“Honey, is that you?” I heard my mom yell.
“Hiii! Yes, c’est moi. I’m sorry I’m so late.” I put my knapsack full of stupid party planning books (homework, said Whitney) down in the small foyer and started to de-layer my pounds of clothing. I heard chatter in the other room and smelled delicious food cooking. “I had to go to Sophie’s dress fitting and then to look at photographers’ books with Whitney. I can’t believe so many people work on Thanksgiving. God, I feel like I’m living a double life!” I walked into the kitchen. And was shocked into silence. Jake Watkins was sitting at my table.
“Here she is,” said my dad, kissing me hello as I just stared at Jake, who was up to his elbows in turkey stuffing. He looked gorgeous in his blue button-down and my mom’s apron. Uh-oh, out, out, damn thought! I am, like, his sis at this point.
“Hi,” I said in sort of a zonelike state.
“Finnegan.” He smiled.
“Jake is a Cordon Bleu–level chef, my dear,” gushed my mom.
“Really?” I asked, still confused as to why Soph and Whit’s human tug-of-war was sitting in my kitchen.
“If you’re wondering why I’m here,” Jake started (oh, he’s a mind reader, too), “I called you to wish you a happy Thanksgiving and your mom interviewed me on my holiday plans—”
“And I was devastated to hear Jake was alone for the holiday. So I demanded that he get right down here.”
“You’re so sweet, Mrs. Finnegan,” he said. “You don’t know how tired I am of picking up a turkey sandwich at Gardenia and watching too much television.”
“And he says he loves mashed turnips, which is music to our ears,” said my dad, the king of root vegetables.
“Finally you’ve found a courageous taster for your concoction, Dad” was all I could mumble.
“Oh, and by the way, that young man called you again,” my dad said, looking at a nearby Post-it. “Josh.”
I turned red. Josh? Ew! Why was he calling? He had called the night before and had some dumb excuse like he needed Ava’s number for someone else, but I knew he just wanted to talk. I had quickly gotten off the phone. But now he had called again, and Jake probably thinks we chat! Gross. I looked over at Jake to see his reaction, but unfortunately his back was to me and he was busy chopping veggies. All I could muster was a weak “thanks” to my dad. “I have to go dump the rest of my stuff in my room; be right back,” I said.
As I was throwing a brush through my wind-tangled mane, Jake came in.
“Um, listen, if you’re bummed out I came, I can totally bolt,” said Jake, a little sheepishly. “Or if you have to call Josh back or whatever—”
“What? No, I’m psyched you’re here. I was just surprised,” I said. Don’t leave, I wanted to chant.
“Sure? Because I don’t want to be a crasher.”
“Positive,” I said, a little too emphatically. “I mean, I really like having guests. It gets boring just being with the units all the time.”
“Better than without them,” said Jake. Before I could ask him what the deal was with his MIA ’rents, he changed the subject. “Wow, so this is your fashion design center,” he said, examining my piles of fabric, ribbons, and sewing gear.
“Yeah, this is where it all happens, my very unglamorous sweatshop.”
“Where are all the Malaysian eleven-year-olds?” he asked. I had to laugh. But my smile was eclipsed by a full-force blush attack as Jake’s eyes turned to peruse my walls, which were laden with huge, romantic black-and-white posters of couples kissing, running hand in hand on the Brooklyn Bridge, and the famous post–WWII soldier-nurse smooch in Times Square. Jake stopped in front of the large frame over my bed, my all-time fave photograph of a man and a woman dancing slowly on a New York City rooftop surrounded by twinkling Christmas lights and the majestic skyline in the background. It was the dream image that floated above my brain all night as I slept, and it accompanied all my reveries of one day falling in love.
“I love this photograph,” Jake said simply, studying the sliver of silvery moon above the Chrysler Building.
“Isn’t it amazing?” I asked. “Especially now, with all the party craziness with my friends. This picture shows me that you don’t need the glitz or the booming band or the crowds, that a quiet moment can be enough.”
