Wrong About the Guy

  George said, “It’s about having some strategies.”

  “You always say that,” I told him.

  “Oh, what’s the point.” Heather slumped down in her chair. She was wearing a short full skirt and a tight knit top with puffy sleeves. She looked like a little schoolgirl, and the braids she was wearing only added to the impression. “I’m useless.”

  “That’s the spirit!” I said. “Give up before you’ve tried.”

  “Shut up,” she said. “I’m not smart like you and we both know it.”

  “I’ve just studied more than you have.” That was a total lie. I hadn’t studied at all. I was good at reading comprehension because I read so much as a kid—there wasn’t much else to do in our apartment when I was little. I didn’t have a laptop and we didn’t have cable or satellite TV. But Mom took me to the library every week, so I always had books. We’d curl up together and read for hours. Mom once said that even though she hadn’t gone to college, she could keep up in a conversation with almost anyone who had, because of all the reading she did. “You can do this,” I told Heather. “Just a few more weeks of hard work and we’ll be together for the next four years.”

  “Or you’ll go to different good schools,” George said.

  I shook my head. “We’re going to Elton together.”

  “What other schools are you thinking about?” George asked Heather.

  “I don’t know. . . . My dad went to Steventon College. He wants me to apply there.”

  “Oh, please,” I said. “You can do better than that.”

  “It’s a good school,” George said, an edge to his voice.

  “Whatever. Heather and I are going to get into Elton early decision. I’ve already decided that.”

  “It’s not exactly up to you,” he said.

  I shrugged. The truth was, I had a secret plan: I was going to ask Luke to call the school once we’d submitted our applications. He was Luke Weston; the school would be thrilled to get a call from him and they’d instantly push our applications through—especially if he offered to perform there at some point.

  I knew this would work. He had gone with me on the tour of Coral Tree Prep when I was applying there for ninth grade, and everyone in the admissions and head offices came out to meet him and shake his hand after the tour had ended—and then, of course, I got in. It would be like that all over again.

  But I wanted Heather to believe she could get in all on her own—she needed the self-confidence boost. So I just said, “You can do this. I know you can. But we both need to study hard. Give us another reading passage, George.” Heather and I bent our heads together over the laptop. “Done?” I asked her after a few moments.

  “Not yet,” she said. Then, after a few more minutes: “It just doesn’t make sense.”

  I sat back in my seat, avoiding George’s eyes.

  A while later, Mom and Luke and Jacob came home from a trip to the park. Luke was wearing a baseball cap, dark sunglasses, and nondescript clothing, and it occurred to me that celebrities and thieves dress a lot alike.

  Mom put Jacob on a chair and dropped into another one, flinging out her legs and arms. “Thank God we’re home. All he wanted to do was swing. We tried to get him to play with the other kids in the sand, but he kept screaming and kicking until we put him back on the swing.”

  “At least no one recognized us,” Luke said.

  “You are so oblivious,” she said. “There were two women who wouldn’t stop staring at you and whispering.”

  “They weren’t taking photos of Jake, were they?”

  “Oh, who cares?” she said, and I glanced up at that because I wasn’t used to hearing that bitterness in her voice. What made Mom great—what had made our lives okay even when we lived in a crappy apartment and never had enough money and what had probably made Luke fall in love with her—was that she brought the fun. She laughed easily and saw the bright side of most things and didn’t fret about the future. For someone who looked small and delicate and refined, she had a raucous laugh and a raunchy sense of humor. But now her face was taut with worry and it occurred to me that lately it was like that more often than not. “Photos aren’t the issue here. The issue is that Jacob doesn’t act like the other kids at the park.”

  “He marches to his own beat.” Luke squeezed her shoulder. “That’s good. Being different is good. I was the weird kid in all my high schools, and I haven’t done so badly, have I?”

  “It’s not that kind of different,” she said, shifting away from his touch. “You wore eyeliner and had an earring. He’s not talking. It’s not a fashion choice—he literally can’t talk.”

