by A. E. Watson
Her parents were clearly not part of her life. She never spoke of them and when asked she changed the subject as if she hadn’t heard me. Also her financial situation screamed she had no daddy she could call and beg money from. I got the distinct impression they were people she wanted nothing to do with. My imagination whispered that she might have fled, maybe in the night, making her all that much cooler.
She liked the color black far more than any girl I had ever met and not in the glamorously slimming way. It was in a way that told me she wanted to blend or not be noticed.
She looked over her shoulder when she talked. I questioned whether she might actually be wanted, like by the authorities. As in maybe she wasn't really nineteen and maybe if someone recognized her she would have to go home to her horrid parents. I mean, she did look younger—more like my age.
She was a hard worker, the sort who possibly grew up with a job or a ridiculous amount of responsibility. I had seen it in a few kids at school. When a common sense moment came at us, they were always the only survivors. The rest of us rich kids sort of stood there, baffled at how they had responded so quickly. But in our defense we had maids to clean our mothers and fathers up off the floor and cooks to ensure there was a meal when our parents were still sleeping at four in the afternoon.
She didn't throw away anything. She had mixed tapes from the nineties. I had seen them stored lovingly in her dashboard, instead of on the floor next to her deodorant.
She was my first girl crush. Not in a sexual way, but in the sort where I wanted to see what was inside her head. Every choice she made was the opposite of mine. Every idea she had was contrary to what a regular girl would say. A regular rich girl, that was. I had once seen her wash tinfoil. It was insane.
My cheeks flushed as I watched her fill orders and smile awkwardly at people who forced eye contact from her. It had taken me weeks to get her to look me in the eyes, like meeting a skittish animal for the first time.
Her pale skin glowed as her eyes darted nervously away from the person in front of her.
I grinned, biting my lip and wondering if she inspected me as closely as I did her. Or if anyone had ever inspected me this closely.
When it was finally my turn at the counter, my drink was waiting for me. She tilted her head and toyed with her lip ring, flicking it with her tongue. “Did you see there’s a solar storm tonight? Should be fairly badass.”
“Let me guess, you have a telescope in your car?” I mocked her but nodded internally because I did know about the storm and already had my telescope pulled out of the pool house.
She snorted, pushing the drink at me and shaking her head. “I wish.”
“I have one.” I nodded. “It’s not the Hubble but it works. Wanna meet at my place, at say one? I have a beach thing to go to but I can escape I’m sure.”
“What’s the beach thing?” Her smile widened, dragging my eyes to her pink lips. She didn't even have lip gloss on. Her lips were just a pretty color of pink.
“Party. Beach party.” I rolled my eyes as I slid ten dollars at her. “Everyone will be paired off for the evening, thinking themselves so clever at not getting caught climbing into the wrong sports cars. I should be able to get away.”
She leaned forward. “You don't plan on climbing into the wrong sports car?”
“Have you seen my car?” I cocked an eyebrow. “It’s amazing. I don't cheat on it ever.” I lifted the drink. “Thanks.” I left without my change, wondering if I was being too cheesy by overtipping and if she would see that as portentous.
I didn't know how to act with her. She was out of my league.
A league I imagined I was alone in.
Because deep down I always sort of thought I was out of my friends’ league in a lot of ways. Maybe not looks but in smarts, definitely.
Chapter Three
Kiss my Manolos
“Why are you wearing that?” Sage plucked my tank top and scowled at me in my mirror as I smeared some Buxom lip plumper on. “Is it cotton?” She wrinkled her nose.
I glanced down in the mirror. “Stop.” I used her STAWWP. I even made the weird voice she always did when she said it.
She rolled her eyes. “Can’t you at least try to throw on something remotely close to sexy? You have the nicest arms. Why not showcase those shoulder blades?” She ran her hand across the top of my chest softly, making me feel weird.
“Dude, seriously? Stop.”
“Look, you have muscles.” She pinched my bicep.
“It’s called hard work. My dad thinks I came over on a boat and need to work for basic human rights. He’s a slave driver.”