“You’re right,” Jake said, still gazing at the poster.
“Not to mention that their life looks so damn perfect.”
“Your life is pretty perfect,” Jake said.
“My life?” I asked incredulously. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you’ve got it all—”
“Laura! Jake! Dinner!” my dad announced, interrupting him. On the way into the kitchen I wondered about Jake’s observation skills. My life perfect? Was he on crack? How could my hovel of an apartment compare to the rest of my classmates’ palaces and his swank place as well?
Over burned-down candles, piles of plates, Martinelli’s sparkling cider, and pumpkin pie, the four of us talked about Jake’s parents being abroad for his dad’s board meeting. My dad was asking him all about school, and Jake really opened up about the stress thrown at him by his fam.
“I just feel like I have to accomplish everything my father has and beyond,” he confessed.
“That’s what I call the burden of privilege,” said my dad. “You have a whole different set of pressures; people look at you and project perfection and expect you to follow in a dynasty’s footsteps.”
“‘To whom much has been given, much shall be expected,’” my mom quoted.
“Everyone wants me to be on all the varsity teams and go to Princeton like my whole family, be number one,” Jake said. “I told my parents I wanted to be an architect and they freaked. They said it wasn’t a socially acceptable profession for families like ours. What does that even mean?”
“But what about the people who have the same pressure as you along with the additional pressure to keep up financially?” I asked, kind of indignant. All these wealthy kids and their “problems.” I knew they were real, but sometimes I was like, Cry me a river. “I’m sorry, Jake, I know that set of issues is all very real to you, but I’m on a free ride at Tate and that has even more ‘burdens.’”
“Trust me, I’m not crying poor Jake,” he protested. “I’m just saying that the world can be oppressive and claustrophobic sometimes.”
“Well, luckily everyone at this table has been blessed with so much good fortune. Think of all the people in this world—on the streets of our own city—who don’t get to sit down to a nice meal with good company. We are infinitely lucky.” My mom took my hand and Jake’s in hers and squeezed. Then she blew a kiss to my dad, who mime-caught it. Ugh. Jake must think my family is so Woodstock.
After dessert, I walked Jake down to our stoop, semi-nervous because I had promised Sophie that morning that I’d make a plan for Saturday that included Jake.
“I had a great time,” said Jake, sounding grateful.
“Listen, Jake, there’s something I need to ask you—”
“Shoot.”
“Um, Sophie wanted to know if you’re free Saturday night for a mini-soiree at her place.”
Jake looked down at his shoes. “Are you going?”
“Yeah.”
He paused. “Okay.”
“Great! I mean, she’ll be so psyched. It’s going to be really fun.”
Jake looked like he was about to say something else but then stopped and said, “Tonight was a lot of fun.”
“I’m so glad you came. It was such a fun surprise.”
Jake looked at me and I looked back at him. For a moment I almost thought he was going to kiss me. I guess I was swept away by all that cider. But after a pause it looked like he remembered something, probably his darling love interests, Sophie and Whit. So he zipped up his jacket and turned on his way.
“Good night, Finnegan,” he said over his shoulder.
“Good night, Jake.”
I tur
ned to watch him disappear down the tree-lined block and felt a pang of crushdom, which I quickly gulped down. Yeah, right, Laura, I thought. Take a number.
Chapter Nineteen
I was right not to get my hopes up. Okay, I actually did get my hopes up, and they were totally destroyed, which is why I have to keep reminding my idiotic self never to get my hopes up. Sometimes I just get sooo carried away in my romantic daydreams, and I thought I maybe had a slight chance with Jake post–turkey bonding, but then Sophie’s mini-soiree confirmed that he was way out of my league. The whole night was a barf-inducing nightmare, and I really wished I had a) never gone, and b) never invited Jake. Blech.
