“Right,” Grace said faintly. She felt dizzy, like the earth was shifting beneath her. All this time, Theo had been with someone? In love! Why hadn’t he told her?
“I can trust you, can’t I?” Lucy suddenly looked at her, wide-eyed. “You can’t tell anyone. If this got back to his family . . . I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone but I’ve been dying to share it!”
“Uh-huh.” Grace tried to recover. “I mean, of course. But, why the secrecy?” she asked. “Theo isn’t the kind of guy to sneak around.”
“I know,” Lucy said, her tone sharper. She smiled quickly. “But his family wouldn’t approve, with my being a nanny. You know his grandmother.” She rolled her eyes.
“No,” Grace admitted. “I never met her.”
“That’s right, you haven’t.” Lucy looked smug. “She’s a sweet old lady, but she has all these outdated opinions, about class, and position. It’s all rubbish, of course, but we have to be careful. We don’t want her disinheriting him.”
“She would do that, just for dating you?” Grace frowned.
Lucy laughed. “We’re dating now,” she told Grace, with another smug look. “But this is only the beginning. One day, I’ll be part of the family. See, he gave me this.”
Lucy lifted a pendant over the neckline of her shirt. A simple silver chain, with . . . Grace gasped.
It was her necklace!
The periodic element pendant, the one she’d made for her craft project; the one Theo had helped her pack! He must have taken it instead of putting it in the storage box, and . . . given it to Lucy?
“It’s the symbol for gold,” Lucy explained, as Grace sat, reeling. Her blankness must have shown, because Lucy added, “You know, for commitment. Like a wedding ring.”
Grace couldn’t muster a response.
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Lucy said again, still wide-eyed. “It has to be our little secret. Promise?”
Grace was still trying to understand how her necklace had wound up around another girl’s neck as a symbol of undying love. “Sure,” she managed.
“No, I need you to promise,” Lucy insisted. “I’d be forever in your debt, and it’s only the teensiest secret.” She beamed at Grace across the table, so eager that Grace wilted in the face of her enthusiasm. What else could she say that wouldn’t reveal her own pathetic — oh! so pathetic — hopes?
“OK.” Grace nodded, the very word feeling like a betrayal. “I won’t say a thing.”
Amber and Missy soon bustled back in, and Lucy departed under a load of diaper bags, wafting promises to get together soon and “do lunch.” “I’m so glad I met you!” She beamed at Grace on the doorstep. “I knew we’d be friends, just from the way Teddy talks about you. You know, you’re like a sister to him!”
Grace managed a vague murmur of assent before shutting the door in her face.
“What a sweet girl,” Amber cooed, moving to rearrange the vase of lilies cascading from the hall table. She plucked one from the heavy crystal vase, breathing in the scent. “I love that accent of hers, so classy. I bet she’ll have the boys swooning over her in no time.”
But Lucy already had. At least, the only boy who mattered. But why wouldn’t Theo fall for her? Grace thought of the visitor morosely: her pretty auburn curls, and button nose, and light sprinkling of freckles. Yes, Lucy was cute, and sweet, and clearly more adventurous than Grace would ever be: venturing out half a world away from home.
Once she had the picture of them together, Grace couldn’t stop the images from coming, just as Lucy had described to her: them walking hand in hand on the beach, taking romantic trips out on his boat, watching the sun go down, leaning in for a perfect kiss . . .
Grace turned abruptly to Amber. “I’m going out tonight, to a party,” she said, before she could change her mind. “Do you think you could help me, with clothes, and my hair, and everything?”
Amber squealed. “Absolutely! I have this amazing black minidress, with diamanté spangles —!”
“I meant more, jeans and a shirt,” Grace interrupted. “It’s just a casual, hangout thing.”
Amber took a step back and assessed her with a well-practiced eye. “Shirt yes, jeans no. I have the cutest denim mini for you to borrow.”
Grace must have blanched, because Amber laughed, scooping her into a hug. “Relax, girl. By the time I’m through with you, you’ll have boys lining up to fill your dance card.”
