by Lauren Kunze
Speaking of locals, Matt and OK have made some new friends. Matt seems especially popular with some of the young female inhabitants of the island, though one in particular—we think her name is Carolina? But we’re not sure because her English is almost as poor as Matt’s Spanish—is smitten and follows him everywhere when we go out. I think he’s actually beginning to enjoy the attention, and he hasn’t even mentioned Grace—who he insists he admires in a “purely professional capacity”—in the past forty-eight hours. (Now you can officially stop insisting that the Love-ZERO-formerly-known-as-the-Love-Triangle was actually a square because I promise you that is/was never going to happen.)
I suspect OK (who I know is your “favorite”) would be faring better in the week-long romance department with a Puerto Rican girl or even some of the sophomores or juniors who seem interested but—heaven help him—he is still so in love with Mimi that it’s positively painful to watch at this point. I seriously just wish she’d put him out of his misery—and put us all out of our misery—already. But . . . who am I to say that they’d be perfect together, or give any kind of relationship advice to anyone?
As for me, I am hard at work on the most important relationship I will ever have (to quote you—or was that you quoting someone else?). The relationship I have with myself! Plus, it’s impossible to mope when the beach is so beautiful and the hardest decision you have to make all day is between the pool versus the ocean!
*The night before last we went swimming in the island’s bioluminescent bay, which is full of this special algae and other microorganisms that flash neon blue and green whenever the water is disturbed—so cool! And during the day we visited the tomb of the town founder, a Spanish fort turned museum built by colonialists in the 19th-century, and a tree that’s over 300 years old (I was the only one who thought that was cool). Then we spent most of this morning and afternoon jet-skiing, which I know is not exactly “cultural” but was still super fun and also happened to be on the side of the island farthest from the resort.
Love you, wish you were here!
Cal
From: Callie Andrews
To: Jessica Marie Stanley
Subject: Spring Nightmare: DAY SIX
Hello, hello, hello!
That’s right: I HAVE SURVIVED THE WEEK! Yay! And now all that’s left to do is get through tonight: the very last night before we leave early tomorrow morning for Vieques airport, where we will take another tiny plane back to the Puerto Rican mainland, and then several hours later, a much larger plane back to Boston, which I’m sure will still be freezing cold despite the fact that it’s April. Why, why didn’t I choose Stanford?
I am happy to report that my mission to lay low has been a success. Others, unfortunately, have not been so lucky. Like Matt, for example—oh dear . . . So, last night we were at Vick’s again because the seniors were having another big villa party (I swear, it’s like the grades divorced and now we have this weird unspoken joint custody of the bar and other areas of the island—and actually of Mimi, too, who they kidnapped last night and the night before, much to our annoyance.) Anyway, Matt and his local girl were outside on the deck having this big romantic moment and I think they were about to kiss when this angry middle-aged man stormed in screaming (we later learned he was her father) and get this: she is only FIFTEEN YEARS OLD! No wonder she looked so young! She’d been sneaking out every night to come hang with us. Poor, poor Matt. I’ve never seen him look so terrified in his life while he tried to explain—in terrible, terrible Spanish—that he had no idea she was underage.
Perhaps Matt, OK, and I will all start a club for spurned lovers. Vanessa will be barred from joining until she confesses why she hasn’t come home until 5 or 6 A.M. on two occasions. (Tyler . . . or a cabana boy??? The mystery continues.) Anyway, I hope that doesn’t come off as self-pitying as it probably sounds—all in all I’d say the week has been fun and I couldn’t have picked anyone better to spend it with than the occupants of Villa Whale. (Oh, Villa Whale—I will be so sad to leave our little bungalow of paradise for the smelly old dorms. Sigh.)
And last of all, no: no matter how many times you asked in your last e-mail, there is NOTHING HAPPENING WITH GREGORY. In fact, I’ve barely seen him since the hammock incident at the beginning of the week and I repeat, once again, that HE DOES NOT LOVE ME. I think you’re right, though—about him not loving Alessandra either. But it’s hard to tell. On the one hand, he has definitely proven that monogamy and a real relationship are not outside the realm of possibility, and from everything I gather (though no, I’m not spying/stalking/totally-hopelessly-obsessed), he’s even turning out to be a halfway decent boyfriend. But on the other hand, he’s been so moody lately about who knows what, that it’s hard to tell if he’s happy. I hope he is, even if we’re not really friends and even if he sort of secretly hates me—though again, I don’t really know because it’s impossible to know what he’s thinking. Immmpoossssssibbble!
