To put this all in perspective . . . when the van picked me up twenty minutes earlier, I was taping a note for my father—Gone to the music festival with my friends. Be back late Sunday. A—onto the monitor of his desktop computer: I figured it was the one place where I could be sure he’d see it. That was it for my good-byes.
Oscar’s the last pickup. Once he’s carefully arranged his bag in the back and buckled himself into the empty space next to me, the van driver appears in the open sliding door and asks for our attention. He’s a skinny oldish-to-old guy. “Okay, kids,” he says warily, “we’re all on the same side here. You want a quick, pleasant, easy ride to the desert, and so do I. I am well aware that every one of you is under the age of twenty-one. Do you know what that means?” We can guess, but we just stare at him silently. He seems happy to answer it himself. “That means absolutely no drinking in my van. There’s no smoking either. You all speak English, I presume? Do you need to hear it in any other languages?”
“En Español, por favor?” Eric says jokingly.
The guy turns a steely gaze on him. “You really need me to translate? Or are you just being funny?”
Eric waves his hand. “Nah, man, you’re good.”
The driver rubs his hands briskly and says in a completely different, suddenly cheerful tone, “All righty, then! I’m going to hop up front and start driving. You need to stop for a potty break or anything, you just call my name. I’m Bill. Otherwise I’ll leave you alone, and you can pretend I’m not even here. With any luck and not too much traffic, we’ll be at your hotel before six. Keep your seatbelts fastened, relax, and have a great time!” He steps back and slams the door shut.
“Bipolar much?” whispers Phoebe, who’s in the front row with Eric, but before any of us can reply, Bill reappears at the driver’s door and climbs into his seat. And away we go.
I’ve got my laptop and a DVD of Mean Girls—I’ve seen it a million times, but it just gets better with every viewing, and after Oscar admitted a few days ago that he’d never seen it, I figured this was a chance to educate him and help pass the time. But when I insert it into my laptop, Lucy—who’s sitting on my other side—complains that it’ll be too distracting for her. She’s trying to read through notes for her bio test.
“Switch places with Oscar,” I suggest.
She does, so now he’s sitting in the middle, but after we start the movie, she complains that she can still hear the dialogue.
I get out earbuds, and Oscar and I share them.
Lucy leans over Oscar to complain some more to me. “Why did you have to pick one of my favorite movies? I keep watching it even though I don’t want to. Can’t you guys just do homework like me?”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” I say. “Go sit up front with Phoebe and Eric if you’re unhappy here.”
She grumbles that I’m not being very supportive as she slumps down and leafs through her notebook.
Oscar taps something on his phone and tilts it toward me.
What’s up with her?
I take his phone and quickly type in, Jackson was supposed to come but his coach wouldn’t let him.
“Ah,” says Oscar.
A burst of laughter behind us makes us turn around in our seats. Finn has his phone out and is showing something to Hilary and Lily that’s got them laughing hysterically.
“What’s so funny?” Oscar asks.
Finn holds up his phone so we can see the photo. “Lily thought this was a Chihuahua.”
“I was joking,” Lily says. “But I don’t know what the hell it really is.”
“An anteater?” suggests Oscar.
“I already guessed that,” Hilary says.
Finn shakes his head. “Anna, you want to guess?”
“A capybara,” I say.
He raises his eyebrows. “Give the girl a cigar.”
“Better not,” I say. “Our driver won’t like it.”
“How about an apple?” Lily says, and tosses one to me. She has a bunch of snacks in a bag at her feet.
“I’ve heard of capybaras,” Oscar says. “They’re big rodents. But I didn’t know they looked like that. I assumed they looked like giant mice.”
“How’d you know?” Finn asks me.
“You’ve showed me pictures of capybaras before,” I say. There’s a tiny hole in the fabric at the top of my seat. I stick the tip of my pinkie through it. “You said they were your favorite rodent.”
“I thought I was your favorite rodent,” Lily says to him.
“It’s a tie,” Finn says. But he’s still looking at me. Like a teacher whose failing student just surprised him by getting something right.
I hand Oscar the laptop so he can keep watching the movie. I want to try sketching him while he’s distracted; I’m still determined to prove I can do a decent portrait.
He has beautiful, long-lashed eyes and this great, long, straight nose and I get all that down on paper—look, there’s the nose, there are the lashes, there’s his jawline—but it still doesn’t look like Oscar to me. It doesn’t look like anything other than lines on a piece of paper.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn my head.
“Do me now,” Hilary says.
“I’m not a Disney caricaturist,” I hiss. “I don’t ‘do’ people.”
“Sorry!” She flops back. “Forgive me for liking your drawing.”
I twist around to face her. “Sorry, Hil. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just frustrated. I’m supposed to add a portrait to my portfolio, but I suck at them.”
“I think that’s good,” she says. “It totally looks like Oscar.”
“Show us,” says Lily.
I shake my head and quickly flip the paper over. “Trust me. It’s not good.”
