The Darlings Are Forever

by Melissa Kantor

  Morgan rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, I’m really going to drop by the bio lab when I don’t have to.” She adjusted her neck against the arm of the couch.

  “It’s not my fault Clover wanted to talk to me,” Katrina complained. She walked over to the couch and pushed Morgan’s legs so she could sit down. Morgan barked a protest but tucked her legs out of Katrina’s way.

  “You have Dr. Clover?” asked Natalya. She was about to add, I like her, when Katrina interrupted without answering.

  “She is such an unfair bitch,” Katrina announced.

  Natalya was glad she hadn’t gotten a chance to share her opinion.

  “A bitch, yes. Unfair, no,” corrected Morgan. “What’d you want to see her about, anyway?”

  “This stupid term paper. My dad knows the head of neurosurgery at Weill Cornell, and he said I can shadow him for a day for my research project.”

  “You can follow a neurosurgeon around? That’s amazing!” Years ago Jane’s dad, who was an orthopedic surgeon, had told Natalya she could come watch him operate when she was older.

  Of course, that had been before he moved out to LA.

  Katrina waved away Natalya’s enthusiasm. “Well, it’s not happening. Clover was all, ‘But, Ms. Worthington, I fail to see the hypothesis you will be proving or disproving.’” She snorted. “How about if I just prove Clover’s a bitch, okay? Is that a good enough hypothesis?”

  Morgan shook her head. “How could you disprove it?”

  “Why don’t you just write about outer space?” offered Sloane. “That’s what everyone else does.” She reached into her purse (which Natalya was pretty sure was not a Juniper Bush) and pulled out a small cloth version of a brown paper bag. She put the bag on the low wooden table between the chairs and the sofa and removed a little wooden box that she opened to reveal a collection of elaborately cut vegetables.

  “God, outer space is so boring,” Morgan sighed, reaching over to pull a carrot cut like a comb from Sloane’s collection.

  “I was just looking at this article Clover recommended,” Natalya said. “It was about how trends spread.”

  “You did the extra credit?” asked Katrina, shocked. She took an apple from her Juniper Bush bag. “God, way to kiss ass.”

  “Um,” Natalya was embarrassed. She’d meant to offer up a possible term paper topic, not show off.

  “Maybe she’s just curious. Not every person in the world is as lazy as you, Kat.” Without sitting up, Morgan reached her arm out and dug around in her purse briefly before pulling out the most elegant white paper bag Natalya had ever seen. It had a blue-and-white ribbon around its twine handle. From the bag, Morgan removed an equally elegant white parcel and a blue-and-white napkin that was either cloth or extremely thick paper—Natalya couldn’t tell.

  “Do you want some of my sandwich?” asked Morgan. “It’s totally veggie. Are you a vegetarian?”

  Natalya thought about last night’s dinner, her mother’s cabbage stuffed with beef and secret, mouth-watering seasoning. It was, hands down, her favorite meal in the world. “Um…I think about becoming one sometimes.”

  Morgan unwrapped her sandwich and handed half to Natalya along with one of her napkins. A few sprouts hung over the side. “You know what you have to do? You have to picture the animal actually being killed. Then you won’t want to eat it.”

  “Or eat anything, for that matter.” Katrina lobbed her half-eaten apple into a small metal garbage can at the end of the couch. “Thanks. My appetite’s shot.”

  Natalya giggled. Nervous as she was to be here, it was exciting to listen to Morgan and her friends talk. “This is fun,” she observed, spreading the thick paper napkin over her lap.

  “This is nothing,” said Morgan. She sat up, put her sandwich half on the table in front of her, and crossed her legs, not seeming to care that her shoes were on the couch. “You and Victoria have got to come to the party my brother and I are throwing in a few weeks.”

  Natalya had just taken a bite of Morgan’s sandwich, and she barely had time to swallow the unchewed mouthful before asking. “Victoria?” How did these girls know Victoria?

  Now it was Morgan’s turn to sound confused. “Wait, aren’t you friends with Victoria Harrison?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know you were.” In what universe did Victoria secretly know Morgan Prewitt?

