Lost in Love

  Logan comes over in his underwear. He looks down below us. “Where?”

  “Orange shirt!” I wave back. He takes a picture of me in the hotel window high above him. I try to imagine how we look to everyone down there. Leaning against the glass of our floor-to-ceiling windows. With the curtains pulled all the way open. Wearing nothing except underwear. When I was on the High Line a few nights ago with Sadie and Rosanna, I looked up at the tall lit windows of the Standard as we walked under it. Sadie was talking about the unique building design of how the Standard straddles the High Line. I was only half listening. I was too busy looking up at the windows and noticing a couple kissing in one of them.

  When I told Logan about that couple, he said the Standard is famous for people having sex in the windows. It was like a thing when the hotel first opened. Now the hotel staff apparently knocks on your door if you’re being too frisky with the PDA.

  We’ll take our chances.

  Logan moves behind me so we’re both facing the window. He lifts my arms up, then presses his hands behind mine against the glass. I don’t care if anyone comes knocking on our door. I almost hope they do. That would be badass.

  Summer Fun Darcy is loving this. She doesn’t care who sees. But when a little kid holding hands with a lady who’s probably his mom points up at us, I step back from the window. Damaging little kids for life is not my idea of fun times.

  “What, are you suddenly shy?” Logan says.

  “Not shy. Just over the voyeurs.”

  “But we still have some clothes on.”

  I close the curtains so only a thin strip of bright light shows between them. A sliver of light washes over Logan, gilding him like something supernatural. Something from another world where good girls break bad and bad boys get away with whatever they want.

  “That’s about to change,” I say.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ROSANNA

  I COULD SERIOUSLY LIVE ON Donovan Clark’s roofdeck. Colorful flowers are growing in big stone planters placed all over the roof. The whole roof is landscaped into different sections. There’s a section with tables and grills where you can have dinner parties. The northern wall is designed for you to enjoy the view, which is ridiculous. You can see all of Manhattan. I’ve taken over the lounge chair area. It’s perfect for laying out on a sunny Sunday morning like this.

  This morning didn’t start out as relaxing. D took me running along his route in Hudson River Park. He likes to start his day by running. We’re both morning people, so I like the idea of that. I respect how he starts his day in such a healthy way. In South Beach, I told him I want to get more into fitness. I did not say that I can’t afford to eat as many fresh vegetables as I want. Or that running is a good option for me since it’s free and easy. I mean . . . I thought it would be easy.

  D said I should run with him a couple mornings a week. We started today. All it took was three minutes of running for my chest to feel like it was about to explode. I was bent over trying to catch my breath on the sidelines, begging D to slow down. We’ll have to work up to getting me in good enough shape to run with him like a normal person. I really want to get good enough to run with him.

  Having a fitness partner increases your chances of sticking to a new routine. D is the only person I know here who’s into working out. I know I would be way more motivated to get into a workout routine with him. Sadie doesn’t like the gym. She thinks the classes are too crowded and the machines are too boring. Sometimes she does outdoor activities like badminton and swimming, but I’m not into either of those. Darcy was a hardcore backpacker last year, but that was just so she could explore Europe within the budget her parents agreed to. She’s not the workout type, either. She’s so lucky to have a naturally athletic physique. Darcy has that tight, toned look I would give anything for. Anything except being spoiled on D’s gorgeous roofdeck.

  The bottom half of my beach towel slides off the lounge chair as I flip onto my stomach. I reach down to pull it back up. But D is already leaning over from his lounge chair next to mine to fix my towel. Well, his towel. Because of course D has a huge basket of rolled beach towels on the floor of his guest bathroom. There are also classy bath amenities in silver trays on a glass shelf above the sink. He brings those samples back from hotels he stays at on family vacations. I recognized the Bliss body butter samples from whichever W Hotel he stayed at. Sadie’s mom is a concierge at the Times Square W. She’s always giving Sadie Bliss body butter samples. You can find like five of them at any given time in Sadie’s ginormous bag.