Sophie had invited Kaitlin and me over to get ready early. Her friend Allie Brosnan was visiting from L.A., so she was also there when I arrived. I had worn a vintage ’40s print dress that I had picked up in a thrift store and had tailored perfectly, if I do say so myself, with some cool Jane Mayle wedge shoes that I had splurged on. I borrowed some of my mom’s retro Bakelite jewelry (Who’d have thought that she’d collect something that actually came back in style?) and was feeling pretty good about my outfit. But when I watched Allie, Sophie, and Kaitlin get ready in full designer duds, I started to feel out of place immediately. I could tell that Allie followed the Sophie manner of dressing and lifestyle more than my own, and Kaitlin was quickly following suit. I don’t want to say slutty, but they were all on the more promiscuous side of things. I watched as they slid their bodies into skintight spaghetti-strap tanks (it was 30 degrees outside, meanwhile) and übershort cutoff jean skirts. If they bent over, you could literally see their thongs. They put on ultra-high shoes by D&G, Versace, and Prada, so thin-heeled that they could barely walk. And on top of that, they all wore a ton of makeup.
The guys arrived at 8:00. Josh immediately started firing away at me with stupid stories, so before I could even say hi to Jake, he was swept off by Sophie to meet Allie. I watched them out of the corner of my eye and felt weirdly jealous. Sophie was totally territorial about Jake, as if she were introducing Allie to her boyfriend. Why did I always have to be the one to mediate, to be the good guy, to calm everyone down and sacrifice everything I wanted? I mean, here I was, stuck talking to the biggest loser, and the man of my dreams is being paraded around by one of my so-called best friends? Just once it would be nice to not always have to be the good girl and take the moral high road. What I really wanted to do was grab Jake’s hand and dash out of there. But alas, I couldn’t bring myself to do that.
Later that night, after plates and plates of tapas served by Sophie’s chef (read: plates with barely any food on them), we retired to the library, where the boys started playing video games (Sophie always had the newest releases before they were even on the shelves, but she didn’t even play them) and the girls chatted. Finally, after several wine coolers, Sophie gathered everyone in a circle and placed an empty bottle in the center. She winked at Allie (who she was clearly matchmaking with Bobby) and cleared her voice to get everyone’s attention.
“Okay, listen. So it’s like spin the bottle, where the bottle decides your fate. But instead of macking in front of everyone like Kaitlin and Max, you go to the closet for three minutes,” said Sophie triumphantly, as if she had just explained quantum physics.
“I’ve heard of that game,” said Bobby. “It’s called Three Minutes in Heaven.”
“Well, we don’t call it that on the coast,” said Sophie impatiently. “Okay, who should go first? Laura?”
“Um, no thanks,” I said, turning bright red.
“We all have to go,” said Josh eagerly.
“I realize that, but I’d rather not go first,” I said curtly. I was fed up with him.
“This is dumb,” said Jake. Thank you!
“Shut up, let’s play,” said Josh. His enthusiasm made me feel dirty.
“Why don’t you start, Sophie? It’s your house,” said Max.
“Fine,” said Sophie confidently. She was definitely game. She spun the bottle and, as if by magic, it pointed directly at Jake. Sophie beamed. “Well.”
“Dude!” snorted Bobby.
“See ya guys!” yelled Max. “B-bye!”
“Score,” added Josh. He was always a beat late.
I looked at Jake, who didn’t betray any emotion. God, he was so good at maintaining a poker face. There was just no way to read that guy.
“Shall we?” asked Sophie, rising.
Jake sat for a second. At first I thought he wasn’t going to move. My heart leaped. Maybe he doesn’t want to kiss her! Maybe he will stand up and profess his love for me! Just when I started to get carried away, he finally stood up and followed Sophie out of the room. I wanted to throw up.
“Well, I bet we’ll be here longer than three minutes. Let’s turn on the tube,” said Bobby, flicking on the remote.
“Or we could keep playing?” said Allie suggestively, taking the remote out of Bobby’s hands. What is it about California girls? New meaning to the word “joystick.”
“We should wait,” I said.
Josh turned to me. “So, have you ever played this before, Finnegan?” He made me cringe when he called me that. I mean, when Jake called me that I literally got tingles, but when Josh said it, it just seemed so poser-ish. He was completely incapable of thinking for himself. A total NOTL.