Worn out, Grace let Amber steer her upstairs, toward the great wonderland of her walk-in closet. She didn’t have the heart to tell her that it didn’t matter who was lining up — it didn’t even matter what she wore. The boy Grace really wanted couldn’t have been further out of reach.
Harry lived in a sprawling Spanish compound set in the hills above Bel Air. The moment Grace stepped through the doors, she realized what a mistake she’d made. Far from the small gathering Palmer had promised, the marble-floored house was thick with kids from school: juniors, seniors even, and a host of those designer-clad cliques. The air vibrated with a heavy bass, red plastic cups littering every surface. This was a full-on party, and Grace couldn’t be further from the partying mood.
She paused in the marble-floored lobby. Every instinct said to turn back, but what was her alternative: pull on a pair of sweatpants, and join Hallie sitting shivah in the gloom of her bedroom, tormented by thoughts of Theo and Lucy together?
“You came!” Palmer ambushed her, a red cup in one hand; her trilby hat already askew, with one lone feather drooping over a kohl-rimmed eye. “What are you wearing?” She stood back to take it in.
Grace tugged the hem of her skirt. “Amber made me wear it,” she said quickly. “It’s dumb, I know.”
“No!” Palmer grasped her hand and made Grace do a twirl. “It’s hot! I just didn’t know you had it in you.” She giggled. “To paraphrase what a very inappropriate math teacher once said to me, ‘Miss Weston, you’ve got legs.’ ”
Grace flushed. She tugged again, but the hemline on the denim cutoff skirt didn’t budge: it remained six inches above her knees, which, in Grace’s opinion, was a good four inches higher than necessary.
“Seriously, you look great.” Palmer grinned, already dragging her into the crowd, pausing only to pluck a cup full of Lord knows what from the makeshift bar and thrust it into Grace’s hand. “Look, there’s Harry!”
Grace paused by the French doors at the back of the den. Outside, the backyard was lit bright with dozens of tiny lanterns, the brave exhibitionists already stripped down to their bikinis in the hot tub. She could see Harry hanging out with some of his skater friends, eating pizza from a stack of boxes by the pool.
“Ooh, and who’s his friend? He’s cute.” Palmer’s eyes widened as she noticed the boy beside him with dark curls and a punk-rock T-shirt. “Let’s go say hi,” she added, with a meaningful grin. “After all, he’s our host. It’s only polite.”
“I don’t know . . .” Grace hung back, reluctant.
Palmer rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that. You didn’t come here, wearing that, if you didn’t want to have some fun.”
Grace’s expression must have revealed something, because Palmer lit up. “See, I know it. Deep down, your soul is crying out for some recreational flirting and light make-out action.”
Grace couldn’t help but laugh. “Recreational flirting? Who says that?”
“I do.” Palmer beamed, pulling a lip balm from her pocket and swiftly smearing a fresh layer on her lips. “And I want some. So let’s go!”
Grace saw the anticipation on Palmer’s face and relented. “OK,” she said. “But don’t you dare leave me alone with Harry!”
“Why?” Palmer shot back. “Afraid you might succumb to your hidden passion and throw yourself into his arms?”
Grace laughed. “Sure, my heart beats for him alone!” She linked her arm through Palmer’s and steered them outside. “Also, note for future reference? We have got to get you away from those romance novels!”
Grace elbowed her. “Behave!”
Palmer stuck her tongue out in response and turned back to Jesús. “Those are cool pants.” She smiled, edging her chair closer. “Do they have any secret pockets?”
Grace had to look away. Part of her was embarrassed by Palmer’s outré flirtation, but part of her was just plain envious of her friend’s confidence. Lines that would sound cheesy and desperate coming from Grace’s lips took on a nonchalant power with one of Palmer’s no-nonsense stares. If only Grace could be so bold.
“You want some pizza?” Harry asked, on her other side. “It’s pepperoni,” he added, “but there’s veggie somewhere in the pile, if you want.”
“No. I’m good.” Grace caught her dismissive tone, and turned back. “Thanks, though,” she added. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty good.” Harry nodded. “Everyone seems to be having a good time.”
