“Let’s see.”
“You have other plans?” I poke her, and she shrugs.
“Maybe.” Charlie really likes being the one to suggest things. Last year we had a New Year’s Eve party at Olivia’s, and Charlie almost didn’t come because she hadn’t been consulted about it beforehand. Even though she was, technically, visiting relatives in Oregon until the thirtieth. But of course she’ll come around. Charlie loves Malibu.
“Why don’t we say yes and we’ll see how it goes. The guys will come, won’t they?” Olivia turns to me.
“I guess.” I try to make it sound as casual as I possibly can. The truth is, the prospect of an entire weekend in Malibu with Rob has sent my spine tingling.
“Sure,” Charlie says, “if Jake decides to behave for another week.” She takes out her phone, looks at it, and then tosses it away in a huff.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “You seem super on edge.”
“I’m fine.” She sighs. “Just tired.”
“It’s only the first day,” I say. “Things will even out.”
“That is exactly what Ben said to me today,” Olivia says. “I was superupset because we didn’t get calc together, and . . .”
But I’m looking at Charlie, who has stopped listening and is pointing to a newspaper on the table next to ours. She makes a move to get up.
“Watch it,” Olivia says. “These are new. Hello.” She points to her shoes. Burberry flats with the print on the underside. Charlie ignores her and grabs the newspaper. She sets it down on our table, knocking over Olivia’s neatly stacked chips.
It’s the local paper, and Charlie flicks her pointer finger over the words. SENATOR CAPLET RETURNS. And there, right below the headline, is a picture of my uncle, his wife, and a girl I haven’t seen in ten years.
“Is that your family?” Charlie asks.
“Yes,” I say, peering closer.
“‘The senator and family return to San Bellaro after almost a decade away,’” Charlie reads. She has her elbows on the table and she’s leaning over the paper, like a little kid at the library. “‘The Caplets’ move to Beverly Hills nine years ago caused much rumor and speculation. This will mark their first return to our town since their departure.’”
Charlie looks up. Olivia is looking at me too.
“Strange,” I say, because I’m not sure what to say. Does my dad know? Is he upset about it? And where will she be going to school? With me?
“‘The senator’s only daughter,’” Charlie continues, “‘is delighted about the move. “I can’t wait to spend my senior year in a new place,” she says. “I’m truly looking forward to making San Bellaro my home.”’”
“What’s her name?” Olivia asks.
“Juliet,” I answer. Charlie squints at the paper and then back up at me. “Her name is Juliet.”
What’s in a name, Shakespeare? I’ll tell you: everything.
Act Two
Scene One
“You can just show your cousin your sweater,” my mother says. “You don’t have to wear it now.”
It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m sitting in the backseat of our station wagon with my arms crossed, beads of sweat rolling down my seven-year-old forehead. I have on my new reindeer sweater, the one I insisted on purchasing for our trip down to Los Angeles. It’s wool and itchy, but it has antlers and bells on it. Real bells. And because of this, I think it’s spectacular.
“She has to see it on,” I say for what’s probably the tenth time.
My mom nods and turns back around in the front seat, glancing at my dad. He’s gripping the wheel tightly, his jaw set. We’ve been in the car for a while, and tensions are running high.
I gaze out the window and watch the passing coast. It’s a record ninety-five degrees today, the hottest ever in over a decade of Decembers. It doesn’t bother me, though. I’ve only ridden to Los Angeles a few times in my short life, and I’m excited. Especially because we are going to spend Christmas Eve with my cousin, Juliet. She left our town about two months ago, and I can’t wait to see her. We are best friends. Juliet, Rob, and I have played together in our backyards practically since we were born, and even though I like Rob, and I’m getting used to things, I really miss Juliet.
We pull up to Juliet’s house, and my mom takes out a piece of paper with some numbers on it and hands it to my dad. He punches them into a keypad. Huge gates swing open, and we drive all the way up and around a road lined with rosebushes.