  Morgan placed her hand against the side of her face and shook her head. “Duh. Sorry. Okay. So, my mom is like, obsessed with Andrew Harrison.” As she talked, she pulled her honey blond hair down and casually twisted it back up into a loose bun. “She was at this fund-raiser for him, and I guess my mom and Victoria’s mom were talking and my mom said I go to Gainsford and Victoria’s mom said Victoria’s best friend goes to Gainsford and she wrote down your name and I was like, wait, she’s in my English class.” Morgan beamed across the room at Natalya. “And here we are.”

  The warm glow she’d been feeling since Morgan’s approach disappeared, and a chill washed over her. Morgan hadn’t come looking for her because she was special. She’d come looking for her because Victoria was special.

  Morgan smiled broadly at her. “So, can you guys come?”

  “You really should,” Katrina added, picking a sliver of invisible nail polish off her pinky nail. “Grant’s at Thompson, and all of his friends will be there.”

  “Oh yes, Graaaant,” Morgan trilled. She rolled her eyes in Natalya’s direction. “Katrina’s in love with my brother.”

  They’d never liked her. They’d never thought she was worth hanging out with.

  Katrina blushed. “Well, he’s got to go out with someone, doesn’t he? Why shouldn’t it be me?”

  Morgan looked at Natalya and shook her head, mouthing, Never.

  Morgan, Sloane, and Katrina could be friends with any girl in the school. Probably any girl in the world. How stupid was she to have thought they wanted to be friends with her?

  Sloane ignored Morgan and Katrina’s bickering. “It’s basically going to be the party of the century.”

  Was she really going to say no to an invitation to the party of the century just because that invitation depended on her bringing Victoria? Even if Morgan had invited Natalya for her own sake, Natalya would have asked to bring Victoria along.

  Was this so different?

  But Victoria was not going to be into it. She’d never go to some party a girl had invited her to just because of who her dad was.

  Katrina took a lipstick out of her purse and applied it expertly. When she finished, Morgan extended her hand, and without their exchanging a single word, Katrina placed the silver tube into it with a practiced snap that made Natalya think of hospital shows where surgeons barked Scalpel! at their assistants.

  After she’d applied the pale pink to her own lips, Morgan arched an eyebrow at Natalya and nodded toward the lipstick she was holding. Natalya stared at it for a minute, not sure what Morgan meant for her to do. Morgan held up the shiny tube. “You want?”

  Natalya hesitated for a second. Was it sanitary to share lipstick with girls she didn’t even know? But then Morgan was holding it toward her, and she found herself reaching out to take it.

  As she slid the soft, sweet-smelling lipstick across her lips, Natalya remembered Jane. Even if Victoria said she’d come, which was pretty much impossible to imagine, what was she going to do about Jane? Should she ask if it was okay to bring a second friend?

  “Oh my god, you were born to wear that color!” Morgan announced, and Sloane and Katrina nodded in her direction.

  “Thanks.” Natalya licked at her lips. Was it possible for something to not just feel but to actually taste smooth?

  She looked around the room at Morgan, Sloane, and Katrina. It wasn’t that they didn’t want her to come to the party. They did. It was just that they hadn’t noticed her before. And now they had.

  Did it really matter why?

  And then, in a tumble, she said, “I…Could our friend Jane come too?” There was a strang
e buzzing in her ears.

  Morgan pressed her shiny lips together. Natalya was positive she was about to say, You know, that’s pretty uncool, Natalya. We don’t even want you there, just Victoria. Now you want to bring this Jane person?

  “Sure,” said Morgan. “The more the merrier.” And then, as if she hadn’t just issued the most monumental party invitation in the history of the world, Morgan took another veggie from Sloane’s lunch box and asked Natalya if she liked the sandwich.

  VICTORIA WASN’T INTO IT.

  Saturday morning, Jane, Natalya, and Victoria had the apartment to themselves; Victoria’s parents had just left to campaign at an apple-picking festival in Columbia County. Victoria stood by the stove wearing a pair of Old Navy pajama bottoms and a rock the vote T-shirt, waiting for the apple popovers she’d made to finish baking.