She chuckled. “That's not a very politically correct joke.”
I cocked a dark-brown eyebrow. “Careful, Sage. Your smarty pants are showing. Dumb blondes don't know politically correct is a thing.”
“Whatever.”
“Sage, can you do this? My mom always does it but she isn’t here. She’s not back till tomorrow night.” Lainey looked up at us from my bed. Her blinking and tearing eyes were red from trying to get her contacts in. Normally she didn't bother with them, unless we were going out and her mom was in town. Her mom always demanded she wore them, hating the fact Lainey had glasses.
“You have to get used to doing it. Just wear the contacts every day.” Sage sighed and slumped on my bed. “Why don't you just do the laser?”
“My prescription is still changing. They won’t do it until it’s done changing. The doctor said closer to nineteen.” She winced but kept her eye open as Sage slid it in. “And if I wear the contacts every day my eyes will be worse candidates for the laser.”
“Better?”
“Much.” Lainey sighed softly; it was the way she did everything. She brushed her lush chestnut hair behind her ears and gave Sage another look. “Uhm—”
“Oh my God, you need me to do your makeup too, don't you?”
“I can’t see as well close up with the contacts.” Lainey blushed, looking sweet. She had the finest cheekbones in the world, normally hidden by thick black-framed glasses. Her skin was pale from a serious lack of sunlight and an even more serious gamer addiction. She and I were the two oddballs in the random group of friends. All our parents had been part of the same social group since we were very little, which had made it easy to become friends, but hard to actually hang out as we were growing up to be so very different.
To the rest of Crimson Cove, we were the exclusive country club kids. To them we didn't have personalities or differing lifestyles.
From a distance we looked like everyday rich girls, sporting Fendi bags and clothes or shoes from a designer no one had heard of yet—this week it was Kim Haller.
But in reality, when no one was looking, only Sierra, Sage, and Rachel looked that way. Lainey and me were the shame of our households. Lainey for the way she looked and me for the way I looked and spoke.
“Have you met Marguerite yet?” Sage asked. “Though she prefers Rita for some ungodly reason. Rita! Can you imagine?”
Lainey shrugged. “We had a cook named Rita once.”
Sage nodded. “My point exactly. It’s much nicer don't you think, as Marguerite?”
“No. I don't know.” I shook my head, not sure which question I had actually answered but liking the name Rita and not caring either way. “I heard she and her mom are finally moving here this summer. Her dad has been the mayor for seven months already. You’d think they would have come sooner.”
“They’re here now.” Sage grinned. “And they are interesting. Marguerite is Rachel’s new BFF. They have been doing everything together for like a week. And I even heard she talks with a Louisiana accent like her dad when it’s convenient for her, but she’s a New Yorker through and through. My cousin went to cotillion with her. Says she can flip it back to Jersey if her crème fraîche isn’t fresh enough, but when guys are in the room she is Miss Southern Belle.”
Lainey sighed. “Great. Another Rachel. At least that means they’ll think t
hey’re too good for us and not expect us to hang too much.”
“I hate the way if I don't message Rachel back fast enough, she gets her mom to message the stepmonster and then suddenly I’m on a scheduled playdate.” And I hated nothing like I did hanging out with Rachel alone.
“Like tonight,” Lainey added bitterly.
“Raid night?” I asked, cracking a grin.
“Maybe,” she sneered. “Don't act like you didn't already know there was a solar storm and that the sky is going to be remarkable tonight. Even we might see the northern lights. Which, I know I don't have to tell you, never happens down here.”
We both looked mournful as we sighed, but Sage snapped her fingers. “Stop! Dork out later! Sierra is meeting us at my place in like ten minutes!”
“We’re going to your house?” Somehow that lit a fire under Lainey’s butt. She lifted her face, closed her eyes, and didn't move again until Sage said it was okay.
When Sage was done with Lainey’s makeup, we sauntered from the room, each texting up a storm on our phones as we walked down the hall.
I read over the message to Rachel, finally responding that I was totally coming!!! Ugh.
