“In a minute, Mrs. J,” Portia replied, tapping ash into her empty Diet Pepsi can. “I’m finishing up a discussion with your daughter’s very dearest friend.”
Alexa shot what she hoped was a winning smile at the glowering Mrs. Jacobson—whom Alexa still thought of as “Holly’s mom.” Poor Holly had the massive misfortune of having an assistant principal for a mother, which, Alexa knew, made her life unfun both in and out of school. At that moment, Alexa could see Holly cringing in embarrassment as she watched her mom from across the cafeteria.
Mrs. Jacobson rolled up the sleeves of her crisp striped blouse as if she was considering decking Portia. “Let me say, Portia, that I know you are on the wait list for Colgate. One discussion with their dean could get you rejected so fast your head would spin.”
Nice comeback, Alexa thought, secretly impressed by Mrs. Jacobson’s ballsiness. She knew that comment would rattle Portia; despite her parents’ generous donations, Portia’s college future looked iffy. Even Maeve was more confident about getting accepted to Emory come April. Had Alexa not been so furious, she might have reached across the table to take Portia’s hand for comfort.
But Portia only rolled her eyes and stubbed out the cigarette on the side of her can. “Good to know,” she said. “I’ll just take my activities outside.” She stood, gathering her fur-trimmed vest in her arms.
When Mrs. Jacobson finally turned and stalked away, Alexa felt the tension drift back over the table like a cloud of smoke. She realized that, what with all the cigarette commotion, she hadn’t answered the girls’ question about whether or not they were still her friends.
“Do either of you plan on joining me?” Portia was asking, picking up her clutch.
Deliberately, Alexa lifted her eyes to meet Portia’s. “No,” she replied, after a long moment of silence. “Not at all.” And that, she thought, is my real answer. Knowing that Portia understood what she’d meant, Alexa swallowed, fighting back the sudden, hot sting of tears. She couldn’t stand crying in public.
Portia gave a short nod and swung around to face Maeve. “Are you coming, Maevie?” she demanded.
Maeve glanced from Portia to Alexa, blinking. Alexa unbuckled her satchel and busily dug around for her tube of Laura Mercier lip gloss to indicate she didn’t care whom Maeve chose either way. When she glanced up again, Maeve was standing and wearing her woolen pea coat, and she and Portia were moving away from the table.
“See you, Alexa?” Maeve called tremulously over her shoulder.
“If she ever decides we’re worthy,” Portia said, tugging on Maeve’s arm and shooting daggers back at Alexa. “Let’s go.”
Alexa watched the two of them trot out the back doors into the school yard and sighed. Portia and Maeve were doing their typical exaggeration thing; Alexa knew she would see them again—even hang out with them—once she was back from Paris. But she also knew that their relationship wouldn’t be the same; something irreversible had shifted at that lunch table. Alexa would never feel as tight with the girls as she once had.
Relief sliced through her sadness. In some ways, their fight had been coming for so long that it felt almost liberating to have it out of the way. The only thing Alexa was upset about now was that Portia and Maeve beat her to making a grand exit.
But, really, who cares? she realized. What was some stupid schoolgirl bitch session compared to beautiful, sweeping, unforgettable Paris? As she rose to her feet, cleared off the table, and sauntered toward the trash can, Alexa could feel her old optimism bubbling up inside her. Tomorrow, she wouldn’t even be at school. And tomorrow night, she and Diego would be cuddled close in their Air France seats, sharing mini bottles of champagne and whispering secrets as the sleek airplane zoomed them far, far away from Oakridge.
Heading for the front cafeteria doors, Alexa remembered Holly’s words from before and suddenly felt just that: giddy. She pictured Diego on the plane, his black eyes sparkling, a slow smile spreading across his face as he moved the armrest up to draw Alexa into his lap. She and Diego hadn’t flown together before, but Alexa could imagine him doing something sexy but chivalrous like that. And maybe, when the lights were dimmed and everyone else was asleep, the two of them could indulge in a little beneath-the-airline-blanket action.
Ooh la la indeed.
