“Mom, I’m just going to ask you this outright, and it doesn’t mean I want to do it, just that I’ve been sort of thinking about it, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, concern in her blue eyes.
“I’ve been thinking about asking Dad if I could live with him for the summer and, um, actually finish out high school in California.”
Her eyes widened. Not a hurt look. Not an angry look. Just surprised. “Are you that unhappy here?” She opened the gate, came into the pen, and sat down right on the hay beside me.
I didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. All of a sudden, tears flooded my eyes and I started crying like a five-year-old.
My mom reached over and pulled me into a hug. “Sweetheart, I know you and Thom have been a couple for a long time, but you can’t pin your hopes and a life-changing move on a boy. You’d have to want to move to California because you miss your father and because you hate it here.”
I sniffed. “I do miss Dad, sort of. But I don’t hate it here. Ugh, I don’t know anything anymore. I thought moving to California would solve my problems with my friends and I could keep Thom or maybe meet someone else, and I could have Dad back, you know, the way it used to be between us when he actually seemed to care about us, but I don’t want to leave you and Mac. Or even Sabrina. Or Hermione.”
She tightened her hug and held me for a minute. “Sweetie, if you want to live with your dad, that’s a conversation you’ll need to have with him. I’ll support you no matter what. I want you here, but I’ll support you.”
My mom rocked. She totally, totally rocked. “I love you,” I whispered, and let her hug me like I was a little kid.
“I know. And I love you too.”
Weasley started chewing on the sleeve of my hoodie, so I jumped up.
“Come on, I’ll make you your favorite lunch,” my mom said, and we headed out of the barn together.
I still had no idea what I was going to do, but I felt tons better.
When I saw Sam raking out stalls alone in the cows’ barn, I stood by the huge wooden door and watched him, watched the way his muscles moved under his T-shirt. He was softly singing, but I couldn’t make out the words.
He glanced over and saw me. His smile lit up the dark barn. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” I walked in, turned over a big metal bucket, and sat down on it. I’d figured out a way to ask Sam about his type and relay that info to Caro without lying or bringing myself into the equation. I had no idea what would happen. Caro would become more like me to hook Sam? And then he’d suddenly like her? It didn’t work like that. At least, I hoped it didn’t. I was now helping Caro get the guy I wanted so that she wouldn’t dump me as a friend and make my life a living misery at school. Yeah, that made a lot of sense.
“So, Sam, about this girl you like—you know, the one you haven’t been sure is single—why do you like her, anyway?”
He stopped raking and looked right at me. “She’s beautiful. But so are a lot of girls at Freeport Academy. This one is … special.”
My heart swelled. “Why?” I asked.
“Can’t really put my finger on it. She’s nice, and I like that, but it’s more than that.”
This wasn’t helping—which was good, because vague wouldn’t help Caro, but it still counted as information. I’d done my job.
“Are you asking because you’re trying to make a decision?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” he said, and went back to raking. I loved that he didn’t press me. He just let it be.
“So how’s the image thing going with the other interns?” he asked.
“You heard about that?”
“I heard Caro and Fergie telling Tate and Ceej about it at lunch. And Elinor and Joe were talking about it the other day.”
“I’m just trying to help them be happier,” I said. “I’m not sure if anything I’m doing will change anything.”
“It already has,” he said. “Joe looks like a completely different guy. And he acts differently too. He’s not as shy as he used to be. He actually carries on a conversation with me now. Before, he couldn’t get three words out.”
I smiled. “That’s great.”
“Sam?” Mac called. “Got a sec? I need help bringing pen four to the grazing pasture.”
“Coming,” he called out. “Talk to you later,” he said to me, those brown eyes lingering on mine.
Caro called that night.
“Well, did you find out anything?”
Okay. Just tell her a cleaned-up version of the truth. “Well, he said he likes someone who he’s not so sure is single, so I asked him why he liked this girl, and—”
“Meaning you, Madeline?”
