“Yeah, Josh’s parents are super strict,” said Jake.
“My parents can’t imagine why I’d go anywhere below Thirty-fourth Street, let alone a gross street party!” said Bobby.
“Parents are clueless!” Sophie laughed. “Mine still think I’m a virgin!”
Whooooa. Shock and awe. I looked at Whitney, who appeared floored. Even with all her hookups, she had not gone there. I mean, Kaitlin, the sluttiest of our gang, had just started talking about maybe giving it up to Max over the next summer. It was mildly awkward as we all stood there contemplating her random announcement.
“So you guys, let’s go get some food!” I offered to distract the gang, but of course Sophie’s bombshell gave a whole new meaning to the sausages that hung from every stall.
After gorging on endless eats, I suddenly felt extremely ill. I guess my face bespoke this as I turned a pale shade of green post–Tilt-a-Whirl, and Jake noticed.
“You okay, Finnegan?”
“Yeah,” I responded, sooo not okay. “I just feel a little food raped. I don’t think you’re supposed to mix meatballs and cotton candy. I feel dirty and violated inside.”
“Maybe this really fast circular motion ride will make you feel better,” he joked sarcastically, gesturing to the line we were on. “If you want, I’ll sit this one out with you.”
“No, no, no,” I protested. “This is my favorite one. I love the spinny stuff. I’m doing it.”
Our group approached the spinning teacups and I climbed aboard.
“I can’t go,” said Whitney, backing away. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Me too, I’m not doing that death trap,” added Sophie.
But I was already in the teacup, and Jake climbed in right next to me.
Max and Kaitlin broke tonsil hockey. “Hey—we wanna come!” she squealed.
“That’s it!” the ride operator said, putting his hand out to stop them from getting in our teacup. “And we’re off!”
“So long, wimps!” Jake taunted as we took off flying through the air.
“Oops, sorry, guys!” I called. As we lifted off, I felt weird being with just Jake, but I saw Whitney and Sophie pointing at booths below, so I knew they were entrenched in their rager research.
We flew higher and faster, and I saw Jake’s eyes close.
“Are you okay?” I yelled.
“Yeah,” he responded, bracing himself. “The centripetal force takes a minute for me to get used to.” He opened his green eyes and smiled.
“Don’t worry. The worst thing that can happen is our pod breaks off and goes flying into that cannoli stand, crushing a Sicilian widow.”
“Thanks!” He looked at me and winked as we both screamed in unison with an outward spin.
A few minutes later, we got off the ride so dizzy that we looked like drunken sailors. Everyone was teasing us, laughing at our nerdy staggers.
“I feel nauseous,” I said.
“Oh my God,” Sophie said. “We had a totally brilliant brainstorm while you guys were on the ride!”
“Guess what we’re gonna do,” said Whitney. “We decided to just rent all the booths and have a mini–San Gennaro festival during the hors d’oeuvres in the first ballroom!”
“It’s gonna be beyond,” said Sophie, ecstatic.
“Cool,” I said, gripping my tummy.
“Come on, Sophie,” said Whitney. “We have to investigate. I want to hire some of these authentic people to come and man the booths. Let’s go!”
Okay, ew. It was one thing for Whitney and Sophie to blow their party up into a huge drama, but it was another to actually cast these carnies for fun—or decoration—for their tableaux. Between them, the chow, and the rides, I’d had enough.
I looked at my watch. “You guys, I’m so sorry, but I think I’m gonna have to peel off—”
“Laura!” Sophie said in a singsongy voice. “Bummer!”
“Sweetie, it’s okay, you go home to bed,” Whitney said, kissing me good night. “We’ll put you in a cab.”
“It’s okay, Finnegan, I’ll take you home,” Jake said. “I’m going to hit the hay too.”
Whitney and Sophie were visibly shocked slash let down by his departure.
“What do you mean?” Sophie asked Jake. “It’s still, like, so early!”
“Yeah,” said Whitney, twirling her hair. “I mean, there’s still two more blocks of festival.”
