The Carlyles

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  Baby stood next to the tollbooth that led to the line for the ferry and waited for someone to ask her where she was going. On the island, everyone hitched, and she felt much more at home flagging down a random car than a New York City cab. Within two minutes a rusty red Dodge pickup with a missing headlight stopped and a cute twentysomething guy wordlessly opened the passenger door, motioning for her to get in. This was what she loved about Nantucket: it was a real community, and when you needed something, people were friendly.

  “Coming from Boston, huh?” the guy asked as she closed the heavy truck door. He was wearing a faded gray UMass T-shirt, and his skin was ruddy pink from the sun. He looked like a lobster.

  Watch out for the claws.

  “Not really,” Baby replied, looking down and realizing how absurd she must look in her uniform skirt.

  “Okay, so where are you off to?”

  Her phone beeped, and she looked down with annoyance. J.P. He’d called three times since she’d been on the bus. Couldn’t he just find another dog walker? Or maybe his girlfriend could take the dogs out for him? No, that would mean changing out of her bitch suit for five minutes, which was impossible. She picked up the phone and answered in annoyance.

  “Hey, I’m done with the New York experiment,” she began, not waiting for him to speak. “I’m back on Nantucket, so you should just find a new dog walker, someone who can accommodate you better with cheaper rates.” She hung up before she could hear him say anything. What would be the point?

  “Ex-boyfriend?” the driver asked.

  “Absolutely not,” Baby said, jamming her phone into her faded green Jansport so she wouldn’t even have to think about it. She gazed out the window at the sprawling farms and tidy New England colonials in muted shades of white and gray. Home. She was finally back home again.

  “Well, I’m getting off around here, so thanks for the ride!” Baby chirped as they rounded a familiar corner.

  The driver pulled over and she hopped out of the car on one of the side streets near Tom’s house. It led directly to the beach, and she half sprinted down the uneven wooden steps to the sand, her messenger bag thumping against her back. She could already see the bonfire near the water and paused for a second at the sight of all her NHS classmates stumbling around in various stages of undressed drunkenness.

  Baby made her way down the beach and recognized Lucas Anderson, one of Tom’s friends, before she heard Tom’s familiar half snort, half chuckle that sounded like a guinea pig being squeezed. He only made that noise when he was really high. Tom and Lucas were sitting on a damp piece of driftwood, apparently unaware that the tide had risen up to their ankles. Lucas was wearing Birkenstocks over thick, oatmeal-colored socks and was picking out the same four chords of “Free Falling” over and over again. A three-foot-high bong constructed of plastic soda bottles sat between them like an old friend.

  Time to run, not walk, back to civilization!

  Baby walked quietly over to them, stepping over the driftwood and shivering in her underwear as she sat next to Tom.

  “Baby?” Tom blinked a couple of times as he tried to determine if she was real or just a stoned illusion.

  “I’m here,” Baby said simply. She leaned back into his arms and let his fingers tickle her gently. He took her face and guided her mouth to meet his. He smelled like Tide and the ocean and a little bit of pot. His pupils were huge, but Baby wasn’t annoyed. She felt a little high too, just from being around him. It just felt so good to finally be back in the only place she wanted to be.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” Tom said incredulously in his stoner voice. Lucas just stared at them, his mouth agape.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested, half dragging Tom away from the log. The sky was pitch-black, but the moon created a path of light across the inky water. Baby took Tom’s hand in hers, her whole body tingling with excitement.

  “So, are you here for the weekend?” Tom asked, taking a joint out of his pocket and lighting it.

  “For this weekend and the foreseeable future!” Baby smiled at him, swinging his arm giddily with hers.

  “Okay,” Tom said slowly. He stopped and ran his fingers through her tangled hair. “So where are you going to stay?” he asked, in between kisses.

  “The guest cottage,” Baby said, as if it were obvious. She and Tom would live together, happily ever after.

  Aren’t fairy tales grand?

  “What about school?”

  “It’s only been a week. I’m sure I can get caught up,” Baby said playfully, though she was sort of annoyed. Why couldn’t he just enjoy having her here?