Their house is gigantic. Not at all like Juliet’s house back at home. It looks more like the library my mom and I go to on Saturdays. The one with the big white columns and so many rooms that it’s impossible not to get lost inside. The gardens all around are filled with roses, and there are cherry trees hanging over either side of the driveway. It’s like stepping into a fairy tale, and I think how lucky I am that my cousin lives here. That because we’re family, it’s almost like it’s my house too.
My mom makes a fuss of straightening out my clothes, which she usually never does. She asks me one more time if I’ll take off the sweater, but I just shake my head. I’ve made it to Juliet’s front door. I’m keeping it on. I know Juliet will love it.
We ring the doorbell, and Lucinda answers. They call her a housekeeper, but she’s really like a great big grandma. I throw my arms around her, and she hugs me around my middle. We call her Lucy, but not around Juliet’s mom. My aunt doesn’t like it.
Lucy leads us through what feels like an enormous maze of marble and glass until we get to a big living room. There are huge floor-to-sky windows on three walls of the room and a television that looks like a movie screen. Then I spot her. Juliet is sitting on the floor, playing with a gigantic collection of stuffed animals. They must be new. I’m never seen them before.
I run and throw my arms around her. I start babbling about the drive and our tree house and how much I’ve missed her. I pull back just long enough to shove my reindeer sweater under her nose.
“Look!” I declare loudly.
Juliet sweeps her short brown hair out of her face. She was always a little bit shorter than me, and now her hair is shorter than mine too. It doesn’t matter, though. I bet we could still wear our matching dresses and look like twins.
Lucy leaves, and Juliet’s mother stands up from the sofa. I didn’t even see her there. Her dress looks like the same print as the couch. “I’m so glad you made it,” she says.
Juliet’s mom calls her over, but she doesn’t go right away. She is looking me over, her eyes on the bells on my sweater. She doesn’t seem impressed, though, and suddenly I wish I wasn’t wearing it. Or that it was gigantic, so I could crawl inside and disappear.
Something is wrong.
“Juliet,” her mother says, a little bit louder, “please say hello to your cousin.”
Juliet makes a fuss of getting up, dragging a stuffed-animal horse by the mane. We’re face-to-face, but she still doesn’t move to hug me. She doesn’t even smile.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” she says.
“Can I play with you?” I ask.
“I’m finished.”
How can Juliet be finished playing? We used to play for hours. Outside, inside. In my house, her house, Rob’s house. In our driveways, in our living rooms.
“Jules,” I try, “let’s play.” She turns her head and doesn’t look at me. “Joo Joo?” Still nothing. Then I think of it: She’s mad at me. The problem is, I don’t know what I did wrong.
I’m starving by the time Juliet’s father comes home, and my stomach is making loud growling noises when we all sit down to dinner. No one is really talking. I leave my sweater on because it’s freezing in their house. As cold as it is in the ice cream section of the grocery store.
After dinner my dad says we should open one present tonight. It’s a tradition at our house. One present Christmas Eve, the rest on Christmas.
My mom starts to say we shouldn’t, because we’re driving back tonight and we can do it at ho
me, but my dad convinces her. “Come on,” he says. “Just one.”
Juliet gets to pick hers from under the tree. She chooses a gigantic one. A box so big it takes up the entire left side of the tree. Then my mom hands me my own, and from the way she’s smiling I know she knew we were going to open it here all along. It’s a small, long box, and the wrapping paper is sparkling in the white Christmas lights. I take it from my mom, gently, and turn it over.
Juliet is already tearing at her paper, ripping and yanking. Inside is a dollhouse. It’s beautiful, like a tiny copy of the house we are in. Even the white columns are the same. I’m so enthralled with it, I almost forget to open my own gift. Juliet, however, doesn’t seem remotely impressed. She takes one look at the dollhouse and puts her hands on her hips. “Where’s my American Girl?” she wants to know.
“You already have all of them,” I say.
“Not the newest one,” she says. She looks at me like I smell weird.
