by Amy Andelson
Holy shit, that show is good. We were glued to the TV for hours on end—day turned into night. Season 1 turned into season 4. It was like Flynn and I were living in suspended time. We snacked on grilled cheese and martinis that we made for ourselves from the vodka we had delivered courtesy of Jack’s Sherry-Lehmann house charge. And when we needed to stretch our legs, we’d take a walk down Madison Avenue and imagine what New York was like back in the swinging sixties.
The night before she left, we decided to go to PJ Clarke’s for dinner, since they go there on the show. After we’d finished our burgers and Flynn had fed the jukebox all our change, we headed out. But as we stepped onto Third Avenue, there was a roll of thunder, and suddenly the sky opened up.
It was rush hour—we didn’t stand a chance of getting a cab. We had no choice but to make a run for it. I took her hand, and we ran as fast as we could, getting more and more drenched with each block. We finally got back home, and as we fell into our apartment, we took one look at each other—soaked to the bone—and burst into laughter. It was a good thing Louisa was gone, because she would have lost her shit seeing the mess we were making in the foyer. I raced to the linen closet and grabbed a towel to wrap around Flynn. I rubbed her arms, trying to dry her off. She looked up at me and smiled.
“Thanks,” she said as she used the towel to wring out her hair. I couldn’t help but notice that her white T-shirt had become see-through, revealing the flower pattern on her bra and the outline of her small breasts. I quickly looked away. We went off to our respective rooms. I knew she was stressed about last-minute packing, so I tried to stay out of her way for the rest of the night. I could hear her on the phone, saying goodbye to her friends, promising to keep in touch, the things that only girls do. It hit me that I’d be without her for the rest of the summer—and that I’d miss her.
Just before midnight, I went to her room. She was in boxers and an oversized Spence T-shirt, zipping up her suitcase.
“Think we can plow through the final episodes before you go?” I asked.
“I guess I can sleep on the plane. We can watch here,” she said, queuing up the next episode on her laptop. I lay down next to her. In all the time Flynn and I had spent together, we had never been like this. Together, on a bed. She’s your sister, I said to myself. Why did I suddenly need a reminder? I hit play, and the episode started.
The next thing I knew it was the middle of the night, Flynn’s room lit by the glow of the computer screen. It took me a second to realize that we had fallen asleep together. I watched her shoulders move up and down with her breath. I watched her lips, open ever so slightly. I knew I could slip out and go back to my room, but I didn’t want to. Instead, I moved closer. She stirred, and when she opened her eyes and saw me, she froze.
“Hi,” she said tentatively.
“Hi.” My hesitation matched hers.
Her hair fell onto her face, and without thinking, I tucked it behind her ear. A gesture so simple, but it felt like more. As we looked at each other through the darkness, we both knew that we were headed into uncharted territory. I needed her closer. I needed…her. And so I kissed her. I don’t know if we kissed for a second or a minute or an hour. I’ve replayed it so many times in my head, and it’s different every time.
The next thing I remember is waking up to the sound of the elevator doors opening, and our housekeeper, Thelma, humming as she came inside. I shot up, my eyes squinting from the sun blaring into Flynn’s room. I looked over at her bedside clock, which read 7:58 a.m. Her flight was at seven. She was gone. I quietly got out of bed—I didn’t want Thelma to see me in here. I crept back to my room and found a note on my desk. xo, Flynn was all it said. I picked up my phone and started to text her. But I didn’t have the faintest idea what to say.
I went out to get some breakfast, even though I wasn’t hungry. I sat at the counter at EJ’s and picked at my scrambled eggs until my coffee got cold. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I jumped. But it was just Louisa, asking when she could expect me in the Hamptons. I didn’t write back. I clicked over to Flynn’s name and tried to write something to her. But every time I started to type, my mind would just go blank. I put my phone back in my pocket.