When I looked up, the stepmonster was just getting up and putting on her “company” face as we walked past the parlor. “Girls! You going to Rachel’s festivities tonight?” Her eyes landed on me and her nose wrinkled and away went her pleasant face for company. “Lindsey, darling, what are you wearing? Is that cotton?”
I glanced down at my simple gray tank top from Calvin Klein and a Ralph Lauren flared black mini skirt. “What?”
“It’s awfully casual.” Her green eyes darted to Sage. “Is that Dolce & Gabbana?”
Sage nodded, looking confused. It was a dumb question. Sage only ever wore D&G, Dior, or Valentino. She went everywhere looking like she might be walking a catwalk at any given moment. Her clothing always had to be the very best. Sometimes I wished I had her style, but then I would be elbow deep in a plate of nachos and a sundae and remember I am a human who needs cheese and carbs and accepted a size six quite easily.
“Beach parties are dirty and I like casual clothes. I have on Manolo Blahniks. That should satisfy even you.” I narrowed my gaze. “And besides, Sage doesn't have to dig for a living so she can wear whatever she wants. Her entire life is spent lounging and grooming. Whereas I have to think about the fact the dirt under my nails might not match my Dolce & Gabbana dress.”
Sage parted her lips but I shot her a look. She snapped her mouth shut and nodded.
“Those are flats. No one wears flats with a mini skirt. Your legs would look much better in a pair of heels.” Louisa gasped again, glancing at Lainey smoothing her cute Kim Haller sleeveless dress. It was the one I loved. It was cream colored and covered in words written in differing fonts and colors.
I had a cream-colored summer dress from Kim Haller too, but I hardly wore it because she was an up-and-coming designer, and therefore not to be worn to any of the functions I might actually wear dresses to—according to the rules of the Bueller household. But only since the new regime.
My last stepmom, Number Two, didn't make the same demands of me socially. She was more concerned with not getting caught having sex with the staff.
“Honestly, Lindsey, some heels wouldn't kill you and maybe a different shirt?”
“I’m being ironic wearing flats and being short,” I lied, hoping she wouldn't understand the word ironic and let it go before I ended up trudging around Rachel’s yard in heels.
The stepmonster relented with an eye roll. “Fine. Dress down like a commoner. Just don't come home before midnight though.”
She knew me too well.
I offered my “screw you” smile and headed for the door, even more determined to be home before eleven. I didn't skid on the drive out; I didn't need my two closest friends to see me getting reprimanded by my father through the camera at the gate. I didn't need anyone to know that was how he parented most days.
As I turned out onto the road, I opened the car up. The wind in my hair made me smile, but I was the only one smiling.
“Why do we have to have the top down?” Sage shouted as she pulled up her Pucci scarf to cover her hair. In the rearview I laughed as Lainey suffered through trying to hold her long dark locks in place.
“I like the top down.” My short straight hair had few perks. Being able to ride with the top down was one of them.
I parked in the driveway of Sage’s house, noting her older brother’s Jeep was in there. I prayed Rachel wasn't. I didn't need an early start with her. I hated that they were dating and she was always at Sage’s house.
As we got out of the car Sage’s older brother, Ashton, walked out of the house. He offered us all a grin and nod of the head. “Ladies.” He was the hottest guy at our school, which said a lot. We didn't have a single homely kid. Some might have started eighth grade a little frumpy or weird looking, but by tenth grade they were downright beautiful or handsome. Some kids had the summer of “travel” plastic surgery or fat camp while others just started to outgrow their awkwardness.
“Ash!” Sage offered back a middle finger.
I waved, frowning at Sage. She never came in hot and heavy, not first anyway. He usually provoked her—well she called it provoked, I called it joking.
Ashton was the nicest guy in the senior class. He was smart, kind, brave, and undeserving of a girlfriend as evil as Rachel Swanson. But he was a sheep to Rachel’s wolfish behavior. Watching her parade him around, flaunting the fact she was dating a senior who happened to be the star quarterback, made me queasy.