His words were punctuated by a group of jocks hurling themselves in the pool, whooping. Grace laughed. “Looks like it.”
She paused, trying to look at Harry with fresh eyes. His hair flopped over his eyes appealingly, she could see, and the rumpled oxford shirt he wore with his baggy skater jeans was mismatched in a cute, scruffy way. Yes, Harry was more than eligible. He was sweet, and generally smart, and didn’t have a secret girlfriend from the Hamptons, or think of Grace like a sister. He even liked her! So why shouldn’t she like him back?
Grace noticed Harry’s gaze drifting lower. She glanced down, and realized with horror that seated, the skirt was even shorter. She started to cross her legs, but realized that was even worse: the fabric riding up another perilous inch.
Grace downed the mystery punch in her cup and leaped up. “I’m, umm, going to get another drink.”
“I’ll show you!” Harry quickly got up too. Grace sent Palmer a desperate look, but she was leaning in close to Jesús, tracing the outline of the tattoo on his wrist with a dreamy expression. To drag her away would be cruel.
“Sure.” Grace exhaled, turning back to Harry. “Thanks.”
She followed him back into the house, and fought her way through the crowd. It was even louder now: punch splashing liberally onto cream carpets, and formerly spotless couch covers looking far more spotty. “Your parents don’t mind?” she asked.
Harry frowned. “What?”
“The party!” Grace yelled. “Are they OK with it?”
Harry shrugged. “They’re out of town. They said I could have a few people over to study.” He guided her into the kitchen, quieter, but littered with empty cups, half-eaten dip, and a sink piled high with dirty dishes.
“How will you get everything cleaned up before they get back?” Grace asked, looking around. “This place is a mess!”
He grinned, rinsing her out a glass. “It’s not a problem. I have a professional cleaning crew coming tomorrow. Nobody will ever know!”
“Oh. Right.” Grace had forgotten for a moment: she was in Beverly Hills. Why race around trying to scrub vomit stains off hardwood floors when you could pay somebody else to do it?
Harry passed her the glass, giving her a shy smile. “I’m really glad you made it. I didn’t think you were going to come.”
Grace felt awkward under the hope in his gaze. “I needed to get out. Family stuff,” she added, taking a tiny sip. Alcohol burned down the back of her throat, but she managed not to cough and splutter.
Harry nodded toward the living room: lights dimmed, seething with bodies. “You want to dance?” he asked. “Or, we could go back outside, where it’s quieter. You know, talk.”
Grace hesitated.
This was what she was supposed to do now, she knew: get drunk on mystery punch, dance wildly with inappropriate boys, and wind up making out with one of them in an upstairs bedroom somewhere, all in the name of “getting over Theo” and “moving on.” It was expected; obligatory, even. She was supposed to cut loose, and go crazy, and all those other spring-break-worthy sentiments that people insisted on to bury their inner pain.
“I’m sorry,” she said abruptly, putting her glass down. “I have to go.”
Harry’s face fell. “But —”
“Tell Palmer I’ll call her, OK?” Grace was already backing away. “And I’ll see you in school. Thanks for having me!”
She hurried toward the front door, pushing blindly through the crowd and not slowing until she was out of the house; sneakers crunching on the gravel driveway.
Grace gasped for breath, the night air cool in her lungs. What had she been thinking, coming here tonight? She didn’t want Harry — she’d known that all along. She didn’t want distraction, or drunken, crazy escapades, or whatever it was that the books and movies said she should be doing right now.
She wanted to go home.
To her surprise, Grace felt tears sting in her throat, and a hollow sadness well up from somewhere deep inside. She wanted to go home, to the house where her father still lived, and her mom still baked gingersnap cookies every fall, and her sister didn’t weep for hours and threaten to throw herself off a tall building and mean it, even a little.
Grace wanted to be back there, up in the shaded tree house with her telescope, where everything had been so simple; before she’d even known what it was like to long for someone the way she longed for Theo.
Before she knew what it was like to have a broken heart.