“Hey, it’s a school night, gimme a break,” Jake said, zipping his Patagonia jacket.
“You only live once,” said Sophie with a flirty tone. “You can sleep when you’re dead.”
“Then I’d be a zombie while I’m alive,” he said. “I’ll catch you later.”
I could see Whitney bite her lip. She wasn’t sure what to do. She sure as hell didn’t want Jake to leave, but she would never be forward about it. Sophie also looked upset that Jake was leaving, but I could see her relief that he was leaving with me and not Whitney.
Max and Kaitlin broke from their kiss. “Wait—Jake,” Max said, “we were just saying we should all hit Bowlmor Lanes on Saturday night.”
“Yeah, they have a great DJ spinning,” said Bobby.
“Sounds fab!” said Sophie, looking at Jake as Whitney watched. “Should we say seven?”
“Fierce,” said Jake, and turned to hail a lone cab down the block. “C’mon, Finnegan!” He took my hand and practically yanked me down the street into the taxi.
“Phew,” he said, turning to me once we were inside. “I’m glad you wanted to bail. I don’t know how I am going to get up in the morning. I have a soccer match on Randall’s before school. I am clearly toast.”
“I have to dissect a frog first period,” I remembered aloud. “That funnel cake is gonna be mid-esophagus.”
He smiled. “Classic Finnegan line.”
“What do you mean?” I blushed. Damn pale cheeks. Was he complimenting me or making fun? He just smiled.
“So what’s up with Sophie?” he asked with a slyly raised brow. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”
I felt myself deflate. So that was it. He wasn’t into Whitney, he was into Sophie. He clearly thought she was a hottie. I mean, who wouldn’t? She’s a blond stick with knockers.
“Sophie’s awesome,” I said honestly. “She’s so nice and really generous and a burst of energy all the time.”
“She really speaks her mind.”
“Yeah, I admire her balls-out directness. We really needed someone like that at Tate.” I felt semi-bad for building up Sophie when Whitney liked him, but hey, it was the truth. And even though I was fed up with them both today, they were still awesome.
“It’s strange,” said Jake, looking at the tree-lined twisting streets of Greenwich Village. “She and Whitney are such opposites. But you’re right, they’re both really fun girls.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, now trying to figure out which “really fun girl” he liked more. They both were full-on knockouts in their own way; Whit was a Ralph Lauren ad come to life, and Sophie was more of a Britney-esque saucy firecracker. As I was contemplating Jake’s choices, I saw him look at my dress, which had an Edwardian lace collar and a billowy knife-pleat skirt, all in ivory, with a black grosgrain ribbon I’d used as a makeshift bow belt.
“That’s a cool outfit, Finnegan.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said, looking down. “I made it myself.”
“Oh yeah, ha ha.”
“No, I really did.”
“You did?”
Uh-oh, did he think that was so loserish? “I know it’s sort of dorky, making my own clothes. It’s my hobby, I guess.” I looked out my window.
“It’s not dorky, I think it’s really cool. You’re an original.”
“Thanks,” I said, buzzing from the compliment. “My dad brought back this fabric for me from a conference in Jaipur.”
“That’s so thoughtful,” he said, staring out the window. “I doubt my parents even think of me when they’re away.�
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“Do they travel a lot?” I asked, trying to keep pity out of my voice.
“All the time.” He paused. “So do you think Sophie is into Bobby? He really digs her.” Okay, abrupt change o’ subject. I guessed since he kept asking about Sophie, Whitney was not at the forefront of his mind.
“Um…Bobby? I don’t think so.”
“Oh. So, are you and J—?”
Just then I noticed the cab speed by my house. “Oh! It’s right there! I can get out here, sir!” We screeched to a halt and I opened the door. “Thanks, Jake. You’re awesome to get me home and make sure I’m not, like, hacked to pieces.”
“I’ll wait ’til you’re in the door in case the serial killer strikes.”
“Okay, thanks!” I got out and waved. “Good luck with your game tomorrow!”