  “Okay,” Tom said again. “What do you want to do?”

  Did she need to spell it out? She squeezed his hand as they half ran back to the small weather-beaten cottage where Tom lived with his brother, and climbed up the rickety stairs to Tom’s bedroom. He set his iPod to Al Green, and Baby wrapped her thin arms around him, feeling like nothing in the world could be more perfect.

  Let’s get it on . . . ooh baby, let’s get it on. . . .

  “Hey,” Baby said as she pulled Tom into her.

  “Hey.” Tom nuzzled her hair. Baby’s heart leaped as he pulled her down onto the bed.

  His arms felt warm and strong around her, and she felt like she might burst with happiness. She was home, back with Tom, after what felt like an eternity of being so far away from everything she knew and loved. “I love you,” she said simply, because there was nothing else to say.

  “You too,” Tom muzzled her neck sleepily. He giggled, and then his giggles turned into those annoying guinea-pig noises.

  Baby sighed. Maybe he’d gotten so high with Lucas because he missed her so much and had to do something to drown his sorrows?

  Or maybe he’s just a typical stoner boy who has a very special relationship with his bong.

  They lay back in the bed and she pulled the cover over them. Tom immediately collapsed into the pillow, his eyes closed. “Do you want to take a nap or something?” Baby asked, even though Tom’s breathing had already evened out into deep snores. She sighed again and snuggled into his back, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves in the distance.

  The next morning, Baby woke up to the sound of her phone ringing.

  “Ugh,” she murmured sleepily, seeing her sister’s name on the display. She silenced the phone and sat up, looking around Tom’s room. Why wasn’t Tom in bed with her? She threw on his sweatshirt and padded downstairs. The sweatshirt was warm and soft and smelled like Tom.

  She looked out the window and spotted him, standing next to Kendra’s beat-up white XTerra. Kendra was in his arms, and his right hand, with the thick silver ring Baby had given him, was clasped around Kendra’s hip. Baby felt a cold shot of fear rush through her. Tom was speaking earnestly to Kendra, and a flash of anger crossed Kendra’s face. Baby opened the door slightly. The rusty hinges creaked.

  “She’s back,” she heard Tom say defensively. Baby sat down on the concrete steps and hugged her knees to her chest. She had chills, even though it was warm outside.

  “What? For the weekend?” Kendra sounded like she had snapped out of the stoner haze she had been in for the past two years. Her voice was sharp and clear and incredibly angry. Baby felt like she couldn’t breathe.

  “I don’t know for how long. But I love her.” Tom’s voice rang out in the early morning air. Somehow, even those three words weren’t enough to warm Baby up.

  “What about us?” Kendra asked accusingly.

  Us? The last Baby had heard, Kendra had been sleeping around with some UMass dropout who was working as a crab shack cook.

  “You’re my friend, but Baby is my girl,” Tom insisted. Baby could see Tom’s arm circling Kendra’s narrow hip, as if he was going to pull her into a kiss. “Just give me time to sort this out,” he pleaded.

  With that, Baby stood. Tripping over her feet, she stormed back inside, slamming the door behind her.

  “Shit!” she heard
Tom call out.

  “Baby!” Tom’s older brother, James, was standing bleary-eyed by the sink as Baby came hurtling inside. “You’re back!”

  Baby grimaced. The room was filthy, with clothes lying untouched in a pile and a half-eaten slice of pizza congealing in its own grease on the counter.

  Tom appeared in the doorway, panting from sprinting after her.

  “Oh man, you guys are going to have it out.” James opened the fridge, pulled out a gallon of Tropicana, and drank it straight out of the container. Then he sat down at the table, looking up at them expectantly.

  “What the hell was that?” Baby said evenly, her eyes locked on Tom.

  “It was nothing,” Tom said, shooting a pleading look at James. “It was just . . . Kendra. Baby . . . Baby, just listen to me.” He grabbed her wrist, and Baby pulled away, feeling his stupid ring against her skin. She didn’t want him to touch her. “Nothing happened,” Tom whispered urgently.