“Me?” I repeated, playing dumb.
“Madeline, he stares at you all the time. The only reason he hasn’t asked you out is because you talk about your long-lost boyfriend all day. It’s clear he likes you.”
“If he really liked me, Caro, he’d have asked me out. Come on. Thom’s long gone. And I haven’t heard from him in a while. I’m sure Sam knows that. They probably still talk or text or whatever.”
Dead silence. And then, “So why does Sam like you so much?”
“Caro, he didn’t come right out and say he was talking about me. He could be talking about anyone. But he did say the girl he likes is nice, but that’s not the entire reason he likes her. He said he can’t put his finger on it.”
“So I have to be nicer to hook Sam,” she said. I could see her rolling her eyes. “I hate nice.”
I laughed. That was actually funny. “You could try, you know.”
Not that I wanted her to try. I wanted her to go on being mean so that Sam wouldn’t like her. But I wanted her to turn nice so we could be friends again.
Either way, she wasn’t going to end up my friend. That much I knew.
“God, I hate this,” she said. “Love sucks.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, thanks for trying, Madeline. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, Caro.”
“See you tomorrow morning,” she said. And just like that, things were “okay” again.
Chapter 16
Sam was having a party on Saturday night. I didn’t even have to ask if I could invite the interns. He’d invited them himself. He’d even invited Sabrina and her even weirder friend, the one who also wore overalls all the time.
Yes, Sam was nice.
And good thing, because the party would provide the perfect opportunity for the new-and-improved interns to test themselves out. Everyone showed up at Sam’s parties, all the different cliques—the Gothy art rats, the crunchers, the jocks, the stoners, the wannabes, and the Mosts, guys and girls. And Caro Alexander rarely showed up at a party unless it was her own or a junior or senior Most’s.
The interns and I spent our class hour at Elinor’s house, deciding on clothes and discussing important party points, such as what to do when you first walked in, where to stand, what to say. Avery was giving Elinor and Joe as much advice as I was. And she’d earned the right. She looked like a page out of InStyle.
“Let’s practice,” Elinor said, grabbing Joe’s arm. Elinor pulled him out into the hallway, shut the door, then knocked.
“Actually, you don’t have to knock,” I called out. “The front door will be open. Just open the screen door and walk right in.”
“Really?” Elinor shouted through the door. “Isn’t that rude?”
“Not at this kind of party,” I said. I walked over to the door and opened it. “Pretend there’s a screen door and that you can see a party going on inside. People might be on the front lawn, too, but that’s unusual. Mostly everyone will be inside or out back.”
“Oh God, I’m so nervous,” Elinor said. “No, I mean for real. Right now. I’m nervous about even walking through the fake door into the fake party. How am I going to actually walk into Sam Fray’s house full of everyone at school who makes fun of me on a daily basis?”
/> “Has anyone made fun of you lately?” Avery asked.
Elinor bit her lip. “Actually, no. Well, there are always a few meanies in gym. They still call me dork when I miss the volleyball, that kind of thing.”
“There are always going to be mean people,” I said. “You just have to ignore them and not let them get to you.”
“Easier said than done,” Elinor said. “Even when you’re improved.”
That was definitely true. Caro and Fergie got to me.
“Just remember this,” I said. “Sam invited you all. You are his friends. His coworkers. His classmates. You were invited. You belong there like anyone else at that party. And if you walk in like you know that, you’ll be fine. Own it.”
“She’s absolutely right,” Avery said. “That’s how I feel now. It took a while, but I really feel that way.”
Elinor and Joe did some kind of corny hand bump, then went back into the hallway. Elinor pulled open the imaginary screen door.
“Hi, I’m Elinor!” she said to the armoire. “Great party.” Silence. “Great party, huh?” she said again.
“Is she supposed to say that?” Joe asked.
