“Good luck with that,” Charlie says, pointing to her belly button. “Contrary to appearances, we do have a dress code.”
Olivia yawns, rolls her eyes, and hooks one of the buttons on her cardigan.
“Let’s goooo,” she says. Olivia has this habit of dragging out the last word of anything she says. It’s annoying, but the thing about being that beautiful in high school is that your annoying habits don’t matter. Kind of like how it doesn’t matter whether you order a diet or regular Coke at McDonald’s with a Big Mac. In the scheme of things, it really isn’t affecting much. That’s how Olivia’s drawl is. It’s irrelevant, and even if people notice, most of the time they think it’s cute.
“Calm yourself,” Charlie snaps. “It’s still early. Did you get bagels?”
Olivia nods and produces a bag from the driver’s seat. Grandma’s Coffeehouse. Every Wednesday, Olivia has to drop her little brother Drew off at school and swings by the coffeehouse to get us stuff. We all order differently, but we know each other’s orders by heart. Charlie gets an everything bagel with plain cream cheese, Olivia orders blueberry with butter and strawberry jam, and I get poppy seed with chive cream cheese. Sometimes Charlie and I share, half and half, but rarely.
Charlie opens the bag and passes around our respective orders. Along with my bagel she hands me a piece of gum she’s produced from her jeans pocket. “For Rob,” she says, and winks at me. I look away because I can feel my face start to heat up.
“How is he?” Olivia slides her bag over her shoulder and slams the door.
“How’s Ben?” Charlie shoots back.
Olivia swallows, but then Charlie slings an arm over her shoulder. “Relax. It’s fine. Anyway, Rose has the big romantic news of today. Tell her,” she says, looking at me.
“Tell her what?” I tuck some hair behind my ear. It’s not even eight a.m. on the first day of school, and I already don’t want to be here.
“About the text.”
“He just told me he was back,” I say quietly.
“Oh my God,” Olivia squeals. “You guys are totally together!”
I glance around the parking lot to see if I can spot Rob’s silver Volvo, but he’s always late, so I don’t really expect to see anything, and I don’t. Charlie just smiles and puts her other arm around my shoulder, and the three of us waltz toward campus.
We’re early, of course, but today there is good reason. We can finally take advantage of the senior lounge—or PL, as we call it, because technically it’s the parents’ lounge (they fund the vending machines)—a room off Cooper House that’s reserved for seniors only. The three of us spent some illegal time there last year. In fact, it was the first place I let Jason attempt the bra unhook, but we’ve never been legitimately allowed in. So today is a big deal.
Olivia is babbling about how her little brother stole and hid her book bag this morning and how her mom promised her a new Tod’s tote this year but she still hasn’t gotten it.
“Can’t you just get it yourself?” Charlie asks, looking annoyed.
“That’s not the point,” Olivia says, and stops talking.
By the time we make it to the PL, it’s ten after seven, which means we have a full thirty minutes to spend here before assembly.
The PL has windows on three sides and an entrance that connects to what we call the breezeway. It’s a walkway from inside Cooper House to the lower courtyard, where, since it’s California, we generally have lunch all year long.
There are three vending machines against the fourth wall. One has coffee and cappuccinos and things like that, another has water and juice, and the third has snacks. Charlie punches in some numbers and hands around bottles of San Pellegrino. Charlie only drinks sparkling water. It’s her thing.
Another one of Charlie’s theories is that it’s important to have “a thing.” It makes you stand out. She calls it your seven, because that’s her favorite prime number. Meaning it can’t be divided, just like the thing that makes you you can’t be separated. For instance, Olivia’s seven is that she always has some item of purple on, even if it’s just her key chain. Olivia wants her seven to be her hair, because she loves her hair, but Charlie says purple is way more interesting. My seven is that I don’t drive. I mentioned to Charlie that that’s sort of a negative thing, but she just brushed me off. “It makes you stand out,” she said. “It’s awesome.”