“Your turn,” my father whispers to me. I brush some hair out of my face and focus on the present in my hands. I fold down the corners the way my mom does, careful not to tear anything. She always saves the wrapping paper for later.
“Hurry up,” Juliet whines. She still has her hands on her hips, and her eyebrows are knit together.
When I finally see what’s inside, my mouth hangs open. It’s exactly what I hoped it would be: Beach Barbie. The new version. The kind everyone at school has been talking about. The kind you can’t just walk into any old toy store and pick up. The kind you have to order special.
I start screaming and rip open the box. My dad puts his arm around my mom.
Juliet does not look pleased. She’s peering at the Barbie in my hands, leaning so far forward she’s balancing on one foot.
“Let me see,” she says firmly.
I’m cradling the doll in my arms, and I don’t want to give her up, but I also want Juliet to like me again. I want her to take me up to her new room and show me all her things. I want us to play on her floor the way we used to. I want to be best friends, just like we were. And since the reindeer sweater didn’t do the trick, Barbie might be my only option.
“Okay,” I say. “Just be careful.” It’s what my mom always says when she hands me something she really cares about. Like the good dishes to set the table or the brush with the porcelain handle she keeps on her dresser.
Juliet takes the doll and looks her over. Then, with one swift motion, she snaps her head off. It happens so fast, I’m not even sure if I should be upset. She just takes the doll, looks at her, and cracks her in two.
Everyone starts to talk at once. My dad is yelling, and my mom is mumbling something, and Juliet’s mother is talking over everyone, saying that she thinks it can be fixed. I don’t say anything. I don’t cry or try to snatch the doll away. I don’t even look at Barbie, or what’s left of her. Instead I look at Juliet. She’s staring at me like she’s just won a game of tag. Like she’s beat me. Then she tosses the two halves down onto the ground and marches out of the room.
Juliet’s father follows her out, but not before he turns to my dad and says a bunch of things, all of which end with a word I’ve never heard before—traitor.
We drive back to San Bellaro that night. I pretend to sleep in the car but I can’t. All I can see is Juliet’s face before she walked out of the room. Determined. Angry. Like I had taken something from her, not the other way around. I left the broken Barbie on the floor where Juliet threw her. My parents offer to get me another one, but I refuse. I don’t want her anymore.
Scene Two
Rob might be here any minute to pick me up for dinner, and I’m feeling ill. I’m sure some of it has to do with the gobs of queso I inhaled after school, but mostly it’s about the fact that at any minute my best friend is going to take me on a date. That might end in us kissing. Rob. Kissing. I need to sit down on the bed just to keep my head from exploding.
I wanted to ask my parents about Juliet. I even brought the newspaper home to show them, but they aren’t here. My dad sometimes teaches night classes, and my mom’s yoga schedule is impossible to keep up with, but it’s fine. I have enough to think about with Rob.
Charlie and Olivia are over, and they’re both lying on my bed, looking through last year’s yearbook. It’s a tradition we have to look at last year’s book around the first day of school. Usually we do it before and decide who we think is going to have come back better-looking, worse, smarter, sexier, most changed, etc.
“I think Jake got cuter,” Charlie says. Her feet are in the air and she’s on her back, the yearbook straight up in her hands. She looks like a dead bug, the kind you find belly up on our back porch over the summer.
“Eh,” Olivia says. “He has a nice body, I guess.”
“Surfing.” Charlie flips over and raises her eyebrows. I know that look. She’s trying to tell me that Rob has the same body too.
I launch myself into my closet, blushing. “Where did you put the white one?” I call.
“On the bed,” Charlie says. “Chill.”
“You sound like your boyfriend,” Olivia says, folding a magazine and hitting her over the head. “Chill, dude.”
Charlie rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” She tosses me the dress, and I slip it on. It’s a halter dress, something Charlie bought me for my birthday last year after I complained about never having any sundresses. It was an ironic gift, given that my birthday is on January first. A white dress in the middle of winter. So Charlie.