OH CRAP! Gotta go—Mimi and Vanessa are yelling at me that the sun’s about to set! Tonight we’re skipping the big farewell bash at Vick’s (since everyone is going to be there) and heading down to the beach with a bottle of tequila Mimi “found” (don’t ask how)—just us girls. OKAY really gotta go now talk to you when I get back love you miss you bye! Cal
Chapter Fifteen
What Happens on the Island . . .
. . . Stays on the Island
From: Jessica Marie Stanley
To: Callie Andrews
Subject: RE: Spring Nightmare: DAY SIX
Callie, let me preface this by saying that I love you with all my heart . . . but: NEVER IN MY LIFE HAVE I BEEN MORE OVERCOME BY THE DESIRE TO SLAP YOU—HARD!
Why? I think deep down you already know even if you weren’t quite smart enough to get into the Harvard of the West Coast. ;)
You are CLEARLY in love with Gregory. And what’s more, he is CLEARLY in love with you back. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! WAKE UP AND SMELL THE SUNSCREEN!
He would not go punching and brooding and lunch-bringing and long-walk-taking all over school and then all over the island for anything less than love. I do not care what anyone else—even he—has to say about it. I’m right—as usual—and the sooner you accept that, the better. Now I don’t know how, or what, or where, or why, your wires got crossed, or why he’s still with that Boob girl who is overly Perky (or whatever you call her), or why you wasted so much time with, as OK might say (yes, I do love him, and Mimi is also an idiot), Sweater Vest to begin with.
NONE OF THAT MATTERS. Tonight I command you to find him and do the (gasp) unthinkable and actually tell him how you feel. (Whether or not you admit it to yourself first!)
I know! So crazy, right? It can’t possibly work. No one in her right mind has ever tried that looney-tunes idea before!
WRONG. You’d better do it and do it tonight, or I am never speaking to you again until at least mid-April. Consider this an intervention. And from this point forth I am cutting you off: you may not write or say anything else concerning your thoughts on Gregory’s thoughts on you and Gregory and his luscious, luscious anything (though I admit some light Facebook stalking has led me to conclude that in this area, you are not exaggerating).
You may, of course, detail any action you decide to take. Starting with what happens after you tell him. Tonight. Or at 4 A.M. this morning when you get back from your Sapphic romp on the beach and eagerly open my latest correspondence in order to soak up the wisdom it contains.
Hate that I love you even when I hate you,
FACE-SLAP,
Jess
The bonfire that would have made Callie’s former leader of Girl Scout Troop #47, Westwood, California, Chapter proud blazed against the orange sky, casting flickering shadows over the pale sand as the sea grew a darker and darker shade of blue in the wake of the setting sun. Callie, Mimi, and Vanessa sat side-by-side facing the flames atop some blankets Mimi had also “borrowed” from the hotel.
“If I ever am stuck on a desert i
sland I am bringing you, ma petite Girl Scout!” Mimi cried, gesturing at the fire and patting Callie jovially on the back. “And let us not forget vous, Monsieur Bouteille, aussi!” she finished, brandishing the bottle of tequila.
“Hey!” Vanessa screamed, whacking. “What about me?”
“What skills do you have?” Mimi turned to her, pretending to look serious. “Your iPhone applications ne sont pas utiles ici . . . in the wild.”
Pouting, Vanessa grabbed the bottle and took a swig. “No matter where I am, I can always find food.” She sniffed indignantly.
“Mais oui, c’est vrai! Et si tu ne pouves pas trouver de la nourriture, nous pouvons toujours tu mangez! D’accord, you may accompany me to my island.”
“Did you just threaten to eat me?” Vanessa demanded.
“Uh-oh,” Callie interrupted, frowning and turning the now-empty bottle upside down. “No more . . .”