“Why don’t you try sketching all of us?” Finn suggests, looking up from his phone. “Just quickly, without stressing about it? And then if one of the sketches comes out better than the rest, you can polish and use it. If not, no harm done.”
It’s not a bad idea.
“That’s not a bad idea,” I say.
“It’s a great idea,” says Lily. “Do me first.” She strikes a pose, hand on her hip, head tilted back, eyelashes fluttering. She’s dyed the tips of her hair pink for this weekend and is wearing a leather vest that ties up the front like a corset. Today must be Punk Day in LilyLand.
“Okay. But don’t pose. Just be natural.”
“How’s this?” She swivels sideways and snuggles into Finn’s chest. He pushes her away from him.
“Please don’t,” he says. “Your hair’s in my face, and I need to send this text.”
She slumps against the back of her seat and pouts. “Gallantry is dead.”
“Gallantry doesn’t like a mouthful of hair,” he says.
She sits back up, tilts her head so she can grab a hunk of her hair in one hand, and moves back over toward him, then brushes the ends of her hair all over his face, giggling. “How’s this? And this? And this?”
“Ugh!” he says, twisting away and putting up his hands to hold her off. “Stop it, Lily. That’s gross.”
“Welcome to my world,” Hilary says, from his other side. “The second you tell her you don’t like something, she does it more.”
Lily shrugs and sits back. “I just thought if you got a better taste of my hair, you’d appreciate how delicious it is.”
The look Finn gives her is not a pleasant one.
“How about I sketch you first?” I say to Hilary.
“No! Me first!” Lily says. “You promised.”
“No, she didn’t,” Finn says.
“She gave me a promise with her eyes.”
No one laughs. I say, “If you want me to sketch you, Lily, you have to sit quietly for five minutes. Are you sure you can do that?”
“Shut up,” she says. “Why is everyone being mean to me?”
“Because you do things like shove your hair in people’s faces,” Finn says.
“Have a sense of
humor,” she says. She arranges herself in a comfortable sitting position. “Anna, sketch me—I’ll stay like this.”
I nod and arrange myself sideways, my back pressed against the side of the van, the sketch pad propped up on my knees. My toes press against Oscar, and he looks up from the movie and asks me what I’m doing.
“Preparing for my career as a Disney caricaturist.”
“I wonder how that pays,” he says, and goes back to the movie.
I spend the rest of the trip sketching everyone around me. They forget I’m doing it and relax back into staring at their phones or talking, which helps.
I’m not happy with any of the drawings. I’m relieved that no one remembers to ask me about them when the van stops. I don’t want to show them.
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thirteen
A tactical error: the first thing we do at the hotel is troop up to see the suite that Hilary and Lily are going to be sharing with their father, who’s already at the festival. Then the rest of us take the elevator back down to our standard rooms.
The hotel is a concrete rectangle built around a courtyard, but the people who work there wear black uniforms and speak in hushed voices, so it feels kind of fancy once you’re inside. You’d think we’d be happy just to get to stay there for free, and we would have been, but after seeing the twins’ enormous suite with its three bedrooms and two bathrooms and two coffeemakers and one dining room table, our normal hotel rooms (two double beds, a chest of drawers, and a single bathroom in each) are a letdown. The girls have room 351; the guys room 353.
“At least we’re next door to them,” Phoebe says when we walk in.
“I think we actually connect,” I say, because there’s a door on the side of the room that shares a wall with 353, and I can already hear someone pounding on it. Lucy unlocks it, and Eric comes barreling through.
“We have one big room!” he cries out happily. Phoebe squeals, and they throw their arms around each other like it’s been days since they’ve seen each other and not about ten seconds.
“We’re not sharing our bathroom with you guys,” Lucy says. “Boys are pigs.”
“I’m not,” Oscar says, coming in behind Eric.
“Maybe not,” she says. “But you’re still not using our bathroom. Girls need their own bathrooms, and the sooner you all understand that, the better your lives will be.”
“Okay, but what about the sleeping arrangements?” Eric asks hopefully. “We don’t have to separate into boys and girls, do we?”
“Yeah, we do,” says Phoebe. “I promised my mother we’d be sleeping in separate rooms.”
“It’s not like she’d know.”
“I promised her,” Phoebe says again.
Eric scowls, and the rest of us laugh.
“I only promised her we’d sleep in separate rooms,” Phoebe adds, pressing against his side. “I didn’t say anything about when we’re awake.”
His broad face splits into a grin.
“I liked you guys better before you got all lovey-dovey.” Oscar sits down on the edge of one of the beds.
“You’re just jealous,” Phoebe says.
“Yeah.” Oscar rolls his eyes. “Eric’s totally my type.”
“Hey,” Eric protests. “That hurts my feelings. Why aren’t I?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Phoebe says. “And you know it.”
“No,” Lucy says, sitting next to Oscar. “What you meant was that the two of you are in love, and the rest of us are losers.”
“What’s wrong with me?” Eric asks Oscar.
“First of all, I was talking to Oscar, not you,” Phoebe says to Lucy. “And second of all, you know very well I didn’t mean anything like that at all.”