  Speaking of bliss. This is it. Our secluded summertime spot high above the greatest city in the world. We’re having the best time, relaxing and remembering highlights of our South Beach vacay and geeking out over obscurity that isn’t on most people’s radars.

  “Did you see the one with the clock?” D asks.

  “And they think it’s a person?”

  “Yeah, because it has—”

  “—a face and hands!”

  “Classic.”

  “Or the one with the phone.”

  “Earth book!” D does another imitation of the Yip-Yip Martians from Sesame Street. He sticks out his lower lip and pushes it up. He makes his eyes pop. He goes, “Yip yip yip yip! Nooope nope nope nope nope! Earth booook! Book book book!”

  I laugh so hard I have to flip back over so I can breathe. A guy listening to music with earbuds a few chairs away is the only other person laying out. He gives us an odd look. Maybe he’s jealous that he’s not up here having fun with someone. Or maybe he can tell we are total dorks. I didn’t even know D had a dorky side until recently. D said he only lets it show with his closest friends. I guess he feels safe enough with me now that he knows I’m going to geek out along with him instead of running in the other direction.

  This sundeck area is never crowded. How are more people not taking advantage of it? If I lived in this building, I would be up here all the time. D says a lot of people go away for the summer. Or they go down the shore or out to the Hamptons on weekends. He says August is a ghost town in Tribeca. That’s so weird. I mean, I get that this is one of the most expensive neighborhoods to live in. People who live in Tribeca generally can afford to go away for the summer. But if I lived in this beautiful building in this beautiful neighborhood, why would I want to go anywhere else?

  “That’s what we should be for Halloween,” D says.

  “What?”

  “The Yip-Yips.”

  “Yes.”

  “Except no one would be able to tell it was us.”

  “We would know it’s us. That’s all that matters.” I refrain from freaking out that he is planning ahead to October. Meaning he thinks we will still be together three months from now. Meaning I’m not the only one who sees the potential of our relationship.

  D takes off his sunglasses. He polishes them on the edge of his beach towel. “Have you heard of the Halloween Parade?”

  “No.”

  “It’s fantastic. You see the most creative costumes. Huge crowds come out to watch. It’s on the news and everything.” D puts his sunglasses back on. He looks at me. “We should walk in it this year. You want to?”

  “Anyone can walk?”

  “Anyone in a costume.”

  “That would be fabulous.”

  “Okay then. We’re walking.” D leans back on his chair so our faces are inches apart. He rests his hand on my chair to hold my hand. “I like making plans with you.”

  When D says things like that, things about our future together, it makes me happier than I’ve ever been in my life. He doesn’t just hint or imply that he wants to stay with me. He comes right out and says it like the confident, secure man he is.

  “I’m proud of you,” he says.

  “For what?”

  “For being exactly who you are. For following your dreams. For moving here even though it was scary. You’re like, ‘This is what I want to do and I’m doing it. End of story.’”

  As if that?
??s anywhere near the end of the story. If only he knew the whole truth. I can’t just decide to do something and then do it. Everything I want to do, every choice I make, is determined by my limited resources. The harsh reality of my life is something D would never understand. Conquering the world is a lot easier when you can afford to make it happen.

  A puffy white cloud drifts over the sun. The bright glare on my skin fades. It feels good to get some relief from the intense rays.

  “Trust me,” I say. “If I can do this, anyone can.”

  “You’re wrong. Most people aren’t as determined as you. Or passionate about what they’re doing. They don’t base their career choices on helping other people or spend time volunteering. They just go along with whatever’s easiest. Or whatever will make them the most money.”

  “Cynical much?”

  “Realistic. I see it every day. Been seeing it for years with my dad’s crowd.”

  “But isn’t that . . .”

  “What?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  “No. What were you going to say?”