“C’est fini!” Mimi cried, throwing herself back on the blanket. “All of it is over. Tomorrow we must return. . . .”
Callie and Vanessa groaned.
“Mais ce soir nous sommes come des dieux!” she finished, leaping to her feet.
“English, please?” Callie requested.
“Tonight we must live like gods,” Mimi said, suddenly grave. “Et alors ... prends ça!” she yelped, slipping off her tank top and tossing it onto the sand.
“Mimi.” Vanessa giggled. “Did you forget that our bathing suits are back at the villa?”
“Alors quoi?” Mimi challenged her. “This is how we do it at home in France.” Then, to their surprise, she slipped off her skirt as well and started running toward the water’s edge. “Are you duckies coming or no?” she cried over her shoulder.
“It’s ‘chickens’!” Callie shouted after her automatically. She turned to Vanessa.
Vanessa shrugged and stood up, pulling her sundress over her head. “Everyone else is at Vick’s and it’s too dark to see anything now anyway,” she said giddily. “Come on, hurry up!”
Quickly Callie obeyed, and soon they were sprinting down the final stretch of beach to join Mimi in the ocean.
An hour later they were lying flat on their backs in the sand by the fire, wrapped in blankets and staring at the cloudless nighttime sky.
“This is the best,” Callie said with a happy sigh. “I don’t know why anyone would ever want a boyfriend if she had you guys.”
“Awww!” said Vanessa, cuddling closer under the blankets.
Mimi giggled. “Que tu vas devenir une lesbienne?”
Callie gazed thoughtfully up at the stars. “If sexuality were a choice, then maybe I would become a lesbian, given my fabulous track record with men . . . though I don’t suppose being gay is any easier. Let’s see now,” she continued, rolling over woozily and still feeling the effects of the tequila. “Lemme just get this straight. My first boyfriend, who I thought I loved, made a secret sex tape of us and showed it to the whole soccer team, followed by his fraternity. My second boyfriend, who I also thought I loved, cheated on me with his ex-girlfriend, who used that same sex tape to blackmail me and otherwise ruin my life. Am I stupid?”
“You forgot the part where you had sex with the biggest man-whore at Harvard!” Vanessa exclaimed gleefully.
“I am stupid!” Callie cried, smacking herself. “Only a stupid . . . head would manage to get herself dumped in an e-mail and then get herself dumped while handcuffed to you!” she finished, collapsing into giggles on top of Vanessa’s shoulder.
“That’s right, I was there,” Vanessa said, patting Callie’s hair. “And it was ugly,” she added, addressing Mimi.
“Who needs boys!” Callie erupted, sitting up suddenly. Raising an imaginary glass, she said solemnly, “I hereby swear to renounce henceforth from now to the ends of eternity all members of the male persuasion—”
“Including Matt,” Mimi interjected.
“Including Matt, who is also a boy, despite the fact that he is nice and has very soft hands, very soft . . . and yes, so henceforth until the sands of time, we swear—”
“Yes, we!” Mimi echoed, raising a second imaginary glass.
“Forever and ever and ever and—”
“I MISS TYLER!” Vanessa wailed suddenly.
“Oh jeez,” Callie muttered, throwing herself back on the blanket. “You just had to go there, didn’t you . . .”
“Sorry!” Vanessa moaned. “But it’s true!”
“I miss Dana,” Mimi said thoughtfully after a moment.
“Really?” Callie and Vanessa asked in unison.
“Oui,” said Mimi. “We have done the bonding while I was sick of being the Berlin Wall and then also the third wheel of the tricycle.”
“Tricycles need three wheels to function,” Callie pointed out.
Mimi waved her hand dismissively. “Well, que diriez-tu?”
“Yes,” Vanessa agreed. “Callie: who do you miss? Cl—I mean The Lying, Cheating Bastard? It’s okay if you do a little. We won’t judge—even though I still can’t believe that you allowed him to speak to you. . . .”
“I don’t think I really do—miss him,” Callie mused. “I did at first—back when I went through his e-mails and wanted to stay together more than anything when I thought I was crazy and he was perfect, but now . . .” She shrugged. “I miss my mom, mostly, and my dad, and my best friend from home, Jessica, and . . .”
