by Lara Chapman
She slams her hand on the steering wheel. “You have to, Sarah!”
“I don’t know, Kris, it just seems like overkill. When did you become so utterly incapable of being yourself?”
She totally ignores the question, which, I suppose, is rhetorical. We both know the answer, after all. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Unless you’ve got a date of your own, you will be there to help me get ready.”
I shake my head, wishing I actually had a date. Maybe then she’d get off my back. Maybe then watching her with Rock wouldn’t hurt so much.
I stare at her but stay silent.
“Promise me,” she says, tears welling in her eyes right on cue. She seriously belongs on the big screen. “I can’t do this without you.”
“Fine,” I grumble.
I am so weak.
The most natural beauty in the world is honesty and moral truth. For all beauty is truth.
—LORD SHAFTESBURY
Chapter Eight
We’ve been in Kristen’s bedroom for nearly two hours getting ready for Amber’s party. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I’ve been getting ready for about forty-five minutes. The rest of that time has been spent calming Kristen down and trying to convince her to eat something. She hates eating before she goes out, but I promised her mother I’d make sure she did. And I’m not in the business of letting her mother down. It’d be like letting my own mother down.
“You’ve got to eat something,” I tell her. “Your mom will kill me if I let you go hungry.”
Kristen closes the eyelash curler and looks at me in the mirror. “I’ll eat in a second. But I can’t eat much. If I eat too much, I’ll bust right out of this dress. I swear I’ve gained five pounds since we bought this.”
I put a small plate of Wheat Thins and cheese in front of her. “I’m telling you right now. If you don’t eat, you don’t go. I know all your little tricks. You stall and stall and then—bam!—your date is here and you don’t have time to eat. Fast-forward two hours and three beers later and you can barely stand. Is that really how you want Rock to see you?”
She sighs, tossing a cracker and cube of cheese into her mouth. “I’m probably not going to drink, anyway. Not unless he does.”
I shake my head, more to myself than anyone. I hate that she works so hard to please the guy in her life. She’ll completely change herself if necessary. She deserves someone who will love her just as she is.
“What time is it?” she asks, popping another Wheat Thin before tossing her hair over her head, shaking it loose, and then throwing it back over her shoulders.
I glance at my phone. “Eight forty. He’s ten minutes late.”
“Good thing,” she says with a wink. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have had time to eat.”
Kristen sprays her neck with perfume, then turns to face me.
“Wow,” I say. “You look phenomenal. Really.”
“You too, Sarah. That shirt is perfect.”
I glance in the mirror and look at us side by side. Kristen looks like Red-Carpet Barbie and I look more like College-Prep Barbie. I’m saved from second-guessing my outfit when the doorbell rings.
Kristen flies out of the room, unplugging the hair dryer and straightener in one swift motion. “That’s him!”
I follow behind her with the half-empty plate of cheese and crackers and set the dish on the kitchen counter while Kristen opens the door to Rock.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says to her, all deep and gravelly.
I walk into the living room, where they’re standing in the doorway admiring each other.
“I’m ready,” I announce, grabbing my purse from the coffee table and following them out the door.
Rock’s truck is detailed in the way that lets you know he spends a lot of time taking care of it. There isn’t a single water spot on it and the tires are shiny, like they’ve just been polished.
I hoist myself into the backseat and sink into the comfortable leather. While Kristen and Rock playfully fight over the radio, I pretend to busy myself with my phone. I figure it’s the best I can do in the short five-minute drive to Amber’s house.
When Rock parks the truck on the road and turns off the engine, I open my door and literally fall out. The seats are so slick I completely lose my hold on the door handle and land on my knees.
“You okay?” Rock asks, extending his hand to me as Kristen chuckles.
“I’m fine,” I insist, ignoring his hand and quickly standing. I brush off my jeans and give Kristen a good glare. “That’ll be enough out of you.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me next to her. “You know I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, making no effort to hide my sarcasm.
Amber’s parties are always in the backyard around her parents’ custom-made pool. There are palm trees full of twinkling white lights and tiki huts set up around the sparkling blue water.
“Wow,” Rock says. “It’s like being transported to South Beach.”
Before either of us can respond, Amber rushes over. Her dark red hair is pulled back neatly and her clothes, like always, are very country-club chic. She’s been dressing like a thirty-something divorcée on the prowl for a golf-playing, bourbon-guzzling, moneymaking husband for as long as I can remember. Her parents have a time-share in Colorado and they go away for their anniversary the first weekend of September every year. When that tradition began, so did Amber’s back-to-school party.
“I’m so glad you came, Rock!” Amber says. “And you were nice enough to bring Kristen and Sarah. As if you could ever separate those two. Let me introduce you to the guys.” She walks away with her arm in Rock’s like they’re the freaking Kennedys.
Kristen steps back like she’s been slapped, but Amber pulls Rock away so quickly she doesn’t have time to respond.
“That bitch,” Kristen mumbles under her breath.
“Ignore her. She’s just being a good hostess.”
Kristen levels a serious look at me. “How can someone so smart be so naive?”
“It’s either that or sit around and be mad. We came to have fun, so let’s get a drink and then walk around.”
