already moving to the beat. Chelsea was pleased to discover that, as long as Sebastian held on to her hand, she actually felt okay dancing in her new heels. Maybe I can sort of get into this, she thought, looking around the room.
After returning Sebastian’s encouraging smile, Chelsea
scanned the room for people she knew. She saw Sara in a corner by one of the candelabras, laughing at something Leo was saying, with one hand on his shoulder. And over by the punch bowl Mel and Sienna were talking with two handsome, yuppie L.A. types who had probably flown in to play around on Jet Skis for the weekend. She even saw her parents circling the dance floor, her mom’s arms around her dad’s neck and her upturned face alive and happy in the sparkling light from the chandelier overhead.
Sebastian turned slightly, giving her a view of the long bank of floor-to-ceiling windows on the ballroom’s east side. Her eyes skipped over a sea of faces and stopped on one that was staring directly at her: Todd. Before she had a chance to slide her gaze away, they had locked eyes, and her heart jumped. He looked more devastatingly gorgeous than ever in a simple navy blazer and light blue shirt that brought out the mountain-lake hue of his eyes, and his gaze seemed to be punching her in the stomach.
“Are you okay?” Sebastian’s asked, his breath warm and moist in her ear. “You just made the strangest face.”
“I’m fine,” Chelsea lied as Todd finally looked away and down at the floor.
Sebastian pressed in closer to her. “Sure?” he repeated.
“Positive,” Chelsea said, her voice sounding fake even to her. Not that it mattered…all she’d done was look at Todd. Last she’d checked, looking at someone wasn’t wrong or illegal. Even if it did make her body feel like it was made out of syrup.
“Want to take a break?” Sebastian asked. “You don’t seem very into dancing right now.”
“That would be great,” Chelsea replied with relief. She glanced back toward Todd—he was staring at her again! Her throat went dry.
Sebastian took her arm and they began heading toward the punch bowl—only to be waylaid by Deirdre LaClaire, wobbling toward them with her BFF and gala co-chair Nadine Monteague in tow.
Waking Up to Boys Page 12