CHAPTER TWO
Practice Makes Perfect
“I’m going to miss my flight!” Holly Jacobson cried, dashing outside with her duffel bag, her honey-brown hair snapping behind her in the brisk nighttime wind. She raced toward the driveway, ignoring the last-minute warnings—“Don’t forget to call us from the gate!” “Set your clock five hours ahead!” “Don’t speak to strange British men!”—her parents were yelling from the doorstep.
“We’ve got plenty of time,” her boyfriend, Tyler Davis, said, flashing his trademark relaxed grin as he gallantly lifted Holly’s bag and set it in the trunk of his green Audi TT. Holly planted a grateful kiss on his warm, smooth cheek and squeezed his arm.
“But the plane leaves at midnight,” she explained, pushing up the sleeve of her fleece and pressing the GLOW function on her digital wristwatch. It was nine fifteen. “You need to get there at least two hours ahead for international departures,” she added, quoting her track team coach, Ms. Graham. Holly felt a prickle of anxiety; she’d never flown overseas before. And as pumped as she was to be traveling to England with her friends, part of her was insanely nervous about being so far from home for a full week.
Not to mention saying good-bye to Tyler.
“We’re awesome,” Tyler said, opening the passenger side door for Holly. “I can totally make it to Newark by ten if there’s no traffic and—” His amber-brown eyes sparkling with mischief, he dropped his voice to a whisper and checked the house to make sure Holly’s parents couldn’t hear. “I speed.”
Holly grinned, sliding into the car. “Tyler Davis, you will never in a million years break the New Jersey speed limit.”
And that, Holly thought, waving at her parents as she and Tyler backed out of the Jacobsons’ driveway, was why her super-strict mom and dad adored Tyler so much—and had even allowed him to drive her to the airport. Tyler was polite in a 1950s-ish way—bringing flowers whenever the Jacobsons had him to dinner, making sure Holly was safely inside every time he dropped her off after track practice, even (to Holly’s squirming embarrassment) calling her dad “sir” whenever the mood struck him. Holly knew she was beyond lucky to have such a sweet boyfriend, but sometimes Tyler and his “golly gee gosh!” vibe made her want to roll her eyes.
As they turned onto Beech Street and cruised toward the intersection, Holly let out a big breath. That afternoon, as soon as she and her mother had come home from school, Holly had been caught up in a packing-and-advice frenzy; it was a huge relief to leave her parents behind. Tyler pulled to a stop in front of the red light, and Holly turned to look at him, her heart swelling. His chiseled profile and wavy, dark blond hair were illuminated by the moonlight spilling in through the window. Really, was it any wonder the boy had almost appeared in an American Eagle ad?
Sometimes, when she and Tyler were curled up in his bedroom watching TV or running side by side in the park near Holly’s house or even sitting next to each other in calculus class, Holly would glance his way and catch herself thinking: Tyler Davis. Captain of the lacrosse team. Oakridge High hottie. My boyfriend.
Even after a full year together, she still found this fact nearly impossible to believe.
Holly had never been in a relationship before—actually, before Tyler, she’d barely known how to talk to boys. But, despite these moments of incredulous wonder, Holly had discovered she was pretty good at the whole girlfriend thing. Being with Tyler felt as natural to her as breathing; at school, their once-distinct groups of friends had blended easily, forming a formidable sports posse. And outside of school, when it was just the two of them…well, that was even better.
The light hadn’t changed yet, so Holly leaned forward and lightly
traced the line of Tyler’s strong jaw.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Tyler turned, his face breaking into a smile. “Hey,” he whispered back.
At the exact same instant, they leaned in, and kissed.
Holly often wondered why she didn’t simply spend her whole life kissing Tyler. Homework and sports and college applications were meaningless compared to the feel of his soft lips, his warm, cinnamony breath, the gentle touch of his tongue against hers.
“Mmm,” Holly murmured, nestling in as close as her seat belt would allow. Tyler wrapped his arm around her shoulder, eagerly continuing the kiss, until the blare of car horns behind them ruined the moment.
They pulled apart; the light was green, but Tyler didn’t accelerate. “I’m going to miss you so much,” he said softly, his eyes sweeping over Holly’s face.
Holly bit her lip as the car glided forward. “No kidding.”