  “Isn’t that kind of what you’re doing? Choosing a career that will make you rich?” I don’t add that he’s already rich. He could choose a career in community service and not have to worry about scraping by. He could have the best of both worlds.

  D sits up, swinging his legs into the space between our lounge chairs. My stomach lurches in alarm when I think he’s going to get up and stomp away. Why did I have to go and say that? Why am I constantly saying stupid things I know I’ll never be able to take back? Someone should really install a filter in my mouth. But D isn’t mad.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I am. But investment banking is something I want to do. Not just something I’ll make a lot of money doing. It’s not social work, but it’s a way of making other people’s lives better. There is value in protecting wealth for families and their future generations. And it’s something I know I’ll be good at.” He scoots across the gap between us to sit on the side of my chair. He turns to face me, reaching out to gently tuck a wisp of hair behind my ear. “You make me feel lacking.”

  “I’m sorry. I know we keep talking about this—”

  “Not lacking in a bad way. Lacking like . . . like I have to work harder to measure up to you. You’re such an amazing person, Rosanna. I want to be you when I grow up.”

  I scoff, brushing off his compliment. Donovan Clark is already a grownup and he’s still in college. Even though I’m scoffing on the outside, I’m all warm and tingly on the inside. I love when we have conversations like these. I love it when D opens up to me. He’s not afraid to tell me how he’s feeling or to talk about what really matters. I twine my fingers through his, smiling up at him, feeling closer to him than ever.

  Then his phone rings.

  He picks up his shorts from under the lounge chair. He takes his phone out of the pocket. I’m thinking that he wouldn’t dare break our magic spell by letting someone crash this moment. He has to feel it, too.

  But he answers the call.

  “Hey.”

  Pause.

  “Whoa, slow down. What happened?”

  Pause.

  “When?”

  Pause.

  “Are you okay?”

  Pause.

  “How bad is it?”

  Pause.

  “Did you call your mom?”

  Pause.

  “Don’t move. I’m coming to get you.” D hangs up. “I have to go,” he tells me. He starts gathering his things.

  And just like that, our magic spell is broken.

  “Who was it?” I ask.

  “Shayla.”

  I wait for D to explain. He doesn’t. He just pulls on his shirt.

  “What did she want?” I ask.

  “It’s an emergency. She hurt herself and needs to get to the clinic.”

  “Which clinic?”

  “There’s a twenty-four-hour health clinic near her place. But it’s too far for her to walk. She’s messed up.”

  “What happened?”

  D puts on his flip-flops. Ever since he answered Shayla’s call, he’s been doing this thing where he won’t look at me. His open door closed when he answered her call. I was feeling more connected to him than ever. Now he’s acting like a stranger.

  “She fell,” he said. “She got wasted last night. She was walking home in heels and she fell right on the sidewalk. Scraped up her face pretty bad. There was blood all over her pillow when she woke up. She might need stitches.”

  “Why didn’t she go to the clinic last night?”

  “I guess she didn’t know how bad it was. She passed out as soon as she got home.”

  “So is it . . . I mean, you’re going over there?”

  “Yeah, I’ll get her to the clinic.”

  “Walking?”

  “No, I’ll take her in a cab.”

  “She can’t put herself in a cab?”

  D sighs. “She left her wallet at a friend’s last night. She has no way to pay for a cab.”

  “Why is she calling you? There’s no one else who can take her?”

  “She called her mom and a few friends. No one’s around.”

  That sounds highly suspect. Out of everyone she knows, there’s no one besides D who can ride with her in a cab? The whole thing sounds like an excuse to make D come running to her rescue. Why doesn’t he see that?

  He is the one who broke our magic spell. He is the one who’s about to leave me. Yet he is the one who’s mad.

  “Shayla is a person in need,” D says. “I’m going to help her. You’d be first in line to help someone in need. How can you be mad at me for doing the exact same thing you would do?”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Why not?”