“And?” Vanessa prompted.
“And . . . Gregory, I guess,” Callie blurted. “Though I know that doesn’t make any sense because I never even had him in the first place.”
“Well, now, whose fault is that?” Vanessa chastised her.
“Um . . . mine?”
“Exactly,” Vanessa agreed. “By the way, there’s something that I’ve been dying to ask you about for months but couldn’t because I was too busy hating your guts: whatever happened after Gregory told you about that whole note mix-up?”
“What note mix-up?”
“You know, like, the note,” Vanessa said. “The one you wrote to me in response to what I wrote to you that Gregory somehow found and thought was meant for him . . .”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Callie. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”
“Yes,” Mimi echoed. “This is very confusing.”
“The note!” Vanessa repeated, growing frustrated. “You know, ‘Sorry for Harvard-Yale, it was all a huge mistake, you’re a terrible person, blah blah blah . . .’”
“Oh!” said Callie. “That note. You saw that? I thought I threw it away. Whoops. Sorry,” she added sheepishly. “I was only responding to your, ah, ‘Manifesto.’”
“No, no, no,” said Vanessa, shaking her head. “The point is that I didn’t see it—well, not until much later at the end of J-term, anyway—and that Gregory found it and thought it was addressed to him instead.”
“Huh?” said Callie, her brows knitting together.
“I think she is quite drunk,” Mimi muttered to Callie.
“I’m not drunk!” Vanessa hiccupped. “I am drunk! But I know what I’m talking about. Okay. You wrote a note to me saying all this stuff about Harvard-Yale and our fight and whatever, but that same note got accidentally delivered to Gregory, who I’m pretty sure thought that all that stuff applied to him.”
“What?” Callie asked dumbly. “What stuff? This isn’t making any sense—”
“Ugh!” Vanessa cried. “You know, stuff about screwing things up with the room dynamic and with Clint, and how you didn’t want to be friends, and . . . oh yeah, I think at the end there was something like, ‘Let’s just stay as far away from each other as possible’—or something.”
Suddenly Callie sat straight up. “Oh . . . my . . . god . . .”
“What?” Mimi demanded, her eyes darting between Callie and Vanessa.
“So . . . so when he said we should stay away . . . and he said I said it first . . . only I didn’t say . . . and the threesome . . . the threesome that was after,” Callie muttered, st
aring vacantly ahead of her into the now pitch-black night, save for the dull glow of the dying fire.
“After what?” Mimi cried.
“The paper!” Callie exclaimed. “That worn-out piece of paper he was holding the night he found me in the pub . . . said he needed to talk to me . . . Oh my god. Vanessa!” she snapped suddenly. “You said you saw this, this note during J-term?”
“Yes,” Vanessa said, nodding. “I was over in the boys’ room and I found it, and then Gregory and I had a very similar conversation to the one we’re having now—”
“Oh my god,” Callie said for a third time. “And then he came to me with it but before . . . asked if I was happy . . . I was happy. . . . I thought I was happy. . . . I have to go!” Callie cried, leaping up and showering the other two with sand.
“WHAT is going ON here?” Mimi erupted. “You are making me be the tricycle again!”
“Wait!” Vanessa called after her. “Where are you—”
“I have to find Gregory!” Callie yelled. “I have to find him and tell him—OW!” she screeched suddenly, tripping over something in the darkness.
“Are you okay?” Mimi shouted.
“. . . yes . . .”
“For heaven’s sake, come back!” Vanessa ordered.
Limping, Callie returned to the blanket and sat down between her roommates.
“Mais qu’est-ce qui se passe?” Mimi implored once more.
“Callie likes Gregory, and Gregory likes—or maybe liked, sorry—Callie, only they were both too stupid to tell each other directly and then everything got needlessly complicated,” Vanessa explained for Mimi’s benefit.
“Oh,” said Mimi. “That is all? But I already knew that!”
“Yes,” Vanessa agreed. “You and everyone else who lives on our floor.”
“Ow,” Callie whimpered, cradling her injured toe. “I have to tell him,” she repeated meekly, less sure of herself now.