  “I just don’t see my parents saying yes,” said Victoria. “I mean, I think they would have said yes before the campaign, but now they’ll definitely say no. Or they’ll say maybe but then run it by Satan, and he’ll say no.”

  Natalya studied the table, tracing some words in the headline of The New York Times so absently she didn’t even notice they had to do with Andrew Harrison’s Senate race. “You could ask, and then even if they say no, go anyway. Just like, sneak out.”

  Jane was shaking her head. “No plausible deniability if we do that, darling.”

  “What’s plausible deniability?” asked Victoria, checking the timer on the stove.

  “It’s being able to claim you didn’t know that what you were doing was wrong. Like, Mom, Dad, I’m sooo sorry. I had no idea you wouldn’t want me to go to the party of the century.”

  “Party of the century,” Victoria echoed. “Does that make either of you see the words parental supervision?”

  “Yeah, not so much,” said Jane.

  Leaning her hip against the stove, Victoria sighed. “Maybe you two should go without me.”

  “But don’t you want to go?” Natalya asked. “I mean”—she looked around the room—“I think we all want to go.”

  Jane shrugged. “I can take it or leave it.”

  Natalya spread her hands in amazement. “Guys, hello! Isn’t this what high school is about? Cool parties.”

  “Since when are you so into parties?” Jane laughed, then stood up and stretched. “Okay, what about this: Honesty is the best policy, right? You could just tell them. Just say, Mom, Dad, I want to go to this party. There won’t be parents there, but I’ll be responsible. You can trust me.” Hands high above her head, back arched, Jane shook her fingers. “Voilà! That’s what I’m going to tell my mom, and she’ll totally—”

  “We know!” Natalya and Victoria said at the same time, exasperated.

  Victoria took the popovers out of the oven and dropped them into a napkin-lined cloth basket, then turned to Natalya. “What are you telling your parents?”

  Natalya picked at an invisible piece of thread on her foxy lady T-shirt. “I don’t know…I’ll think of something.”

  Victoria brought the basket over to the table, already set with half a dozen different jellies and butters, as Natalya jammed her index fingers into her forehead. “Okay, how about this…” She reached across the table and took Victoria’s hand. “How about if you don’t tell your parents anything?”

  “You mean, lie?” A worried crease appeared on Victoria’s forehead, and she put down her butter knife.

  “Not lie, exactly,” Natalya corrected her quickly.

  Jane took a popover out of the basket, then danced it between her hands. “Hot. Hot. Hot.”

  Natalya continued. “I’m just saying, what if you ask your parents if you can stay at my house or Jane’s house and then just…don’t mention that we might go out briefly to the party of the century?”

  “You mean, lie,” Victoria translated. “I don’t know…And won’t your parents ask where we’re going?”

  Natalya dropped her head back, exasperated.

  “Wait!” Jane said suddenly. “Why can’t we just all sleep here that night? Aren’t you always saying your parents are never home?”

  Victoria considered Jane’s point. “It’s true,” she acknowledged.

  “Just think about all the things Emily gets away with,” Natalya reminded her.

  At Natalya’s words, Victoria sat for a minute, staring off into the air above the table. Then she disappeared into the dining room.

  “Where are you going?” called Jane, taking a bite of her popover. “Wow, Vicks, this is really good. I’d definitely pay money for one of these.”

  There was no answer. Jane looked at Natalya and shrugged. Natalya took a popover out of the basket and ripped off a piece but didn’t eat it.

  A minute later, Victoria reappeared, holding a manila folder open in front of her. “This is it.”

  “And this would be…” Jane prompted, wiping some jam from her upper lip “Tentative schedule, blah blah blah September…September…October, October…” Victoria ran her index finger down the page, then announced, her voice inflectionless, “They have a fund-raiser in Rockland County the night of the party.” She raised her eyes to her friends. “ETA Manhattan, midnight.”

  Natalya screamed and jumped out of her chair. “Oh my god, this is a sign. It’s like a fairy tale: we have to be home by midnight.”

  “If we go,” Victoria said.

  “You have no idea how fun this is going to be.” The words tumbled out of Natalya’s mouth. “They’re like…the coolest people.”