But even as the sadness threatened to overwhelm her, Grace pulled back. She held tight. Crying wouldn’t get her back there, she reminded herself firmly. It wouldn’t change a thing. This was her world now: empty streets lined with palm trees, the quiet hum of money, a neat grid of city lights blanketing the valley below. This was her world, and she had to live in it. No father, no tree house, no weekend plays with Hallie, and no oven-warm gingersnap cookies.
No Theo.
Grace put her sadness away, pulled out her cell phone, and began to walk.
It had been a month.
Only four weeks since Hallie’s world was ripped apart; thirty days since her heart had shattered into a million anguished pieces. Lost in her sea of misery, she couldn’t believe it. She felt as if she’d been broken forever, like years — decades, even; a lifetime! — had dragged past since the awful night Dakota had told her he was leaving.
“We’re going to New York.”
Hallie hadn’t understood at first. She’d thought the “we” was them: her and Dakota, the way he’d always meant.
“Yes!” she’d gasped, already imagining the cool Brooklyn loft, and nights spent crawling dive bars on the Lower East Side. Bagels. Central Park. Ice-skating under holiday lights, her hands warm in mittens and Dakota’s sure grasp. He would make his music, she’d find some off-off-off-Broadway play to launch her career. It would be perfect. Them against the world, the way they’d been planning.
“When do we go?” She slid around the diner table, so she was snuggled up against him in the red leather booth.
That’s when his eyes drifted away from hers, face cloaked in a guarded look she’d never seen before. “No. I meant . . . the band.” Dakota didn’t meet her eyes, instead staring intently at the bottle of hot sauce on the table. “And I was thinking . . .” He paused, and Hallie felt a terrible shiver of dread. “Maybe this is a good thing for us, to take some time.”
Hallie stared dumbly.
“You know . . . apart. Figure out . . . where this is going. I mean, we’ve been moving so fast . . .” Dakota trailed off, looking back at the hot sauce again. “It’ll only be a few months.”
Hallie couldn’t speak a word the whole ride home. Dakota tried to fill the empty air between them, rambling about how busy he’d be in the studio, how he couldn’t drag her across the country; her career, and his bandmates. �
�We just need to hit pause,” he said, more than once, as if she were a movie screening in Uncle Auggie’s den, and he needed to run out for pizza. “We’ll make this work. When I get settled, we’ll figure something out. It’ll be OK.”
But it wasn’t.
Because despite all his reassurance and tender promises to call her every day, Dakota drifted out of reach, disappearing into the new, exciting life he was leading in New York City. Without Hallie. Her phone calls started going to voice mail, her texts were left, unreplied. Even though Hallie filled his voice mail and in-box with plaintive messages until they were too full for more, Dakota barely answered, only checking in with messages that seemed more routine than heartfelt. And then there were the days that passed without a single word. Hallie found herself searching online for news of a tragic car accident, or random gang crime: anything to explain why he’d suddenly dropped out of contact. Maybe he was in a coma somewhere, unidentified; or stumbling around with amnesia, not even remembering his own name!
Except amnesiacs wouldn’t pose for photos in their shiny new recording studio. Coma victims wouldn’t be posting updates on the official band website about all their upcoming shows.
Hallie sank into a listless daze. To just leave, to ignore her pain like it meant nothing to him . . . ? This wasn’t Dakota. It couldn’t be. The boy who swore he couldn’t sleep unless Hallie was nestled in the crook of his arms would never be so cruel and merciless. He at least would write back. Call. Check to make sure she hadn’t drowned herself in Uncle Auggie’s pool, the way she’d threatened in a moment of desperate rage.
But now it had been two weeks since she’d last heard from him, and Hallie couldn’t dream up any more excuses. He was just gone.
“Hallie!” Grace burst into her bedroom, rudely interrupting Hallie’s mental replay of the diner scene. “The dogs need walking. I can’t keep taking them out.”
“I’m napping.” Hallie sank lower in her pillows; curtains still half-drawn to block out the hatefully cheerful sun.
Jane Austen Goes to Hollywood Page 15