“No,” I said.
“Well, don’t worry. I’ll be prepared,” Josh said, whipping out Binaca and spraying his mouth. Ew!
“Um, I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, popping up.
I walked through the foyer by the closet on my way to the bathroom. There was no light shining out from under the door. Obviously Sophie and Jake were fully going at it. Yuck. I wanted to barf. After splashing water on my face and lingering in the bathroom to avoid Josh, I walked back and again saw no light on in the closet.
“How’d it go?” asked Josh.
“How’d what go?”
“The bathroom?”
“Um, fine, thanks.” Loser.
I sat down next to Kaitlin, who leaned in and whispered, “They aren’t back yet! I’m so happy for Sophie; she’s been wanting this for sooooo long.”
“Yeah, it’s great,” I said, feigning joy.
“What do you think about Allie and Bobby? She’s nice but seems like a slut. I mean, she barely knows him,” said Kaitlin, making a face. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
“Whatever,” I said.
Just then Sophie and Jake came back in the room. Sophie was buttoning her blouse and looked flushed, but when she looked around the room and saw that everyone was staring, she broke into a huge grin. Immediately the guys started howling and making catcalls.
“Shall we continue?” asked Sophie.
“Who’s next?” said Allie, obviously eager to have a turn.
“Laura’s next, but Jake has to sit this one out since he just had a turn,” said Sophie quickly.
Of course. Sophie couldn’t risk anyone else getting a chance to kiss Jake. This scenario was getting worse and worse.
“Is that really the way it works, Sophie?” asked Jake.
I looked over at him with surprise. Did that mean that Jake wanted a chance to kiss me? Or was he just a stickler for the rules?
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s the house rule,” said Sophie.
Great. So this was my life now. It was the definition of peer pressure. I didn’t want to participate in this charade, but I felt disempowered to bail. I shrugged and spun the bottle halfheartedly. It landed directly between Josh and Max.
“Looks like Josh to me,” said Bobby.
“Me too,” said Max.
Was this a conspiracy? Someone call Oliver Stone.
“Let’s go, Laura,” said Josh, offering his hand to pull me up. I didn’t take it. I just couldn’t deal with clasping a sweaty hand to pretend that he’s a knight in shining armor. I followed him to the closet, preparing a speech in my head. The second we got in, he turned off the light and I turned it b
ack on again.
“Josh…,” I began. But before I could finish, he lunged in for a kiss. I was startled but finally pushed him away. His breath smelled disgusting, like garlic Binaca.
“Stop,” I said, pushing him away harder.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” said Josh. He tried to kiss me again, but I put my hand up and jerked my head away. “And I know you have too, Finnegan.”
“I’m sorry, Josh. I just…I like you, but not in that way.”
“What do you mean?” he asked testily.
“I just want to be friends,” I said. Whew. That was easier than I thought.
“But you flirt with me all the time,” he said, his voice turning angry.
“Excuse me?”
“You totally lead me on!” I had never seen Josh so pissed.
“I’m sorry if you think that; that was never my intention. I totally don’t think I lead you on.”
“You’re a little tease. Nice, Finnegan,” he said, shoving open the door and storming out. I’d never heard my name said with such venom. I followed Josh back into the library. I think everyone could tell my face was pale and Josh looked angry. But as soon as he realized everyone was waiting for his reaction, he tried to put on a show, as if he was Mr. Cool Man, and high-fived Bobby. I was furious, and Sophie could tell something was up.
“Um, Laura, could you help me in the kitchen?” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the room.
We walked down the hall into the kitchen. “So, what happened?” Sophie asked breathlessly. “Did you and Josh finally smooch?”
“Disgusting, Sophie, no. You all know I don’t like him. He is such a dork. Why does everyone try to push us to be a couple?”
“You’re right. You are so above him. You shouldn’t waste your time. We’ll find you someone way better.”
Bittersweet Sixteen Page 11