“How about this?” I said, stepping into the hall. I pulled open the imaginary screen door as Elinor had. “Hey,” I said to the armoire with a quick, warm smile. Then I pretended to weave my way around some people. “Hi. Oh, hi, how are you? Warm smile all around. Eye contact, but not longer than 1.5 seconds.” I stopped and turned to the interns. “Okay, now I’m thinking, Oooh, that guy is really cute. I have to think of something to say to him to get into a conversation. Hi, do you know where the kitchen is? I’m sooo thirsty.” I turned my voice deep. “It’s right over there,” I said, pointing. “I’ll go with you. I’m thirsty too.” I changed my voice back to my own. “I’m Elinor.” I changed my voice again. “Jesse. You’re in my history class, right?” I took a bow, then said, “That’s how it’s done.”
“That was so good,” Elinor said. “I think I can do that.”
“Me too,” Joe said. “That’s just normal conversation.”
“That’s the point,” I said. “You don’t have to be all nervous and repeat things or try to come up with something brilliant or cutesy to say. You be yourself.”
Joe wanted to go next and had to start over a couple of times, but by the fourth time, he did great. He even “talked” to the captain of the junior varsity football team, Ceej, who intimidated him. And then he asked out his dream girl. And she said yes.
“I’ll bet she does say yes,” Elinor said. “That was awesome.”
“I’m really proud of you guys,” I said. “You’re going to do great.” I looked at my watch. “I have to go.” My mom was dropping me at Fergie’s to get ready for the party, and Caro’s housekeeper was going to pick us up and drive us. “So we’re clear, right?” I asked. “No one wears any of the stuff I let you borrow, or Caro and Fergie will freak, okay?”
“I promise I won’t,” Joe joked.
Joe had come a long way, from being afraid to say anything to cracking jokes—cute jokes—and really showing who he was: a nice, funny guy.
Avery glanced up from where she sat on the floor in front of the mirror on Elinor’s closet door. She was trying on lipsticks. “What is the big deal if we wear their cast-off clothes that they gave away? They’re such bitches.”
Everyone stopped and stared at her, then me.
“It’s okay,” I said. “They are bitches. But they can be really nice, too.” Not lately, though. I glanced at Avery but couldn’t read her expression.
“What’s Caro Alexander actually like?” Elinor asked. “I just sort of think of her as like a movie star or pop star.”
“She’s just a girl,” Avery said, moving around pieces of her hair as she looked in the mirror. “She’s done absolutely nothing to earn star status. She’s not an actress or a singer or the winner of the Pulitzer prize. She’s just a girl.”
“She’s not just a girl,” Elinor said. “She’s Most Beautiful. She’s Most Everything.”
“Well, she didn’t do anything to earn that,” Avery countered. “She’s beautiful and rich. So what? Madeline is self-made,” she added, glancing at me. “That’s why I respect her. She went from nothing to something.”
Whoa, lighten up, I wanted to say, but she was so dead serious I let it go.
“You’re so lucky you don’t have to get all done up,” Fergie said to me. “When you like someone, and he’s going to be at the party, you have to spend hours on just your skin. I started getting ready for this party on Thursday. You’re almost lucky you’re ‘involved’ in a long-distance relationship. Totally takes the pressure off.”
She made big honking air quotes around the “involved.”
Whatever. She wasn’t baiting me. I had no idea how I felt about anything, and there was no way Mary Margaret Ferragamo was going to get me all upset tonight.
We were in Fergie’s bedroom. She’d changed her outfit three times. The first time because Caro was wearing all white, and Fergie had originally decided on a white sleeveless little dress. The outfit she’d planned, complete with accessories, had had to go because of Caro’s white skirt, which Caro had decided on two seconds before leaving her house—after Fergie had called to confirm their outfits twice that day.
“Omigod, Caro,” Fergie complained, frowning at outfit number four: a very cute flouncy tank top and her new gazillion-dollar jeans and very high-heeled sandals. “Can I just wear my white dress? Nothing feels right now because I was so set on the white dress.”