“Sage, why you gotta be so rude?” He shook his head.
“Why do you have to be so dumb?” She scoffed.
I swallowed hard, hating it when they fought. My eyes darted to Lainey who was looking down at her nails, admiring the fresh paint and pretending not to listen to the sibling war.
“You coming to the beach?” he asked me, maybe trying to be friendly and ignore his sister.
“Of course we are. Her Highness has beckoned.” I chuckled.
“I’m sure she did.” He laughed and nodded as he walked up to his huge Jeep. “She’s not so bad. You need a ride?”
“Please—like we would ride with you. We’re going with Sierra’s driver. Just tell me that you’re still planning on breaking up with Rachel tonight?” Sage folded her arms and smiled wickedly.
“Stop listening in on my conversations!” His dark-blue eyes narrowed.
“Stop having them so loudly. You have more white-girl problems than any of my friends.”
“You’re a real asshole sometimes, Sage.” He looked pissed as he jumped in and started the Jeep, driving off in a huff.
Lainey offered a confused look. “He’s dumping Rachel tonight?”
Sage shrugged. “I friggin’ hope so. But I think we all know she’ll smooth talk her way back in. He intends to try, as far as I heard him say, but I don't think he has the guts to break up with her. You think we have it bad with Mrs. I Rule The Roost? You should see how she treats him when no one is looking.” She turned and stormed inside.
If ever you wanted to see the worst behavior out of Sage Miller, it was when she and her brother fought. It wasn't often but it was always heated. Otherwise, they were both some of the nicest people I knew.
“I told you, Rachel reminds me of Louisa. You watch, we’ll all turn thirty, and my dad will start dating her after he divorces Louisa. He’ll be sixty friggin’ years old and still looking for that new young ‘thang’ to be mean to him and spend his money.”
Lainey laughed but Sage still seemed annoyed. “You all right?” I asked her as Lainey sat on the couch.
Sage sighed and gave me a look I knew to mean she was not okay. She eyed Lainey and then me. “You guys can’t say that it was me who told you! Swear!”
I crossed my heart as Lainey nodded.
Her eyes stopped on me again. “I was driving over to your house yesterday when you got o
ff work, and I saw Rachel. She was on the side of the road, leaning against her car with some guy, leaned up against her. I have never seen a guy like that, not here anyway. And I have never seen Rachel like that, all plain looking. It was so weird. He was—”
“Older?” I thought I’d be helpful.
“Gangsta?” Lainey jumped in, also helpful.
“Hip-hipster.” Sage shook her head and shuddered as if the words she had whispered made her sick. “Like he just got here on the bus from the Village.”
Lainey and I both leaned back in disbelief.
“What?” I asked, knowing deep down hipster was my dream fantasy, if I ever found a guy I wanted to date. But how many future bankers were hipsters? My dad and Louisa had compiled my list of men to date and hipster dudes were not on that list.
But as much as I fantasized over a boy who could quote sonnets and sing like Damien Rice, Rachel did not. She had practically written the list of boys I was to date, with my parents. And every one of them was a Young Republican.
“Seriously. He was wearing a wooly winter hat and a knitted sweater that was layered over,”—she paused and took a breath—“layered over a white extra long tee shirt. I think it was a ladies’ shirt. And he had low-slung skinnies on with Chucks.”
Basically, my dream guy.
“And he had a beard. In the summer.”
Not my dream guy. At all. Abort!
I had seen that CNN report about the filth in beards. A little scruff was one thing but a full beard, no. No bueno.
“A wool hat in the middle of summer?” Lainey wrinkled her forehead. “That is the true sign of a douche nozzle. It’s the douche nozzle calling card. Wow! And a beard. Maybe he’s in a boy band.”
I shook my head, mystified and speechless. Even Lainey didn't approve, and she was pretty chilled out about guys and fashion.
“And they were making out. I saw them in my rearview. His hands wrapped around and were cupping her butt.” Sage cringed. “Did you see the CNN report on beards?”