I didn’t get my license until my seventeenth birthday, which means I might as well have waited until forty. It’s not that I don’t like responsibility. I love responsibility. I’m a good student. I’m organized. I’m a good friend, most of the time. But driving freaks me out. Big-time. The possibility of an accident just seems so close. I mean, these massive metal tanks zooming around trying not to crash into each other? I could never shake the feeling that by driving I was taking someone’s life in my hands. So I’ve just never done much of it.
My parents still bought me a car, though. An old white Camry off a colleague of my dad’s who was moving. I think they thought it might provide some incentive for me to want to get behind the wheel. It didn’t work. Every time I sit in the driver’s seat, my hands sweat and my heart starts racing. It’s weird, I know. I’m a teenager, for crying out loud. Driving is supposed to be the thing I love the most. Freedom, escape, independence. I get it, trust me. But for me it’s way less excitement and way more terror.
There are a few seniors sitting on a bench near the right-hand windows. A girl named Dorothy who has been called Dorky since, like, the sixth grade, and Len, which is shocking. I don’t think he’s ever been on time to school. Plus, also, isn’t he supposed to be kicked out? Charlie’s rumor mill isn’t always ironclad, but it’s usually at least grounded in 10 percent truth.
“Hey.” I wave to Dorothy. Len gives me a smirk, like I’ve just singled him out for a personal greeting.
“He is such a disease,” Charlie whispers to me. Then she looks up and announces, “I’m shocked they didn’t expel you.”
“Who, me?” Len uncrosses his arms. They fall to his sides, revealing a purple T-shirt with a yellow lightning bolt down the front. Another thing about Len: He always wears long sleeves, even in the summer. It’s bizarre.
He tilts his head, and a brown curl swings down onto his forehead. He’s got this mess of curly hair that makes him look part mad scientist, part high school dropout. I think the only redeeming feature he’s got is his eyes. They’re big and blue and round, like gemstones stuck right in there.
“Why would they expel me?”
“Because you are a leper,” she says. “You’re, like, infecting this place.”
Len’s eyes flit from Charlie to me. “What do you think, Rosaline?”
It’s not like Len and I speak regularly or anything, but he’s got this habit of calling me by my full name. It’s so patronizing. He can’t even address someone without being annoying. Definitely his seven.
“I don’t really have an opinion,” I say. “Because I don’t really care.”
Charlie and Len look at me, impressed.
“Helloooo?” Olivia is waving a hand over her head, trying to get our attention about something. She’s talking to Lauren, who is on the student activities committee with us—or SAC, as we call it. We had AP English together last year, and she lives a few doors down from Rob and me. I volunteered us to take her to school last year, but Charlie said it was out of our way. Which is ridiculous, of course, but not very surprising.
“You can see my bra,” Olivia squeals, holding out her bottle of sparkling water to us as evidence. It’s currently spraying all over her tank top, and Lauren steps to the side, presumably in search of drier ground.
“Not a bad way to kick things off,” Len says.
“You’re nauseating.” Charlie grabs my elbow and drags me over to Olivia. “He makes me feel dirty,” Charlie says. Olivia raises her eyebrows, and Charlie clarifies, “Not in a good way. Like I just showered in fish oil.”
“You’re going to
make me lose my bagel,” I announce, even though I still haven’t consumed a thing.
“Watch that,” Charlie says, reaching over to cap Olivia’s water. “So what’s the deal with you two, anyway?”
“Who?” Olivia fans out her tank top.
“My brother?”
Olivia stops, drops her shirt, and takes a huge gulp of sparkling water. “Three months,” she squeaks out while swallowing. It surprises me. I figured they were getting close this summer, but this means they were together at the end of school. Before Rob even left.
“Three months?” Charlie’s face is turning red. You can tell because she gets these little splotchy marks where she isn’t wearing a lot of foundation.
“Yeah, but it was the summer,” Olivia bleats. “You know, we weren’t really around.”
“What are you talking about, ‘we weren’t around’? We were at the beach together, like, daily,” Charlie says.