I spent the rest of the day cleaning out all my papers and notes from the school year—it felt good to just get rid of all of it. So long, Algebra II—I hope to never see you again. And when I came across one of the many catalogs for Phillips Academy Andover that Louisa had periodically placed in my room, I gave it a second look. I had spent the past year weighing the pros and cons of going away to boarding school for my junior and senior years. Of course, it was all Louisa had ever wanted for me, but the idea of following in my dad’s footsteps (and those of all the Abernathys who came before me) wasn’t exactly appealing. Suddenly, escaping didn’t seem like the worst idea.
I took my phone out again—the blinking cursor of the blank text to Flynn taunting me. Still I had no idea what to say. So instead I called Louisa. I told her that I would be in the Hamptons later that day, and that she should tell the dean at Andover to expect me there in the fall.
“Shotgun!” Poppy shouts as we all gleefully run through the convenience store parking lot, hoping no one saw our booze deal go down.
“Oh shit!” Shappy yells, and races her to Neel’s car. But Poppy gets there first, and I have to say I’m proud. She takes her rightful position up front, while I crawl into the middle seat next to Amos. Shappy gets in after me, squishing me closer to Amos. Our legs touch.
“Sorry,” I say, as I shift my body away from his.
“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. Don’t worry about it? Okay, Amos. Considering I already have a growing list of things that I worry about in regard to Amos, I suppose it’s nice not to have to add another. Sometimes I wonder if that night ever even happened. The only reason I know that it did, and that it isn’t just a bizarre figment of my twisted imagination, is that I can’t think of any other reason why Amos and I are sitting here so close to each other, yet feel so far apart.
I had been thinking that whole June night about how much I was going to miss him while I was away. I had spent the past few hours on the phone telling Sabrina and Aisha how much I would miss them—even though I really wouldn’t. And yet I couldn’t just walk down the hall and say the same thing to Amos—even though I really would. I just felt like it would be weird. Or what if he thought I was weird for saying something like that? And why had I been stalking Claire Chandler online ever since they hooked up? Amos had always hooked up with lots of girls. It had never really bothered me before. Up until that night, I’d never thought anything like that would ever happen between Amos and me. But then it did happen. After we kissed, he looked at me in a way I had never been looked at before. We didn’t talk; we just kept kissing. And then he held me, my head on his chest. Eventually he fell asleep, but I didn’t. I needed to stay awake to know that I hadn’t dreamed it.
In the car on the way to the airport that morning, I couldn’t stop checking my phone. I was sure Amos would text or something. I checked it again once I got through security. Then at the gate. And then when we boarded. A lump was forming in my throat. Maybe he regretted what happened? Or maybe I was just like his other inconsequential girls?
Now here we are, six months and three thousand miles from that night, and I still have the same lump in my throat. The same unanswered questions between us. Neel’s car speeds through a dark tunnel. And when we emerge, it’s like we’re in a totally different world. The freeway has ended, and the Pacific Ocean is immediately to our left. I glance over at Amos, his gaze fixed out the window, and I wonder if anything will ever be normal with us again.
By the time we get to Malibu, it’s dark out. Neel pulls over onto a small driveway right off the highway, and we all pile out of the car. He enters a code into a keypad and lets us pass, one by one. Once we’re through the gate, we can see straight int
o the glass fortress and out the other side, where the moon glistens on the glassy Pacific. Okay, so he wasn’t fronting—Neel’s obviously loaded. We’re instructed to take our shoes off and leave them in the basket by the front door.
“It’s an Indian thing,” he tells us as we walk inside.
“Whoa, is that the ocean?” Poppy asks. The lure of the water pulls Poppy and Flynn through the house and out onto the back terrace. Neel watches Flynn with a self-satisfied smirk that makes me want to hurl.
The house itself looks like a spaceship. It’s super modern with all white walls and high ceilings. There’s art everywhere. I recognize some of the pieces—it’s not like I’m some aficionado, but I’ve picked up a few things over the years from my mom. I can hear Louisa’s voice in my head saying that the Khans’ taste is nouveau. That they’re not real collectors. I’d have to agree.