Squaring her shoulders, she nods and walks with me to the nearest tiki hut.
“What can I get you, Sarah?”
I turn to see who’s talking to me and come face-to-face with Jay Thomas. “Hi, Jay.”
“Can you believe this place?” he asks.
“It’s over the top. Every year, they add more and more. Where do you go for vacation if this is your backyard?”
Jay laughs, the way I usually see him. “I fully expect to see this backyard on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens someday soon. Isn’t this the kind of thing those uppity tea-party types go for?”
I point to the drink in his hand. “That’s what we’re looking for.”
He slides behind the counter of the hut and puts a bright pink plastic cup in front of me, then smiles at Kristen. “Would you like a drink, too?”
“Definitely,” she says. “No sense suffering while he’s over there partying it up.”
Jay artfully ignores Kristen, another thing she’s not accustomed to. “What’d you do this summer?” he asks me as he fills our cups from the keg.
“Worked a little for Mom, hung out with Kristen. What about you?”
He shakes his head. “Nada.”
Kristen nudges my elbow as she grabs her cup; it’s her not-so-subtle sign we need to be on the move. But I’m not about to leave Jay so rudely.
“Can you believe Rock is chumming it up over there with Amber and her goons?” Kristen is in full-pout mode, eyes trained on Rock and Amber like they’re trying to get away with something illegal, instead of playing a card game using peanuts as poker chips.
“You have got to relax. He’s new to the school and she’s helping him make friends. I know you find this hard to believe, but guys like having other guy friends. Give him space. Rock will find his way back over here. Promise.”
“Yeah,” Jay i
nterjects. “Guys hate an insecure girl.”
“I am not insecure!” Kristen stands straight, shoulders back, in an attempt to prove what she said.
I put my arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re going to have a great time—with or without him.”
She looks at me in disbelief. “Doing what?”
“Come on,” Jay said. “A bunch of us are hanging around the fire pit. We could use some intelligent conversation. Till now, the deepest topic we’ve discussed is how many times Amber will be married before our tenth high school reunion.”
Kristen smiles. “Million-dollar question, for sure.”
We follow Jay to the small group of kids in lawn chairs around the fire. I have to admit, it looks totally relaxing in a summer-camp kind of way.
We say hello to Jay’s friends—Pete, Vanessa, Travis, and Becca. We’ve gone to school together for years. We’ve been in a lot of the same classes but never really hung out together. They’re the kids everyone likes. Fun, smart, and completely above the clique drama.
“Jay, what do you think? Who here is most likely to wind up on the TV show Intervention?” Pete asks.
Jay laughs. “That’s easy. Amber’s husband.”
“Doesn’t count,” Vanessa says. “How do we know he’s here?”
“Yeah, but we don’t know he’s not.” Jay follows Kristen’s gaze to where Rock is sitting. Amber is sitting across from Rock, leaning so far forward her chest is practically spilling onto the table between them.
Kristen snaps her attention back to the fire, as if she couldn’t care less about Rock.
The next several hours continue along the same lines … Who will never get married? Who will be the first to marry? Who will have the most kids? Who is most likely to wind up on Capitol Hill?
A couple of times Rock’s looked over his shoulder and tossed Kristen a wink or a smile. But he hasn’t left the table once. And since he’s been turning down beer all night, and Amber continues to bring him Cokes, he doesn’t really have a need to leave the table.
But when the crowd starts dwindling and people start leaving the party, Rock stands, does a complicated fist-bump thing with the other guys at the table, and walks over to us. He’s smiling from ear to ear and it’s obvious he’s had a great time, even if he didn’t quite realize the storm brewing within Kristen.
“You gals ready to head home?” he asks.
I expect Kristen to launch into a Fatal Attraction tirade about how she didn’t appreciate being ignored and brace myself for the fireworks. So maybe I won’t have to say anything to her about Rock after all. Maybe it’ll just self-destruct if I leave it alone.
“Only if you are,” she answers sweetly, nearly causing me to pass out in shock.
I watch in stunned fascination as she slides her hand into his and walks with him back to his truck.
“Sorry I got caught up with those guys. Didn’t want to turn down a good game of poker when I’d just met them.”
“I understand. It’s not a big deal,” Kristen says gently. “Sarah and I were just fine.”
“Thanks for being so cool.” He stops at the passenger door of his truck and opens it for her. With one hand, he effortlessly helps her into the truck.
I’m standing beside him, watching the exchange carefully. To be honest, it’s a little embarrassing to be witnessing it. This kind of cooing should really be done in private.
“We’ll have more time to talk tomorrow,” Rock says, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek before closing her door.
When he jogs to his side of the truck, hops inside, and starts the engine, I quickly jump in before he takes off without me.
For the first time in a long time, I feel utterly invisible.
Beauty is not caused. It is.
—EMILY DICKINSON
Chapter Nine
When we wake up the following morning close to eleven, Kristen’s house is quiet. Her mom was asleep when we got home last night and is probably already gone. We’ve spent hundreds of weekends like this—moving between our houses based on who was home and what we wanted to do. Kristen has a pool, so we are here more often than not. The fact that we’re usually here alone is just icing on the cake.