Tyler was staying in Oakridge over spring break for his do-gooder job at New Jersey Cares, a help-the-homeless organization. The Oakridge High college counselor had encouraged Tyler to sign up at the beginning of senior year, since volunteering always impressed colleges. But, as Holly liked to joke, “Saint Tyler” would have gladly joined such an activity on his own. Besides, he was practically guaranteed admission at his first choice, the University of Michigan, thanks to his skills on the lacrosse field. Holly herself had applied to U Mich—and, at her parents’ urging, nearby Rutgers—among a handful of other schools. Neither she nor Tyler knew where they’d gotten in yet, and wouldn’t find out for another month or so.
College. Spring break. The world seemed to be conspiring to keep her and Tyler apart. With a sigh of longing, Holly rested her hand on Tyler’s knee, feeling the heat of his skin through the khaki fabric. Keeping one hand on the wheel, Tyler reached down and took Holly’s small hand in his much larger one, gently tickling her palm, just the way she liked it. When he spoke, his voice was husky.
“Holly? Do you want to stop somewhere and—”
“Practice?” Holly finished, grinning. Her face flushed.
Tyler nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes on the road. “Practice,” he affirmed.
“Practice” was Holly and Tyler’s secret code word for fooling around. It made sense, Holly reasoned, since the rest of their lives revolved around other, regular kinds of practice, like track and lacrosse.
This, though, was practice for something truly exciting.
When Holly had first started dating Tyler after spring break last year, she’d assumed—based on information she’d read in Seventeen—that he’d start pressuring her to have sex right away. But Tyler had taken things deliciously slow, progressing to new levels on a month-by-month basis: April had been about serious kissing; in May, he’d unbuttoned her shirt for the first time; in June, they’d carefully progressed to the undoing-the-belt-buckle stage. One cool evening in October, Tyler’s parents had miraculously been away at a wedding and Holly’s parents miraculously hadn’t been calling her cell every twenty seconds. They were lying half clothed on Tyler’s bed when Holly, feeling brave and hopeful and terrified, turned in his arms and whispered in his ear the truth that had been nagging at her for a while: She was a virgin.
Holly had actually been cool with her virgin status—before Tyler, she’d hardly given it a second thought—until her best friend, Meghan, passed her a Twist article in Italian class. The article claimed that, apparently, seventeen-year-old virgins were as rare as, say, spotted owls in North America. An endangered species. I am a freak, Holly had decided, feeling horrified and forgetting the fact that Meghan, Jess, and most of her friends fell into that very same category.
But when she’d made her big confession to Tyler, he’d simply pulled her in closer and murmured that he didn’t mind; they could wait as long as she wanted, and he himself had only ever been with one girl, which, when you thought about it, barely even counted.
When Holly thought about it, though, she realized that the one girl Tyler referred to was Alexa St. Laurent. Tyler never spoke about Alexa, but Holly knew that the two of them had dated for most of junior year. Holly had practically grown up with Alexa, and especially since their bonding experience in South Beach last year, thought of her as a semi-sister. Holly was certain that Alexa didn’t care about Tyler anymore. But sometimes the whole tangled web of connections still bothered her.
Tyler had been as good as his word: He never pressured Holly. But that Friday night, as he parked the car on a secluded dead-end street, under a thick canopy of trees, Holly felt a tingling—part desire, part regret—in her belly. She wished that Tyler wouldn’t always be quite so patient. She wished she weren’t flying off to London as a seventeen-year-old endangered-species. It was funny, but in recent months, Holly had been feeling more like the aggressor, while Tyler was the one who held back—as if they’d switched standard boy-girl roles.
True to form, it was Holly who undid her seat belt first and reached for Tyler, drinking in another one of his knee-weakening kisses. Tyler’s hands slid up her sides, over to the zipper on her fleece. Without breaking the kiss, he tugged off Holly’s fleece and her black cotton cardigan until she was wearing only her red tank top. Holly drew back slightly to push Tyler’s jacket off his broad shoulders and pull his hooded sweatshirt over his head, the better to admire his toned body. The windows were already fogged up, and they were only getting started.