“Make yourselves at home. Mi casa es su casa,” Neel tells us. Really, bro? Be more of a cliché. How many times has he dangled this view before some unsuspecting girl?
Be careful, Flynn, I try to telepath to her. But it’s like the signal has been lost on the wireless connection that used to exist between us—the one that let us catch each other’s eye, across the dinner table or at a party, and with one glance know exactly what the other one was thinking.
Instead she just looks at Neel and shyly asks, “You’re sure your dad won’t mind if we crash here?”
“He and my stepmom are out of the country on set, and won’t be back until the new year.”
“So you got Home Alone-d for the holidays…that’s a move we’re familiar with,” I remark.
“Yeah, well, Diwali was a while back. We don’t really do the Christmas thing, although I do love me some latkes.”
A short Latina woman in all white emerges from a room off the kitchen. Neel introduces us to his housekeeper, Bebe, and judging by his reverential tone, you can tell she runs the ship around here. Makes me miss Rosie. I wonder what will happen to her in the divorce. Bebe eyes each of us, and I know she can sense that Flynn, Poppy, and I are up to something, but she’s not quite sure what. In the meantime, she thankfully takes pity on us, and leads Poppy and Flynn upstairs to find a change of clothes.
The scissors crunch through one last chunk, and I watch a thick lock of hair float down—the strands scattering everywhere as soon as they hit the marble bathroom floor. I stare at myself in the mirror above the sink, and grin. The cut is shorter than I planned—it falls just below my chin—but once I had the scissors in my hands, it felt so good, I couldn’t stop. The more I cut, the more I wanted to shed the old me. My fingers graze the back of my neck—exposed to air for the first time since I was a little girl with a neat little bob. The ends are ragged and not totally even, but it’s not awful for a first attempt at DIY hairstyling. It’s kind of messy, and I like it. I stand there for a minute, in my underwear, and look at myself in the full-length mirror. I haven’t noticed until now, but my legs look stronger from all my running. It makes me proud. Like maybe change is possible.
“Whoa!” Neel exclaims from the doorway. I quickly reach for a towel and wrap it around my half-naked body. My eyes fall to the mess of hair covering the floor.
“Sorry. I’ll clean everything up.”
“It’s all good,” Neel says, and I can’t even imagine what he must be thinking about me right now.
“So, pizza or Thai?” he asks.
“What?”
“For dinner.”
“Dinner…amazing. I’m starving.”
“It all comes down to you, Barlow. We’ve got two votes for pizza from the East Coast, and two for Thai from the West Coast.”
“Hmmm, that’s a true dilemma. While I have allegiances to both, I think I’m going to have to side with my siblings on this one.”
“Fair enough.”
“Can you get a separate small pizza for Poppy? Mushrooms and olives. No cheese. And gluten-free crust.”
“Are you sure she’s not from LA?” he says with a grin that always makes me blush. “Come down whenever you’re ready.” Neel walks out, but then pops his head back in.
“Hey, Flynn?”
“Yeah?”
“You look hot…with your hair like that.”
“Ven aquí, pobrecita,” Bebe says to me as she leads me into Neel’s little sister’s room. It’s hard to tell how old the girl is. I know it’s rude to snoop, but I can’t help it. My mom would say I’m being nosy, but I like to think of myself as curious. Trouble is, there isn’t much to find. Just by looking around, you can tell her parents are divorced. I’ve known enough daughters of divorce in New York City to know how to recognize it. Like someone lives here, but not really. The drawers are half-empty; there are no notepads with doodles, no yearbooks, no candy wrappers stashed under the bed. Like it’s a room for a pretend daughter the parent wishes existed, or maybe a little girl who used to exist but doesn’t anymore. Or maybe she does, but only every other weekend.