“Let’s get some sun,” she says, eyes still closed.
I sit up and my stomach growls. “Food, then sun.”
“You first,” Kristen says, rolling over in bed.
Pushing to my feet, I head for the kitchen, where I grab an apple out of the fridge, open the blinds, then take a bite. Kristen’s backyard isn’t as luxurious as Amber’s but it’s so much better in lots of ways. Nothing in this backyard is breakable and the furniture is comfortable and well used. The sunlight dances on the top of the water, practically begging us to jump in.
When I get back to the bedroom, Kristen’s deep breathing tells me she’s fallen back asleep. I take the covers and yank them off her. She despises it when I do that, but it’s the only way to actually get her out of bed.
“Come on, Kris. You need to spend some time in the sun.”
“I hate you,” she mumbles in her pillow.
“Just think how much prettier you’ll look tonight with freshly tanned skin. No one likes a pasty girl.”
And that’s all it takes to get her feet on the ground. In a matter of minutes, she’s brushed her teeth and pulled her hair into a ponytail and is—barely—dressed in her skull-and-crossbones bikini.
We both jump into the pool to get wet before climbing out and taking our usual lounge chairs in the full blazing sun.
“Now, isn’t this better than wasting the day in bed?” I ask.
“Actually, it’s a lot like wasting the day in bed. I’m just in bed outside.” Kristen giggles at herself. She keeps her eyes closed as she talks. “So tell me. What do you think about Jay?”
My mind slips back to the hours we spent cutting up with Jay and his friends last night. “He’s nice enough. Funny as hell.”
“I like a guy who can make me laugh,” Kristen says, a smile creeping onto her face.
I smile back, ready for our favorite game. “I like a guy who doesn’t say ‘pull my finger.’ ”
Kristen laughs. “I like a guy who doesn’t floss with used floss.”
“Eww! I like a guy who doesn’t cry at coffee commercials.”
“I like a guy who doesn’t put sweaters on his cat.”
I laugh so hard, I start coughing. “Omigod, Kris. That’s your best one yet.”
She high-fives me. “Guess Jay’s not the only funny one.”
Seven hours later, I’m watching Kristen suffer over each choice while getting dressed. It’s a miserable way to spend any Saturday evening, but tonight it’s downright agonizing.
“Choose a shirt already!” I say, amazed that it can actually take someone over an hour to choose a shirt.
Kristen looks at the pile of clothes heaped on her bed, all of which she’s tried on and dismissed. Twice. “I seriously need to go shopping,” she mumbles.
“We just did and you have more clothes on this bed than I have in my entire house. Pick. Something.”
“It has to be just right,” she says, arms folded across her bra-covered chest. It’s hard not to hate her when she looks like a model. When she still finds something to complain about, it’s enough to make me consider strangling her. Just for a second, anyway.
“Go with the red. It’s definitely your color.”
“Too bold,” she says.
“How about the white tunic? White’s great with your tan.”
She scrunches up her face. “Too … virgin.”
I look at my watch. “It’s seven. You’ve got half an hour. He’s a guy, Kristen. The only thing he’ll notice is what’s in the shirt.”
“Even Rock?”
“He’s smart, Kristen. Not dead.”
She nods her head, a smile finally creeping onto her face. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” She grabs the red shirt from the corner of the bed and
pulls it over her head. I have to admit she looks stunning. If anyone should be on television spoon-feeding the breaking news to Houstonians, it’s her. She’s totally got the glamorous looks and style for that kind of thing.
Her phone beeps twice, the oft-heard signal that Kristen’s got a text message. She grabs the phone from the bed and stands frozen while she reads. “Holy crap.”
Kristen has a tendency to overreact. To everything. So it takes a lot for me to get alarmed. I don’t even bother asking her what the problem is. At this point, all I can think about is getting out of here before Rock arrives.
“Ticktock,” I say, urging her to snap out of it and focus on her date.
“Read this,” she says, tossing me the phone. “Then reply for me.”
I do this a lot for Kristen when she’s driving, doing her nails, or just plain lazy. I turn the phone over in my hands and read the text she’s opened on her iPhone.
I’ve been waiting to see you all day. Hope you don’t mind if I’m early.
I swallow the lump in my throat, willing my face to look bored when what I’m really feeling is stripped of my very own happily ever after.
Kristen bends over and brushes her hair. “Are you replying?”
“What do you want me to say?”
She stands up, tossing her hair back. “Something cute, clever. Something funny.”
“If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”
Hands on her hips, she faces me. “Because you’re so good at it, Sarah. Please?”
I sigh, knowing I can’t or won’t say no. Tapping the screen to life, I click Reply and type the first thing that comes to mind.
Hope you don’t mind that I’ve memorized your eyes.
I click Send and put the phone back on the bed. “I’m not doing that again.”
“Sure you are,” she says, grinning at herself in the mirror.
Another two beeps on the phone.
“What’d you say to him?” she asks, reaching for the phone.
“That you liked his eyes.” I lie back on the bed and cover my eyes with my arm.
She giggles, then shakes my leg. “Listen to this. ‘They could never compare to your own. They put the Hope diamond to shame.’ ”