I slammed the cab door and ran to our house. As I hopped up the stairs and scavenged my keys from my bag, I turned to signal safe entry and saw Jake give a salute from the rear window before the taxi pulled away. There was a fluttering sensation in my gut, as if I had swallowed a pigeon whole. Oh boy, I thought to myself. Jake is really perfect in every single way. “Shut up, Laura, shut up, Laura.”
Chapter Twelve
Maybe it was the giant green formaldehyde frog splayed across my tray, dissecting pins holding down his skin so that I had a good view of his guts. Or maybe it was residual Tilt-a-Whirl motion sickness. Perhaps it was too many calzones. I didn’t even want to consider that my upset stomach had anything to do with Jake. But I spent most of the next morning running in and out of science class to barf my guts out in the bathroom. I didn’t want to totally bail on the dissection because it was fifty percent of my grade, and Mr. R. was such a stickler about finishing the whole process, but after my seventh trip he finally took pity on me and let me out of his carcass-filled lab to go rest in the lounge.
I was also semi–freaking out on another level, because Sophie and Whitney were no-shows at school. I had been calling them all day (between trips to the bathroom) and kept getting their voice mails. Neither Kaitlin nor Ava had heard from them, and we all agreed that it was totally weird. (Annoyingly, Ava, ever the goodie-goodie, was now gloating that she didn’t go to San Gennaro. She said I got sick and assumed Whit and Soph were no-shows because they’d gotten in trouble for staying out late, so what good was it? I think she was just jealous that she was too chicken.) Anyway, this was so not like them to be total MIAs.
After trying yet again to reach my amigos on the pay phone (my parents still wouldn’t cough up the dough for a cell), I finally lay down on a chaise in the lounge with a makeshift compress (aka wet paper towels) stuck to my forehead in an attempt to assuage my nausea. My eyes were closed and I was about to drift off when a beefy hand tapped me on the shoulder. Barf. It was Ms. Hoffer, clad in her trademark purple velour sweatsuit, with a giant number eleven emblazoned on her chest.
“How is a scholarship student able to afford renting out Chez whatever for a Sweet Sixteen party?” the Kmart lover gruffly asked.
I was stunned. What? “I…” I didn’t know how to continue. First off, everyone knows I’m on scholarship; I don’t try to hide it, but it’s not so polite or necessary to broadcast it in the lounge.
“What, cat got your tongue?” she demanded.
“I’m not renting it out. I’m only having six people to my party.” I sat up and took the paper towels off my head. Did I really need this now?
“Oh,” she said, running her hand through her greasy hair. “Listen, Laura,” she began, and sat down next to me, I mean, right next to me, so that I could smell her Kentucky Fried breath. “I really sympathize with you. I know it isn’t easy being around all these ungrateful richies, is it?”
“Um…”
“I see them. I see these princesses prancing around the halls and out into their chauffeur-driven cars. I listen to their stupid squawking. They think they’re so great, but let me tell you something: They piss and crap just like the rest of us.”
I guess flabbergasted would be the only word to describe how I felt. “Um…”
“It’s hard for you,” said the Beast, putting her hand on my shoulder. “I know. It’s been hard for me, too. So if you ever need to talk to someone, you can speak openly to me. I’m on your team.”
She looked at me, waiting for a response, but all I could do was gulp. I am so not on your team.
“Thanks…,” I mustered.
Ms. Hoffer stood up and looked at me. “You know, Laura, you and I are a lot alike.”
When she turned to walk away, the music from Psycho screeched in my brain, interrupted only by the swish swish swish rhythm that her pants made. A lot alike? Please, God, nooooo!
After my little Hoffer interaction, I decided to call it a day. Whatever temporary stomach bug I picked up at the festival was still ravaging my bod, and there was really no use in sticking around with Soph and Whit gonzo. Besides, I only had art left. The subway ride home didn’t help my condition, so when I finally got to my pad I beelined for my bedroom and crashed. My parents decided not to wake me for dinner, and I ended up taking the biggest power nap of my life and sleeping until 9:30. Fun Friday night. When I got up, Sophie and Whitney still hadn’t called, and when I tried them, I still got their voice mail. I couldn’t figure it out. Had they mentioned they were going somewhere? Was it something to do with their party? It was odd, but I just ended up eating a bowl of strawberry ice cream and watching Law & Order reruns until I fell asleep.