“I just don’t want to spend this entire weekend with you and Eric constantly rubbing our noses in how in love you are,” Lucy says.
“My feelings are hurt,” Eric tells Oscar, who says, “Let it go, man.”
Phoebe’s staring at Lucy. “Are you serious?”
“You’re already doing it,” Lucy says.
“Will you guys excuse us for a moment?” I say. I grab Lucy’s arm and drag her up onto her feet and into the bathroom. I close the door and face her. “I love you, but you’re kind of acting like a crazy person.”
“I was just looking forward to this so much,” Lucy says, and slumps down on the edge of the bathtub. “I pictured me and Jackson lying out on the grass together listening to music, and it was going to be so romantic and magical. And now he’s not here, and it won’t be romantic at all. I’m compromising on my college applications and schoolwork just by being here, and for what? Just to hear some bands with the people I see every day? I don’t even care that much about music.” She plucks at the terrycloth bath mat lying on the edge of the tub next to her. “I wish I hadn’t come.”
“Well, you’re here now, so what’s the point of sulking? Let’s go have fun tonight. If you hate everything about it, I bet your dad would come pick you up tomorrow.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“So what’s the big deal? Either you’ll have a great time and want to stay, or you’ll go home tomorrow. The most you’ll lose is a couple of hours, and who works on Friday night, anyway?” I put my hand on the bathroom knob. “So can you just try to have fun for the next few hours?”
She promises to try, and we leave the bathroom. The guys have disappeared, and the connecting door is closed.
“We’re all getting changed,” Phoebe explains. She’s standing over her suitcase, pulling stuff out. “I sent the twins a text, and they’re going to come down and meet us here. They have wristbands and stuff for us.”
We spend the next twenty minutes putting on our festival outfits. Since it’s already dark out, our goal is to dress warmly and still look good. I put on a pair of satin pants—they’re cut like jeans, but they’re black and shiny and tight—and a fuzzy green sweater that has some swing to it. Phoebe pairs patterned jeans with a silk top and a mannish jacket that she wears with the sleeves partially rolled up. Lucy says she doesn’t see the point of getting all dressed up and throws a cardigan on over her jeans and T-shirt. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, she still ends up looking neat and pretty—I don’t think she’s capable of looking sloppy.
Hilary and Lily show up while we’re putting on makeup and fooling around with our hair. Lily is still wearing the leather corset, but she’s changed from jeans into a short, flippy skirt and cowboy boots. Hilary’s wearing a long, narrow gray sweater over a pair of leggings and low-heeled, soft leather boots that come up over her knees.
“Oh my god,” Phoebe moans when she sees her. “Those boots. I would kill someone for those boots. Several people.”
“I don’t know about people, but she killed at least two cows for them,” I say.
“I did not,” Hilary says.
“Well, someone did.”
“And it was well worth it!” Phoebe says.
“Not to the cows,” I say.
“Did anyone bring condoms?” Lily asks.
There’s a moment of silence.
“Well, there’s a conversation stopper,” Lucy says.
“You planning on needing them?” Hilary asks Lily.
“I just think we should all know where some are,” Lily says. “Semper fidelis, right?”
“Always faithful?” Lucy says. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Be prepared.”
“That’s the Boy Scouts motto. Semper fidelis is the marines.”
“Huh,” Lily says. “You sure about that?”
“Pretty sure.”
Phoebe taps Lily on the arm. “Come with me,” she says coyly, and they disappear into the bathroom together.
“When you think about it,” I say, “‘always faithful’ and ‘be prepared’ imply very different things when you’re talking
about contraception.”
“That’s very deep,” Hilary says. “Maybe you should write about that for your college essay.” She gives a glum nod toward the bathroom door. “So I guess this means she expects to have sex with Finn this weekend.”
Hearing her say it so bluntly makes me breathe in sharply with sudden discomfort. I turn the sound into a cough. And croak out, “You really think they’re there?”
“This will be the turning point,” she says. “We’ll be outside, in the dark, listening to music, people making out all over the place . . . A lot will be happening tonight.”
“Just not to us,” Lucy says, and Hilary and I both give equally miserable nods.
Phoebe and Lily come out of the bathroom smiling. The rest of us leave the room without saying another word.
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fourteen
The twins’ father has sent a limo. Inside there are brackets set into the car walls that Oscar says would normally hold liquor bottles, but not when there are underage kids being picked up.
It’s funny—it’s never really sunk in before how much richer Hil and Lily are than the rest of us. My dad’s a lawyer, and Lucy’s parents are both psychiatrists, and I don’t know what everyone else’s parents do—oh, right, Finn’s are scientists—but basically we’re all fine (more than fine—lucky and privileged), but the Diamonds are on a whole different level. I already knew they had a huge house and, you know, staff, but today the limo and the van and the hotel rooms all make it clear they’re rich beyond anything I realized before. I honestly don’t think I’d feel jealous about that, except that right now Lily is snuggling next to Finn in the limo, and the thought occurs to me that she has everything. And that seems unfair.
The Last Best Kiss Page 14