  “You’re making too big a deal out of this,” Luke said, letting his hand drop by his side. “He wanted to swing and he got what he wanted. More power to him.”

  “It’s not that simple,” she said. “I’m worried.” She appealed to me. “Right, Ellie? You see it, too, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know. Jacob’s a little weird, but he’s just Jacob, you know?” I hated this conversation. I hated that she and Luke weren’t agreeing, and I hated the thought that there could be something wrong with my little brother, and I just wanted her to agree with Luke so I didn’t have to sit there hating those two things.

  Mom’s shoulders sagged like I had disappointed her.

  I glanced around and realized that Heather and George had both retreated to the other side of the kitchen and were quietly talking to each other and giving us some space.

  “Ellie gets it,” Luke said. He moved toward the doorway. “I’m going to go do some work.” He had a small recording studio in the back of the house, lined with a bunch of expensive guitars on stands.

  “Can you put a video on for Jacob in our room first?” Mom asked. “I’ll be right up.” He carried Jacob out. Mom turned to me. “You still okay to babysit tonight?” she asked wearily.

  “Yeah, no problem.” There was a babysitting agency Mom used when I had plans and Lorena wasn’t available, but she preferred one of us to watch him. Jacob didn’t always like strangers, and even though everyone at this agency knew CPR and had advanced degrees and had been handpicked from some heavenly sphere, sometimes Mom would come home after hiring a new babysitter to find Jacob curled up in a corner sobbing inconsolably.

  For a while she just stopped going out at night—“They only really want Luke anyway,” she said—but then Luke’s publicist said he was getting calls from bloggers trying to confirm the rumor that the Westons were getting a divorce because no one had seen them out together lately, and she felt bad. Plus Luke said he really didn’t like going out without her.

  So Mom went back to having a social life, but she begged me and Lorena to babysit as much as possible. I didn’t mind. Heather was usually willing to come over to keep me company, and we were both happy just to watch movies in the screening room and eat popcorn.

  Mom’s phone buzzed and she read the text. “Crap. Roger’s car isn’t starting. He loves that stupid vintage Ford, but it’s always breaking down. He’s supposed to come tonight.” A couple of years ago, Mom saw some bad photos of herself in a tabloid and decided she needed to take her public appearance more seriously, so she started hiring a hair-and-makeup stylist to get her ready before big events. “Oh, wait! George?” she called across the room.

  He came back to the table, trailed by Heather.

  “Could you pick Roger up for me?” she asked. “He doesn’t live that far away. No rush—you can finish up with the girls before you go. I just need him here before six. I’ll pay for your time.”

  “No problem,” George said. “And you don’t have to pay me.”

  “Yes, I do. Don’t argue with me.”

  “Can George pick up some food, too?” I asked. “There’s nothing decent to eat in the house.”

  “Good idea,” Mom said. “Is that okay, George?” He nodded and she said, “What do you want him to get, Ellie?”

  “Maybe some sushi? Oh, and smoothies from Pressed Juicery. An
d ice cream from Sweet Rose.”

  She waved her hand. “Just get whatever Ellie wants. Within reason. I’ll text you Roger’s address.” She got up and left the kitchen.

  “Um, Heather?” I cocked my head at her. “What was that my mother just said? Something about how George should get me whatever I want?” I smiled sweetly at him. “I think I may have a hankering for a lot of different foods from some very far places.”

  “She said, Within reason,” he pointed out. “I’ll go to three places, max, and they have to be within a two-mile radius of one another.”

  I pouted. “You make a really bad errand boy.”

  “I’m okay with that,” he said.