I had been planning to hit Chinatown on Saturday morning for a day of sleuthing around the fabric and textile stores for inspiration. This was something I did monthly, and I always preferred to do it alone. I actually never even told Whitney when I was going because I didn’t want her to tag along. Nothing against Whit, I just liked the solo reconnaissance missions, and when I had distractions I couldn’t really concentrate on my creative impulses. So I woke up early, ate my raisin bran, and bid adieu to my parents, who were already knee deep in grading midterms.
“So they never called?” asked my mom before I left.
“No, and I’m kind of worried. It’s so odd; they’ve never disappeared like that,” I said, putting an apple in my knapsack.
“Maybe they caught the flu as well,” offered my father.
“I hope not. That bug was awful. But please just tell them if they call that I’ve gone to Chinatown to scout some fabrics and I’m worried about them. And tell them to leave a number where I can reach them.”
“We’ll relay the message,” said my mom.
“Thanks, guys.”
I had a great day walking around looking in all the tiny shops and surveying the wares of various vendors. I loved that you could find anything in Chinatown, from little plastic slippers to neat little purses. It was all borderline tack but also could be very chic. And they marked this stuff up to high heaven in department stores, which was so hilarious, because if those women who bought it even ventured downtown they could save so much dough.
Throughout the day I tried Whit and Soph from various pay phones where I probably contracted hepatitis D, but I was concerned. There was still no answer. By now I was oscillating between panic and sheer irritation. I mean, if something happened, I would be beside myself. I shuddered. But on the other hand, what if they were okay and they were doing something together, maybe something fun, and they hadn’t bothered to call? That would be more than lame. I would really be irate. But I couldn’t imagine they’d be that evil. They were probably just grounded and their parents took away their phone privileges. That was a surefire way to make them repent.
When I got home there were still no messages. We were supposed to meet up at Bowlmor at 7:00, and I knew that Sophie and Whit would move hell or high water to hang out with Jake, so I figured I’d go anyway. It was only a few blocks from my house (one of the few attractions that would draw my Upper East Side friends down to the “scary” Village), and I had nothing to do anyway.
When I got to the
bowling alley there were tons of people—groups of teenagers, some ten-year-olds having a party, and beer-swilling twentysomethings all hitting the alleys. But no Sophie and Whitney, and no guys. I looked at my watch. It hadn’t stopped, had it? It said 7:00. I knew I was crazy about being on time and most people weren’t like me, so I sat down and decided to wait.
For a while I sat next to this very lovey-dovey couple in their early twenties who kept pawing at each other. It had to be the early stages of their relationship, because no one can sustain that kind of interest forever. I mean, the guy helped the girl put her bowling socks on. Gross. It would be kind of neat, though, to feel that excited about someone. I really couldn’t imagine; I had never been in love. There was a guy that I “hung out with” at camp, and yes, we kissed twice, but he was definitely more into me than I was into him, if I do say so myself. It was also a location relationship, because I would never go for him here. Thank God he was from Boston.
As the clock ticked by and it got later and later, I started to get annoyed. I used the pay phone to call Soph and Whit and then Kaitlin and Ava, and even my parents, and there was no update from anyone. I decided to wait until 8:00, and when no one showed, I walked home. It was a crisp autumn night, with the leaves crinkling under my shoes as I walked past all the stores on my way. I loved this time of year in New York. There was something about the way the light fell across the city that really illuminated the true beauty of Manhattan. Summer was disquishously too hot and humid here, winter was far too cold and snowy, and spring was okay but it really only lasted for a nanosecond. New York was all about fall. It was just so romantic. I really wished that I had someone to share it with. At that moment, aside from being annoyed with Whit or Soph, I thought of Jake. It’s not illegal to dream.
Chapter Thirteen
Bittersweet Sixteen Page 7