  “Yeah, right,” Baby spat. “How could you do this to me?” she demanded plainly. This type of stuff happened in New York to people like Jack Laurent and J.P. Not to her, and not in Nantucket.

  Tom bit his lower lip with his front teeth, but didn’t say anything. “I’m going,” Baby said finally, breaking free from his grasp.

  “See, you’re always leaving me,” Tom said accusingly. “I was lonely, okay? I missed you, and Kendra was there. If you hadn’t left, this wouldn’t have happened,” he finished.

  She glared at him once more and stormed out. The back door slammed behind her.

  Baby ran toward the beach and hurtled herself into the ocean, where her tears mingled with the salt water. At least she wasn’t in Manhattan. At least she was home.

  And home is where the heart is . . . not.

  gossipgirl.net

  * * *

  topics / sightings / your e-mail / post a question

  * * *

  hey people!

  NEWS FLASH: My sources tell me J’s much-anticipated bash has suddenly and inexplicably been canceled. J is encouraging anyone and everyone to go to A’s bash instead. Is this a newfound alliance? Or is something more devious going down?

  Sightings

  J and A signing for a large delivery at A’s grandmother’s town house from that liquor store on Second. With A’s real estate and J’s connections, this could be quite a party partnership. . . . R walking up Fifth Avenue, holding hands with a mystery girl. Too bad K was at a Seaton Arms tennis tourney and couldn’t see him. . . . O walking by a bodega on Madison, stopping to smell the . . . apples? Does someone have a fruit fetish . . . ? A hiring decorators to put up hundreds of lights in her grandmother’s solarium. I don’t think the decorations matter when half the guests are guaranteed to be passed out, but props for trying. . . . And B . . . nowhere. Anyone? Because J.P.’s dogs—and J.P.—have been walking around with their tails between their legs.

  your e-mail

  Dear GG,

  I live on Nantucket, and when I was running on the beach this morning I found a Constance Billard blazer washed up on the shore. Isn’t that a private girls’ school in New York City? What happened?

  —Nantucket Nectar

  P.S. If you ever come to Nantucket, my Dodge has fully reclining seats, if you know what I mean.

  Dear NN,

  Hmm, I certainly haven’t heard about any Upper East Side tragedies, but I only have this island covered. Could it be that one of our own has decided to end it? I can think of a certain bohemian beauty who’s been awfully moody ever since she got here. . . . As for the visit, thanks, but it takes way more than the promise of fully reclining seats to make me leave Manhattan.

  —GG

  Dear GG,

  I totally know who you are. You’re probably, like, a Constance teacher who’s just working on this tell-all novel to embarrass everyone. Right?

  —Novel Girl

  Dear NG,

  A of all, I’m far too interesting and fashionable to ever be a teacher, and B of all, if I had wanted to write a novel, don’t you think I’d have done it by now?

  —GG

  After a summer of boring we’re-going-to-college parties where everyone pretended to be BFFs even though they really hated each other, I’m just itching to get back to the start-of-school parties, where Riverside Prep boys can mingle with Seaton Arms girls, Constance B girls can make out with St. Jude’s boys, L’École girls can hook up with each other, and plenty of drama is guaranteed to occur. It’s the first party of the year, and I, for one, can’t wait to witness some scandalous behavior. Et vous?

  You know you love me,

  gossip girl

  Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

  From: Owen.Carlyle@StJudes.edu

  To: Kelsey.Talmadge@SeatonArms.edu

  Date: Friday, September 12, 3:00 p.m

  Subject: Re: Now?

  Kat,

  Come to my sister’s party. Can’t wait to see you. . . .

  Love,

  O

  Party Like a Rock Star

  “We really did it!” Avery squealed, throwing her arms around Owen in a drunken, sisterly hug.

  Owen ruffled her wheat blond hair and grinned drunkenly back at her. “Yeah, we did,” he agreed with a grin. He glanced around the party, searching for someone. “Hey, I’m gonna grab another beer. You want anything?”