  Once we’d made the list, George successfully hunted-and-gathered everything—sushi from Sugarfish, drinks from Pressed Juicery, and ice cream from Sweet Rose Creamery. He also picked up Roger, who tore upstairs clutching his hair and makeup toolkits like he was a fireman entering a blazing house. He was a tall, ridiculously thin guy with bleached-blond hair parted on the side and combed flat against his head. He wore eyeliner and had three piercings in his left eyebrow and dressed in tight pants with loose tank tops, and was—according to Mom—a total “genius” with hair and makeup.

  George entered at a more normal pace, carting the take-out bags.

  “Food!” I jumped up and helped him get it all on the counter.

  The intercom beeped and Mom’s disembodied voice said, “Ellie, can you ask George if he can stick around and drive Roger home in an hour or so? We’ll pay him for his time, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said to George.

  “I can stay,” he shouted at the intercom as he dumped the bags on the counter.

  “It works better if you push the speak button.” I pointed at the monitor.

  “Right.” He went over and touched the screen and repeated his response.

  My phone vibrated on the table. Heather was sitting nearby and glanced down at it. “It’s from Aaron. He says he can’t come tonight and he’s sorry.” She looked up. “I thought I was going to help you babysit tonight.”

  “You are. I invited him over so you guys could finally meet. But I guess it’s not going to happen.”

  George headed toward the hallway. “I’m going to Starbucks,” he said.

  “Why not just make a cup here?”

  “I want to get some work done. Tell Roger to text me when he’s ready to go, and I’ll come back and grab him. If I don’t see you when I get back, don’t forget to work through the pages I gave you before Wednesday.”

  “George, George,” I chided him gently. “When have I ever once done the homework you wanted me to?”

  “Never.”

  “Then why do you foolishly persist in thinking that I will?”

  “I know there’s a responsible person in there somewhere. I’m just waiting to meet her.” He slipped out the doorway.

  “You wouldn’t like her,” I called after him. “She’s boring.”

  “I like boring,” he called back, and kept going.

  “Of course you do,” I said, but he was already gone.

  twelve

  Heather’s mother called around seven and said, “Don’t you have a Spanish quiz tomorrow?” and Heather said she did, but it wasn’t a big deal, and her mother said that she would like Heather to come home and study. So she left, apologizing profusely for abandoning me.

  But I was fine. I read a book while Jacob watched TV and then I put him to bed. The thing about Jacob was that so long as you didn’t change his routine, he was super easy to babysit. I read the five picture books he loved in the exact same order that Mom always read them in, and he curled up after the last one and let me leave without a single complaint.

  I crept out of his room, went to my own, and changed into sweatpants and a soft old Dire Straits T-shirt that had been Luke’s when he was a teenager, then got into bed with my laptop; I decided I would do some of the homework that George had assigned me. He expected me not to do it, and I liked to be unpredictable.

  But first I had to check my email. And then my Tumblr, Instagram, and Twitter feeds.

  Riley had posted a link to a music video on her Tumblr page, so I watched that, and that reminded me there was another music video I’d been wanting to see, then I clicked on a link to another video . . . and that led me to some others. . . .

  It was past ten when the wall monitor beeped: someone was at the front gate. I touched the screen and said, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Aaron. I was texting you but you didn’t answer—I’m right outside.”

  “Cool! Come on in.” I hit the gate button and ran downstairs. I opened the front door just as a minivan came crunching through the gravel in front of the house. We had a pretty long driveway: Mom and Luke had deliberately chosen a house that was set far back behind high gates to keep paparazzi from getting any shots from the street.

  “Hi!” I called out as Aaron swung his car door open. I was happy to see him, even if it was late and I had already gotten ready for bed.

  He looked much more elegant than I did. He was wearing slim black pants and a V-neck sweater over a collared shirt. “Hello!” He ran up the steps and kissed me on the cheek. “Look at how adorable you are. I didn’t know you were a Dire Straits fan.”

  “I’m a huge fan—of this very soft T-shirt. You’re coming in, right? Luke and Mom are still out, so you’re stuck with just me.”

  “Exactly who I wanted to see. Sorry about ditching you earlier.”

  “No worries. What happened?”