I wonder if I’m going to become that phantom girl. With that empty room. I guess Mom will take me most of the time, just because she’s the mom and that’s what happens. But maybe I’d fit in better somewhere else. Maybe if I move to the Bay Area with Dad and Flynn, I’ll be happier. Maybe I’ll have friends. Maybe they won’t think I’m strange. If Flynn’s from there, it must be okay.
But what if Dad doesn’t want me to go with them? Or what if I go all the way there, and the kids don’t like me at my new school, either? Maybe I don’t belong anywhere. Maybe I should just go to school online, and then I won’t have to worry about bothering anyone anymore.
Normally, when I start to feel this way, I tell Rosie, and she hugs me real tight and says, “There, there, love.” She tells me to take three deep breaths, and if I’m still not feeling good after that, she gives me a little pill, and it’s like everything starts moving a little slower. But Rosie isn’t here, and I’m too scared to tell Flynn and Amos about my Bora Bora–bound pills. I don’t want them to think I need to go home—that I’m not grown-up like them. That I’m not…normal. I’ve always wondered what would happen if I stopped taking my medicine. I guess now I’ll finally find out.
I help myself to a look around the place while Poppy and Flynn disappear upstairs. Shappy makes himself at home. He plops down on the couch and puts his dirty feet up on the perfectly white sofa. I laugh to myself, thinking how Louisa would have this kid ejected if he ever tried that in our house. That’s one thing that’s nice about being away at boarding school—I don’t have to worry anymore about the land mines that make up my mother’s anal-retentiveness. I think she’s getting worse as she gets older. And as Jack gets richer. Something happens to rich people. It’s like they’re on some warped power trip—where they think they can control every single part of their existence and the world around them.
“Check it out,” Shappy says as he pushes a button, and out of nowhere a screen slides down from the ceiling.
“Dope,” I say somewhat sarcastically—though any nuance of tone is lost on him.
“Wait till you see the screening room,” he adds. This is exactly what’s wrong with LA. When Flynn, Poppy, and I took off on this adventure, I thought we were heading for something bigger—something that meant something. This was supposed to be about us. But now I’m looking around this garish house and wondering what in the world we are doing here.
“Actually, is there a computer I could use?” I ask. Shappy lifts his chin in the direction of an adjacent study.
I settle into the office chair, power up the iMac on the desk, and even though I’m not totally sure if I should, sign into my email account. Louisa and Jack may not be good parents—hell, they may not even be good people—but I’m not sure they deserve what we’re probably putting them through.
And there it is. Sixty-five new messages staring back at me on the screen. Most of them franti
c emails in the last hour from Jack and Louisa. This means it’s true. The piece I’ve tried to push out of my head. Despite my efforts to ignore the time, it’s now undeniable. Our plane has landed in Bora Bora. And we’re not on it. All the passengers have disembarked. Well, all save three. By now, Jack and Louisa are berating some poor slob at the airline and anyone else they can accost, and have most likely gathered that we arrived safely in Los Angeles, according to our itinerary, and then never boarded our connecting flight.
I quickly scan through the messages, which start out inquisitive and then run the gamut to downright irate. I naïvely hoped that they would trust that we haven’t been kidnapped, raped, and sold into child slavery and instead assume that we are simply acting like the spoiled, entitled, disappointing children they thought us to be.
But they sound angry and alarmed in a way I’ve never heard, and suddenly I’m realizing that we’re in way deeper than we ever planned. I see the words MISSING CHILD REPORT and POLICE. I hear Flynn come down the steps, and I quickly close the browser window and clear the history. I don’t know what tonight or tomorrow has in store for us, but I know one thing for sure—we are running on borrowed time.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I ask Amos, as he looks at me, not even flinching at the sight of my short hair. He stands in the kitchen, where Poppy and I sit at the enormous island, snacking on tortilla chips and guacamole that Bebe made for us.
“They’re freaking out,” he says.
“What do you mean?” I nearly choke on a chip. “You talked to them?”
“I just checked my email. And it’s not good. They’re calling the police.”