  He knows why not. There is something between him and Shayla that’s more than friendship. More than history. He knows and he knows I know he knows.

  D gets up and snatches his towel off the lounge chair. “I’m sorry for whatever I did to upset you. But I don’t think I’m doing anything wrong.”

  Shayla is clearly manipulating D. But he’s too caught up in her to see clearly. The jealous, insecure part of me wouldn’t be surprised if Shayla hurt herself on purpose just to get D to spend the day with her instead of me. It wouldn’t be the first time a girl whipped up major drama to get a boy’s attention.

  “I’ll be back soon,” D says. He leaves without kissing me.

  The roofdeck has lost its luster. Instead of feeling like I’m on top of the world, I feel so low I can’t even enjoy being up here. I’m torn between staying and going. Would D even care if I were gone when he got back? What if Shayla makes him stay with her at the clinic and take her home after? And stay with her some more? He might not be back until tonight.

  Is this who D is? Someone who would leave me for another girl and feel completely justified doing it? Or is this more about me?

  My stomach churns as jealousy eats away at me. It hits me yet again that I am not the best version of myself I was supposed to be when I moved here. I am not Shiny New Rosanna.

  I desperately want to be her. I just don’t know how.

  Did I really think I could move to New York and my past would disappear? That I could run away from what happened and never look back? How could I have been so stupid? Trust issues don’t go away on their own. Feeling unworthy, like I don’t deserve D, like I don’t deserve to be loved . . . I could end up sabotaging our relationship before it even has a chance to get serious. There will be no Halloween costumes or holiday dinners or New Year’s celebrations if I don’t stop acting like a freak. There won’t be anything unless I stop.

  It might be time to get help.

  The guy who was giving us an odd look cuts his eyes away when I catch him watching me. If he was jealous of us before, he definitely isn’t anymore.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  SADIE

  HERE’S ANOTHER REASON WHY I’M not Team Logan: He?
??s not taking Darcy out for her birthday. Darcy says it’s because he took her to the Standard to celebrate. But that was two days ago. What I don’t get is how the Standard prevents him from seeing her tonight. On her actual birthday.

  And what’s up with Darcy not even telling me or Rosanna that it’s her birthday? We would have totally planned something. Rosanna wasn’t home to back me up when I found out. I had to advocate for both of us.

  “No worries,” Darcy said. “I’m not a big birthday person.”

  Somehow I found that hard to believe. “But it’s your birthday. You’re supposed to get all the attention on your birthday.”

  “I wasn’t even going to tell you it’s my birthday. You only know because you heard my mom singing over the phone.”

  I was sitting next to her on the couch when she picked up the call from her mom. The falsetto was so piercing I’m surprised the windows didn’t crack. Whether I found out about her birthday from Darcy telling me or overhearing her mom is irrelevant. Today was Darcy’s birthday and there was no way we weren’t celebrating.

  Darcy kept insisting she wasn’t a big birthday person.

  I kept insisting we needed to celebrate.

  Of course she caved. The real Darcy is all about spontaneous fun.

  “Fine,” she relented. “You win. But nothing big. No birthday cake or anything. Let’s just explore and see where the night takes us. Low-key activities only.”

  “Yay! Let’s get ready and I’ll meet you back out here. And I’ll call—oh, wait. We can’t call her.” I left a note on Rosanna’s pillow telling her to call me if she wanted to come out with us.

  I’m not sure why Darcy wants to keep her birthday low-key, but I could tell she was serious about that. So my birthday present to her will be showing her my New York. The real New York I’ve been in love with my whole life that she’s just starting to know.

  First I take Darcy to Eisenberg’s Sandwich Shop on 5th Avenue. This place has been here since 1929. It’s an old-school lunch counter with lightning fast service. The cooks behind the counter shout orders at each other while the bustling energy of New York City undulates all around you. I love places like this. Places with character and history that make you feel like you’re part of something monumental. That you were there.