  He followed me into the house and down the hallway into the kitchen. “My father was working late and he gave me this whole guilt trip about keeping Crystal and Mia company. As if either of them cares. So . . . awkward evening trying to make conversation with the ice queen.” He sighed. “Family duty. It’s a bitch.”

  “Want a cup of tea? Or something to eat?”

  He sat down at the table. “Tea sounds good.”

  I spun the coffee pod Christmas tree so I could see what kinds we had. “Chamomile okay?”

  “Whatever. It’s all disgusting as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Then why do you want some?”

  “I just like seeing you bustle around the kitchen. You’re so cute when you’re domestic.”

  I smiled at him sweetly as I gave him the finger.

  “Ah, a feminist,” he said jovially.

  “Don’t you forget it.” I put in a chamomile pod for him. “What did you do for dinner?”

  “Crystal’s never cooked a meal in her life, so she dragged me out to some fancy Beverly Hills steakhouse, where she paid seventy-five dollars for a plate of food she only pretended to eat.” He glanced around. “So why are you home alone? I’d have thought you’d be out doing something spectacular.”

  “Nah,” I said. “I got invited to a birthday party, but—” I shrugged.

  “Not interested?”

  “I barely know the kid. He only invited me because I’m Luke Weston’s stepdaughter. You know what I mean?”

  “Are you kidding?” Aaron said. “People wanting to get close to you because your father’s famous? That’s like my middle name. Like last summer—this older girl in my film program made this ridiculous pass at me. She showed up in my room wearing a coat with nothing on underneath. I’m sure she’d seen it in a movie.”

  “Or twenty.”

  “Exactly. Total cliché. Anyway, somehow I got her to sit down and just talk to me—and of course it turns out that she’s a budding songwriter who’s wondering if she can make it worth my while to pass her CD on to my father.”

  “Seriously?” I said. “Were you tempted?”

  “Nah,” he said. “A naked girl in my room does nothing for me.”

  “Why not?” I picked up the mug of tea and turned to look at him. “Oh, wait—are you gay?” I hadn’t gotten the vibe . . . but he was awfully good-looking and he dressed well. It kind of made sense.

  “No, just a liar,” h
e said cheerfully. “I like naked girls in my room.”

  “Oh. So did you really send her away?”

  “We talked for a while. . . . She left on her own but it was all friendly. My point is, I know what it’s like to have people look at you and only see a stepping-stone to your famous father. The trick is to use that to your advantage.” He grinned at me. “There are perks.”

  “Yeah, I know. No one’s going to be playing the tragedy violin for either of us.” I brought the tea over to him. “What’s it like at your school? Are kids all over you?”

  “Here they are. In New York, it was less of an issue. People are cooler in New York. So far, I’m not impressed with the kids at Fenwick anyway. I’m only here for the one year, so I’m not looking to make a ton of friends.” He tilted his head at me. “I have you, right?”

  “Definitely.” We were interrupted by the sound of the garage door, followed by the appearance of Mom and Luke.

  There’s always something a little less polished and put-together about people coming home from a party than when they leave for one. The twist in Mom’s hair was maybe just a little less tight and her dress was the slightest bit crumpled and Luke’s sweater had a pull or two in it—maybe that’s why it was clear that they were at the end of an evening and not at the beginning of one. Or maybe it was the way Mom’s face was tinged pink and she was walking too carefully but not quite straight, despite Luke’s guiding arm.

  “I was wondering whose car that was,” Luke said as he steered Mom into the kitchen. He released her so he could shake hands with Aaron. “This is a nice surprise.”

  “I just dropped by for a quick visit,” Aaron said. “Hope it’s okay that it’s so late.”

  “Of course!” Luke nudged Mom with an annoyingly meaningful glance at me and Aaron. “Come on, Cassie. They don’t need us here.”

  “Oh, okay.” She took a sudden step back, right onto Luke’s foot. He steadied her.