  “Hey!” Jane interrupted.

  “Not cool like you guys,” Natalya said quickly. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. “But this party is going to be really fun.”

  Victoria traced her finger along the edge of the paper. “Do you think there’s going to be drinking?”

  “Hmm…” Jane pretended to consider the question. “High school kids. No parents. Party of the century…Nah.”

  “If there’s drinking, we’ll leave,” Natalya promised.

  Victoria nibbled her lower lip. “It does sound kind of fun,” she admitted. There was the slightest hint of a gleam in her eyes.

  Natalya crossed the kitchen to stand beside Victoria. Both girls were smiling, Natalya a bit more broadly than her friend.

  “Our first high school party,” said Jane, looking over at them, and her face broke into a grin, too.

  “We’re really going, aren’t we?” Natalya breathed.

  “Looks like it,” Jane agreed. “Vicks?”

  Slowly, slowly, Victoria nodded. Natalya jumped up and down and hugged her. “Oh my god, this is going to be soooo much fun!”

  “I’m scared,” Victoria whispered, but she was still smiling. “This is so bad.” She slipped the schedule carefully back in the folder. “If they find out I went to a party without telling them, my parents will kill me.”

  “No they won’t,” Jane promised as Victoria and Natalya joined her at the table.

  “How can you be so sure?” asked Victoria.

  Jane handed them each a popover. “Because. Four out of five registered voters say they would be unlikely to vote for a candidate who’d killed a member of his immediate family.”

  Victoria lifted her glass of orange juice. “To registered voters, darling.”

  Jane and Natalya clinked their glasses against hers. “To registered voters,” they echoed.

  SUNDAY, AFTER JANE and Natalya left, Victoria was sitting at her desk trying to figure out the area of a triangle, when her sister poked her head into her room.

  “Hey,” said Emily, coming in and plopping down on Victoria’s bed. “Whatcha up to?”

  Victoria nodded at the open textbook. “Math. Zipple.”

  At the name of her former math teacher, Emily rolled her eyes. “God, haven’t they retired him yet? He has to be at least a hundred years old.”

  “Sometimes when he drops a piece of chalk and bends down to get it, I’m scared he won’t be able to stand up,” Victoria admitted.
<
br />   “Perhaps not an idle fear,” said Emily. As she stretched out across the bed on her stomach, Victoria realized it was a little weird to see her sister in the apartment on a random Sunday afternoon, and even weirder that it was weird.

  Last month Emily had lived here. Now she lived in Princeton.

  Emily looked around the room, taking in the white lacy bedspread and the white wallpaper with the pattern of tiny strawberries. “I think it might be time for a new look.”

  Victoria followed her sister’s gaze. For the past year she’d felt more and more like she was living in the wrong room, like the rose-colored rug and tiny white desk and dresser she’d picked out in fourth grade had nothing to do with the person she was now. “Yeah, I guess it’s a little babyish.” Victoria scooted her feet onto the chair and hugged her knees; she had the urge to tell Emily about the party she’d been invited to, how she was going to lie to their parents about going. Emily had totally done things like that in high school—she’d probably think it was cool of Victoria.

  But what if Emily felt some strange and sudden urge to tell their parents about Victoria’s plans? That would mean no plausible deniability for sure. Best to keep her mouth shut.

  The Scoop was lying on Victoria’s bed, and Emily propped herself up on her elbows and thumbed through it. “Aaah, The Scoop. I so remember this.”

  “It’s not like you’re thirty,” Victoria pointed out. “You only graduated in June.”

  Emily slowly turned the pages. “Oh, this is a good shot.” She turned the paper sideways and read aloud. “Jack Hastings.”

  Victoria felt her stomach flip at the sound of Jack’s name coming out of her sister’s mouth. I totally like him, she almost said, only managing not to utter the words by literally biting hard on her lower lip. Emily had had two serious boyfriends already. She’d gotten caught spending the night with one of them. Did Victoria seriously think Emily would be impressed by her stalking Jack through the West Village last Saturday, then barely having the courage to wave at him each time they’d passed in the hall since then?