Olivia scrunches up her lip. “I like him,” she says.
“At least we know they’re not sleeping together,” I offer.
Olivia swats me on the shoulder, but it’s playful, and even Charlie has to smile. Olivia is saving herself for marriage or until she can legally drink or something. Her mom got kind of religious after she married Olivia’s stepdad. They all go to church on Sundays. We’ve never talked about why, exactly, she’s waiting, but my guess is she has a better handle on all of it than I do. The moral part, anyway. So far as I know, she’s only just made out. I would bet money that’s all she has done with Ben, too.
Olivia starts adjusting her tank top in the glass window. I slump into a seat and open my sparkling water. I haven’t even touched my bagel yet. Every time I try, my stomach launches a counterattack. Turns out, I’m completely terrified about seeing Rob. It’s totally messing with my morning. My hands are tingling and my fingers feel numb. It reminds me of the way I used to feel when I was in The Nutcracker as a kid. Complete and total stage fright.
I see Len leave the PL and Lauren following out behind. He says something over his shoulder, and Lauren laughs. Probably making fun of us.
“Shall we?” Charlie comes over, chewing a piece of blueberry bagel, so I know she and Olivia have made up.
“Mhm.” I stuff my bagel into my book bag and stand.
“Let’s roll,” Olivia says behind us, which makes Charlie immediately snap to attention. She tosses her red hair over her shoulder and slides her book bag on.
“Do you think we should try to get Len to join SAC?” Olivia asks. Charlie shoots her a look like, Don’t even think about it, and turns on her heel, the two of us following behind.
“I’m kidding,” Olivia says. She mouths “Jesus” to me and rolls her eyes, miming her best Charlie impression. We walk out of the PL, across the breezeway, and down to assembly. The only thing I can think is that the second we walk through the doors, Rob will be there. And then, how completely and totally unprepared I am to see him.
Scene Three
If you’re a senior, like we are, then you sit in chairs on the right-hand side of the auditorium during assembly, instead of up in the bleachers. Like by making it to senior year you have earned your right to sit in a chair. The whole thing becomes unbelievably political, with senior seats ending up like concert tickets. The chairs by the right far side and in the front are the most valuable and are reserved for popular people. The ones in the back and on the left are for everyone else.
Then there are the Trenches, which are on the other side of the bleachers, where people stand if they’re late. The Trenches are mostly for kids like Corey Masner, John Susquich, and Charlie’s ex, Matt Lester, who always smoke before class and just can’t be bothered. It says something about you if you stand in the Trenches—that you’re not really a part of things, either because you can’t be or because you choose not to be. And in high school, honestly, they might as well be the same thing.
I look for Rob and finally spot him. He’s in the back row of senior seats, but on the right—solidly popular territory, his chair tilted backward—talking to Jake. The sight of him makes my heart and stomach do something very funny at the exact same time. He looks even cuter somehow. His brown hair is longer, a little bit shaggy, and although he’s sitting down, I can tell he grew this summer. And he’s tan. Probably from, you know, all the making out with other hot lifeguards on the boat dock. The image of Rob and some bikini chick locked in an embrace flashes on my frontal lobe, and I shake my head, trying to dislodge the picture.
“Loverboy looks good,” Charlie says. “Who knew he was so . . . manly?”
I turn to tell her to keep it down, but in that moment he looks up. Our eyes lock, and neither of us moves, not even a facial muscle. But then he smiles and cocks his head, motioning to an empty seat next to him.
“Where are you going?” Charlie hisses as I make a move to head toward him. “We’re doing front row this year, remember?”
“I’m gonna go sit with Rob.”
Charlie looks hurt, but I know she isn’t really. She just has this theory that we look “visually powerful” when we’re seated together. She came up with that last year. I remember because afterward Olivia said, “That’s totally true. It’s the theory of collective hotness. One pretty girl alone is okay-looking, but, like, five pretty girls together, even if one of them is not that pretty, look way hotter.”
I swear she looked right at me when she said “one of them.”