Just the fact that Charlie and Olivia are always up to celebrating my birthday is a big deal. I mean, I was born on January first, which is basically, like, National Hangover Day. It’s the official stop date of the holiday season, and everyone’s usually burnt out and exhausted. Not that I mind. I’ve never been a huge fan of birthdays anyway, but still, something about it is always kind of disappointing.
“What do you think?” I sway my arms by my sides for effect, and the dress rocks slowly, like waves lapping at the shore. Swoosh, swoosh.
“Hot,” Olivia says. Charlie gives me a thumbs-up.
“My face looks bloated.” I puff out my cheeks in the mirror and run some blush over them, adding mascara to my lashes. I look at Olivia and Charlie perched on the bed, effortlessly attractive, and then back at the mirror. He called you beautiful, I remind myself. You. No one else.
“Take two Tylenol and some orange juice,” Olivia says.
Charlie gives her a look like she’s just suggested I wear argyle. There are few things in this world Charlie hates worse than plaid. One of them is definitely argyle.
“What?” Olivia says. “It works.”
I find two Tylenol and swallow them with some water from the bathroom sink. That will have to do.
“You really look great,” Charlie says. “Scout’s honor.”
“Agreed,” Olivia says. She turns on her side and surveys me. “I’m just so proud.”
A car honks. Charlie and I exchange a glance, and then we’re all at the window, looking down at Rob’s silver Volvo. I see the door open, and I spin myself around from the window before I can watch him get out. My insides feel like a racetrack: cars zipping hundreds of miles per hour all around my stomach and chest.
“He’s here!” Olivia shrills.
Charlie motions me closer and puts on the serious face she uses in history class. “I’m really happy for you,” she says. “This is totally a big deal, and Rob’s the best, and I want you to have a really good time.”
“Kodak moment.” Olivia smiles and makes like she’s snapping a camera.
“We’re adorable,” I deadpan, giving Charlie a hug. I hold on for a minute longer than I intend to. I guess I am sort of nervous.
“Okay, clingy.” Charlie pulls back and holds me at arm’s length. “Knock ’em dead.”
“You’ll be great,” Olivia says. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
“Except do,” Charlie says. “It’s way more fun.”
I take t
he pillow from my desk chair and hurl it at her. “Good-bye, hooligans.”
“Ciao,” they say together. I can hear Charlie call jinx, and then Olivia starts whining.
I run down the stairs and then pause at the doorway, trying to catch my breath. It’s just Rob, I remind myself. Just a date. Just Rob.
I open the door still attempting to settle my heartbeat. He’s almost at my doorstep and stops when he sees me. Then he smiles, and it’s like his face lights up my entire driveway. I just stand there, looking at him like an idiot.
“You look beautiful,” he says, which makes my heart leap up and out of my chest. I can’t believe it’s the second time he’s told me that. It’s almost like he thinks it’s true or something.
“So do you.” He laughs, and I cringe. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he says. “Oh, these are for you.” He pulls a bouquet of roses out from behind his back. “Your favorite,” he says. “Roses for Rose.”
I take a deep breath and then will my feet to move toward him. He hands me the flowers and then pulls me into a hug. It’s brief, but the smell of him is overwhelming. Apples and soap, just like always.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says.
“We didn’t set a time,” I say. “You can’t be late.”
“I guess I wanted to see you sooner.”
I set the flowers inside and close the door, then walk with him over to the car. He opens the passenger door. It takes him a few tries to get the handle, and when he does, he laughs nervously. “Been meaning to fix that.” Inside his car still smells like pine. It has smelled this way since we picked up a Christmas tree last winter. For some reason we decided it would be a good idea to shove it into the backseat instead of strap it to the top. There’s this place by the water that sells them. The trees, I mean. I’m surprised the smell has clung on through the summer, even if we were still finding pine needles in May.
“So how was day one?”
“Pretty good,” I say. “The usual. Except AP Bio, which is ridiculous.” I make a move to hike my knees up onto the dashboard but stop myself. It feels wrong to be that casual tonight.
When You Were Mine Page 6