  “I’m fine.” Avery waved a hand. She’d had four drinks already, and everything was bathed in a happy, golden haze. She couldn’t believe how well the party was going. Grandmother Avery’s solarium was a blaze of twinkling lights that reflected off the marble floor. The small glass-enclosed pool was filled with bikini-clad L’École girls, the kitchen with St. Jude’s and Riverside Prep boys doing shots, and the dining room with Constance girls eyeing the St. Jude’s guys. Avery didn’t know everyone’s names yet but couldn’t have been happier.

  Owen ruffled her blond hair one last time and disappeared into the frenetic mass of bodies.

  “Hey.” Jack Laurent sidled up next to Avery, appearing as if out of nowhere. She wore a tight royal blue Proenza Schouler dress and towering Miu Miu platforms that made her a full two inches taller than Avery. She was holding the hand of a very cute, aristocratic-looking guy. “Great party, Avery!” Jack leaned in to give Avery a kiss on the cheek.

  Mwah, mwah!

  “J.P. Cashman,” the guy said, holding out his hand. Avery took it, batting her eyelashes. “I know your sister. She’s been walking my family’s dogs. Is she coming tonight?” he asked convivially. Jack stared daggers at him.

  Avery nodded, noticing now how good-looking J.P. was. Why had Baby never mentioned it? Then again, Baby always went for stoners like Tom, not pretty, Upper East Side billionaires-in-training. She probably hadn’t even noticed.

  “I got you another drink.” Jack handed Avery a Tanqueray gimlet, and she took it gratefully. “I thought you might need one—it’s so hard to be a hostess and take care of your own needs, especially when it’s such a great party.”

  Avery grinned, too tipsy to detect the hint of sarcasm in Jack’s voice. Jack had been true to her word, and dozens of kids Avery had never even met were now crowding into the solarium. The caterers Avery had insisted on hiring from Masa had long since gone, and Grandmother Avery’s white couch was full of half-eaten California rolls and half-naked couples. She smoothed out a wrinkle in her black Marc by Marc Jacobs satin hostess dress, feeling like quite the hostess herself.

  “Thanks so much for coming!” Avery spontaneously pulled Jack into a hug. Maybe it was the millions of tiny lights installed all around the room, but Jack somehow looked different tonight. Even her freckles weren’t as irritating as they’d always seemed. She squeezed Jack’s arm as she carefully polished off her wine and then took a sip of the cocktail Jack had made for her.

  Didn’t Grandmother Avery ever warn her about mixing her drinks?

  “Of course! I hope you have lots more parties in the future. I’d be happy to help with all of them
. And I meant to say it before, but good luck with the election tomorrow.” Jack smiled warmly at Avery as she tugged J.P.’s hand to lead him away.

  “So how come you’re not wearing your new dress?” J.P. asked as they surveyed the crowded room. J.P. had been true to his word and had given her a pink princess dress, exactly as she’d described it. But it was absurdly frilly, with layers of bubble gum pink taffeta, and she would’ve looked like a giant cupcake in it.

  “What, you don’t like what I’m wearing?” Jack deflected the question, gesturing to her body-hugging sweaterdress. J.P. knew better than to say she didn’t look good, so the point was pretty much moot.

  “No, you look great,” J.P. conceded. “But remind me again why you canceled the loft party?” he pressed. His brown eyes scanned the crowd as if looking for someone. “I mean, you were the one who said you didn’t want a house party. My dad had everything ready. He was disappointed.”

  Jack shrugged. Couldn’t he just let it go? And did he have to sound so disapproving? “I changed my mind,” she said lightly, and lifted her face up for a kiss. She wished she could tell him that she really didn’t have a choice. Avery Carlyle held her social universe in the palm of her hand, and unless Jack stopped her, her entire life would be over.

  Jack turned the stereo up, and Kanye thumped through the house. “That’s better.” She flicked off the lights, plunging the room into sexy, dim shadows that played off the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  She started to make her way to the kitchen to pour Avery a shot, but J.P. grabbed her arm. “It’s pretty noisy in here—want to go chill outside?” he yelled over the pounding music.

  “I want to drink more first!” she yelled back, shaking his arm away and continuing in the direction of the kitchen.