“Fergie, live up to your status,” Caro called from the bathroom, where she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup. “You should be able to change your outfit at a moment’s notice and look amazing. You’re just having a mental block. Get past it.”
Fergie rolled her eyes at me in the mirror.
I smiled. “Fergie, what you’re wearing is totally hot.”
Caro poked her head out to check out Fergie. “Very. You’ll have me to thank when you and Tate are voted Class Couple in less than two weeks.”
Fergie’s gaze drifted over to me. “You’re okay with that, right, Madeline? I mean, it’s not like you and Thom are really even together anymore. I know you’re hanging on to him, but still.”
I wanted to punch her. Seriously.
“And, honey,” Caro said in her fake, syrupy voice, “I’m worried about you actually hooking someone like James or Reid. I mean, you’re spending way too much time with the freaks. People are noticing. And, I hate to tell you this, Madeline, but who knows what’s rubbing off on you?”
“Meaning?” I asked.
“Meaning, when you spend a lot of time with freaks, there’s the danger of turning into one yourself.”
“That’s actually true,” Fergie said. “Cliques look alike. The art idiots in their stupid ripped patterned tights and fake tattoos, the nerds in their nerd wear, the stoners in their totally heinous tie-dye.”
“Could we please talk about something else?” I said. “You know they’re paying me. It’s my ticket to my dad’s wedding.”
Caro laughed. “Ooh, we’ve made progress. Last week it was your ticket to see Thom.”
I was hating Caro more by the second.
“Okay, Madeline, time to dress you,” Fergie interrupted. She eyed Caro, then said, “Okay, so no white. I have the perfect outfit for you.” She handed me something folded over a hanger. “Try it on.”
I wasn’t so sure about the “perfect outfit.” It was a sparkly lavender—but it appeared to be a jumpsuit, made out of some kind of jersey, with a lot of material around the waist and a low-slung tie belt at the hips. I couldn’t even find the neck opening.
“Wait a minute. Is this a jumpsuit?” I asked. “It has legs, but it’s one piece.”
Fergie held it up against me. “My mom bought it in Prague last year. Hot new designer—all the rage. I begged for it, but I haven’t even had a chance to wear it. You’re the first.”
Trying it on took like twenty minutes. I couldn’t figure out how to adjust the material at the waist or how to get the belt to lie just right. I left the bathroom. “Fergie, I think I need your help. But I’m not so sure this is right for me anyway. It’s so … baggy.”
“It’s not baggy,” she said. “It’s voluminous. And totally haute couture. I was reading Italian Vogue this morning, and ‘voluminous’ is the word for the fall season from the runways. I’d think you’d keep up with what was coming out of the fashion houses in Milan.”
“I love it,” Caro said, tilting her head to look me up and down. “You look amazing, Madeline. Really elegant.”
I glanced in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, which took up an entire wall of Fergie’s bedroom. I didn’t look amazing. I didn’t look elegant. I looked awful.
Oh.
Was that their point? To make me look awful for the party? So that Sam would lose interest in me?
“Sorry, Fergie.” I pulled the jumpsuit off my body. “I’ll just stick to what I came in wearing.” Which was a perfectly good outfit for a summer party. A simple ice-blue cotton tank dress with a cool silver necklace I’d bought at an art fair and my silver wedge sandals.
“If you want to look boring,” Caro told me. “But like Fergie said, it really doesn’t matter. You’re hanging your hopes on a guy who’s three thousand miles away, and you’re not interested in two very hot guys who are interested in you—and who will be at the party. You could wear a garbage bag and it wouldn’t make a diff. I don’t even know why you’re bothering to go at all.”
But I did.
Chapter 17
Sam’s party was packed. When we walked through the front door, the crowd immediately parted. There was the usual “Hi! I love your hair, your dress, your earrings, your shoes, that is the cutest necklace, your hair is so pretty.” I could swear that a girl even said, “Can I touch you?”
The Mosts Page 11