“I’ll sit with you tomorrow,” I tell Charlie. “Don’t worry.”
Charlie makes a fuss of sighing, but she winks at me as I walk away.
Charlie and Olivia file into the front, and I hopscotch over book bags and backpacks. I almost trip on Megan Crayden’s bag strap, but I right myself just in time.
Then, finally, I reach Rob. Jake gives me a nod and blows a kiss forward. I see Charlie catch it two rows up. 7:42—things with Charlie and Jake remain on.
“Hey,” Rob says. He rights his chair, then takes my bag off my shoulder and puts it down on the ground. Then he looks at me, and for a second I think he’s going to reach over and take my face in his hands again, he’s looking at me that hard. But instead he just smiles and leans in for a hug. “I missed you, Rosie.”
As soon as we touch, I realize how much I’ve missed him. He smells like green apples and soap, the best combination, and his arms are strong and tight around me. I could stay this way forever, I think just as he releases me.
I sit down next to him, and Jake turns back around. “Yo, dude,” he says to me. “How was your summer?”
“I saw you this weekend.”
“Awesome, right?” He snaps his fingers in front of Rob’s face. “We gotta hit up the waves this weekend. They’re supposed to be off the hook.”
“Sure,” Rob says, not taking his eyes off me.
He smiles with just the edges of his mouth, like we’re the only two people in on some secret. Are we the only two people in on a secret? I guess if it was that he likes me, Charlie would be in on it too, so no. Plus, he doesn’t like me. We’re friends. Friends. I run the word through my head like it’s on a conveyor belt. Just friends.
Everyone is wrapped up in their own first-day rituals. People are talking and hugging and squealing. Advisers are passing out schedules to kids who forgot the ones that were mailed out, and hesitant freshmen sit in the bleachers, looking white-faced and terrified.
“I can’t believe we’re seniors,” I say to Rob. It sounds so lame—isn’t that what everyone says on the first day of senior year?—but it’s true.
“I feel like it was just us there,” he says, nodding his head in the direction of the freshmen. Three girls in the front row are clutching their Trapper Keepers to their chests like life preservers. “Then look what happened.” He laughs and points to Charlie and Olivia. Charlie is talking animatedly to no one in particular, and Olivia keeps pursing and releasing her lips, like she’s practicing kissing, midair. Ben is next to them, and he has one arm over the back of Oliv
ia’s chair, but he’s turned away from her, talking to Patrick DeWitt, who Olivia went to freshman banquet with. All of the chairs in front of us feel like tiny markers on a spiderweb, and I’m amazed at how connected we all are, how point A leads to point B and then all the way to Z, each of us spinning out into infinity but still tied together through birthday parties and drunken dances. Kisses and classes. For a very brief second it feels like we’re all a part of something.
I shake my head, and Rob puts a hand on my shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Just thinking.”
“How are they, anyway?” Rob gestures with his head toward Charlie and Olivia.
“You really want to know?”
He gives me that cute corner smile again. “It’s a toss-up.”
I take a deep breath. “Well, Charlie and Jake are back on. Today.” Rob nods sternly like he’s taking this very seriously. “Olivia and Ben have started hooking up.”
“And what about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Any summer romances?” My stomach drops. I was right. He is asking so he can tell me all about his hot lifeguard. She’s probably Olivia’s look-alike from LA or New York or somewhere where being pretty is no big deal.
I shrug. “I was busy.”
“Is that a no?”
I look down at my tank top and fiddle with the edge of it, not sure what to say. What exactly is he asking me, here?
He clears his throat. “I didn’t see anyone either. If that helps any.”
Instantly I look up, and I know we’re thinking the same thing. It’s like how in movies there’s this music clip when the truth is being revealed so you just know, without anyone saying anything. Like someone in the corner of this auditorium is playing our theme song. Which, by the way, is “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. Rob really loves old music.
“Anyway,” I say, looking away, “new year.” I’m convinced my heart is visibly beating out of my chest.
When You Were Mine Page 3