His breath hot against her skin, Tyler planted kisses all up Holly’s freckle-dusted collarbone and her neck until his lips reached her ear, which he nibbled on gently. Tyler knew the sensation was one of Holly’s favorites. She sighed appreciatively and twined her arms around his neck, breathing in his crisp, clean scent; no matter how hot and bothered Tyler Davis got, he always smelled like fresh soap. Holly tried to wriggle up against him, but the gearshift made it difficult.
“Let’s go in the back,” Holly whispered, the words slipping out between kisses. Maybe it was the fact that she’d be boarding a plane in an hour and wouldn’t be seeing her boyfriend for a full week, but suddenly Holly felt a growing urgency between herself and Tyler that she’d never known before.
Her body made the decision before her mind could even catch up: Tonight, she didn’t want to simply practice.
Holly Jacobson was ready for the real deal.
“Now?” Tyler asked, catching his breath. His eyes moved to the dashboard clock; it was ten fifteen. “You were worried about being late for your—”
“Screw it. I’ll run to the gate.”
Tyler’s face lit up. “If you say so.” He was reaching for the door handle when Holly touched his arm. He turned back to her, his eyebrows raised.
As butterflies stormed her stomach, Holly took a big, calming breath and inclined her head toward the glove compartment. “Maybe we should…take the box with us?”
The box was a box of condoms that Holly and Tyler had purchased together in November on a completely embarrassing expedition to the CVS in the Galleria. Blushing like crazy, Tyler had grabbed the first container of Trojans he could reach and tossed it to Holly, who sprinted to the counter in record time. As Tyler paid the cashier, Holly stuffed the purchase in a plastic bag and raced it out to Tyler’s car. It was like they’d been participating in an Olympic triathlon. That, however, was the most action the poor Trojans had seen; they now sat, collecting dust, in Tyler’s glove compartment.
Tyler’s brown eyes went round. “Seriously?”
Holly squeezed his hand, her pulse quickening. Unable to speak, she managed a slow nod. Yes.
Before either of them could change their minds, they grabbed the box and retreated to the back. Holly stretched out across the leather seat—she still had to tuck her legs in a bit—while Tyler tried to arrange himself on top of her without hitting his head on the car’s roof. Holly stifled a giggle as Tyler accidentally kicked the side door and muttered “Ouch.” She had to admit this wasn’t the sexiest setup.
Plus, there was something kind of
suburban-tacky about losing your virginity in the backseat of your boyfriend’s Audi.
But whatever. She and Tyler often had to resort to backseat lovin’; there simply weren’t that many places in which to get busy. Whenever they made out in Tyler’s spacious room, with its double bed and framed sports posters on the walls, Tyler’s mom would inevitably call them to dinner; Holly had come to suspect that Mrs. Davis psychically knew the precise moment that Tyler was reaching for the clasp on Holly’s bra. Holly’s house was worse; her narrow twin bed was even less conducive to hookups than a backseat, and what with her brother, Josh, blasting Eminem next door, and her parents not even bothering to knock…impossible.
She and Tyler started kissing, more intensely than before. Soon, Tyler was in his boxers and slowly unbuttoning Holly’s jeans, his warm fingers just shy of hesitant.
This is it, Holly realized. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty, even if the rest of her was burning up. There’s no turning back.
“Oh, Tyler,” she whispered, closing her eyes. She was aching in the most wonderful way. But suddenly Tyler’s touch was hesitant. She felt him pause, one hand floating over her belly. By now, Holly was so attuned to Tyler’s body—she was sure she knew it as well as her own—that she could always sense the slightest change in him. Her eyes flew open.
“What’s wrong?” Holly spoke into his ear. “What is it?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Tyler replied, his face in her neck. But Holly could feel his heartbeat, which had been so wild against hers only a second before, slowing down. Her own anticipation began to deflate. Something was off here.
“It’s the car, right?” she whispered. When she and Tyler had talked about sex before, they’d both agreed they’d want it to happen in a king-size bed, and hopefully in a room with flickering candles and a door that locked.
“Not really,” Tyler said. But then, as Holly’s stomach sank in disbelief, he slowly drew back. He pulled away from her, his head narrowly missing the roof again, until he was sitting all the way up.