The Last Best Kiss

  Rows of small lights—colored dashes—outline the limo’s windows and doorways, blinking and changing colors, pink to blue to violet to green. They’re mesmerizing, and I’m gazing at them in a dazed trance for a while before I realize everyone else is watching me.

  “They’re pretty,” I say defensively, and everyone laughs.

  Hilary pulls out a schedule for the festival and starts to plan our evening.

  “There are three stages,” she begins. “North, South, and Galaxy.”

  “That’s all?” says Oscar. “There are like seven stages at Coachella.”

  “I’m so sorry this isn’t as big as Coachella,” Hilary says icily. “Would you like the limo to drop you off right now, so you don’t have to suffer any longer?”

  “Whoa!” he says. “I’ve been stabbed by the sarcasm sword.”

  She scowls at him. “I just don’t want to hear the word Coachella again this weekend, okay? This is its own thing and it’s its first year and it has to build and sometimes things are better when they’re smaller and everyone says Coachella isn’t what it used to be, anyway, and this will probably be bigger and better than Coachella one day.”

  “You just said Coachella like three times,” Lucy points out to her.

  “You also aren’t making sense,” Lily adds. “I mean, you said it’s better when festivals are smaller, but you also said this will be bigger than Coachella.”

  “You know, he’s your father too,” Hilary says hotly. “You act like this festival doesn’t mean anything to you.”

  “Are you kidding?” Lily says. “I’m thrilled to be here. I’m beside myself with joy.”

  “She’s so happy, her hair turned pink,” Finn adds.

  “It’s Kool-Aid!” she tells him happily.

  “Excellent,” he says, playing with the strands. He seems to have gotten over his earlier annoyance about having that hair in his face. “If we start dying of thirst, we can dip your hair in water and drink it.”

  “If you have water to put the Kool-Aid in, why couldn’t you just drink that?” Eric asks.

  “Hold on,” Hilary says, looking up. “How did you get it so bright if it’s only Kool-Aid? That doesn’t work on dark hair.”

  “I bleached the ends,” Lily says.

  “You told Mom it was temporary!”

  “The color’s temporary. Just not the bleaching.”

  “She’s going to be pissed.”

  “When isn’t Mom pissed?”

  “Good point,” says Hilary. “Now can we please focus on tonight?” She goes on to list the three bands that will be playing right around the time we get there, and we all agree that we want to see the one playing the North Stage. They have a hit single on the radio right now.

  “Okay, then there’s no one good for like an hour or so,” Hilary says, peering at the schedule. “That’s when we should get something to eat. Dad said the food at the stands is pretty bad, and we should come join him in the VIP section—he has a chef cooking just for him and his friends. After that we should see Rock Basic at the South Stage and then—”

  “You know,” Lily says, “we don’t have to have every single minute of this weekend planned out in advance. We could try to be a tiny bit spontaneous. Or does that make you feel all funny inside?”

  Hilary throws the schedule at her, but it falls short. Lucy picks it up and hands it to Hilary, who throws it at Lily again, but Finn blocks it with his forearm. Protecting her.

  “Look,” he says quickly, before anything else can get thrown. He points toward the window. “We’re here.”

  We all press our faces to the glass as the limo drives us past the security lines at the entrance. They’re pretty long, and I ask Hilary if the festival’s sold out and she says not quite but close. “Next year it will be impossible to get a ticket,” she says. “You’ll see.”

  The limo circles around the edge of the festival grounds to the back, where it drives through a private VIP entrance. A couple of security guards stop us, check the driver’s ID, glance into the back to check our wristbands, then wave us through. The driver lets us out soon after that. The girls and boys have to separate into different lines, because we still have to go through a metal detector and have our bags checked and get frisked. The girls’ line is staffed by female security guards, and the guys get males. It’s much less crowded here than it was at the general entrance, and the guards are polite and unrushed.

  One of them pulls a water bottle out of Phoebe’s hippie-style bag. “If I take a sip of your water,” the middle-aged guard asks jovially, “will I get a surprise?” Phoebe manages a feeble shake of her head but without a lot of conviction.

  “Your call,” says the guard, dangling the bottle from her fingertips. “I can take a sniff or just toss it.” Phoebe’s mouth opens and closes silently. “Let’s toss it, shall we?” the guard says, and drops it in a wastebasket before waving Phoebe on.

  “What was it?” I whisper to her, once we’ve gotten through the line.

  “Twenty bucks worth of vodka,” she moans.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t get thrown out.”

  Oscar retrieves his backpack from the table and joins us where we’re waiting to regroup. “That was the most sex I’ve had in months,” he says, nodding toward the businesslike guard who frisked him and who is now quickly and efficiently patting down Eric.

  “You really need to get out more,” I say. “And also? Me too.”

  Once everyone’s safely through, we explore the VIP area for a little while. It’s completely dark out now, but the space is well-lit. There are tents and tables scattered all over a wide grass field, with a line of food stands and open bars at one end. Hilary forbids us to buy any food, because she says we’ll be eating in an hour, anyway, and that food will be free and much better. Lily tries to score a drink at one of the bars, but the hot, tattooed bartender shakes his head at her wristband and shrugs regretfully.

  “The red bands mean we’re underage,” Lily says when she rejoins us. “And he says they’ll be fired if anyone sees them slipping us booze. I’ll just have to find someone with a blue band to buy me a drink.”

  “Please don’t get us all in trouble,” Hilary says.

  Lily opens her eyes wide. “I would never . . . !”

  “Lily is trouble,” Finn says with a grin.

  She winds her arm through his and pulls him close. “You are going to know the true meaning of that statement before this weekend is through, I promise you.”

  “I can’t wait,” he says.

  That’s funny. I can.

  * * *

  We emerge through another set of security gates onto the actual festival field, which is wide and uneven. Two stages mark the north and south ends of the field, with the larger Galaxy Stage about equidistant between them, on the eastern side. They’re all outdoor stages with no tenting. I’m glad it isn’t supposed to rain this weekend.

  We head toward the North Stage, snaking our way through groups of other people, most of them around our age. When we reach the stage, we decide to sit on the grass way in the back—it’s crowded up front, but the speakers are loud, and we can hear just fine from far away, and we’re all in the mood to relax.

  I lean against Oscar and close my eyes and let the music throb through me for a while. When I open my eyes again, the first thing I see is Lily up on her feet, dancing, swaying her bare arms up in the air in time to the music. A guy walking by—shirtless with sagging pants that reveal skinny hips—calls out, “Go, leather dancing girl!” and she gives him a thumbs-up and flashes a grin at all of us.

  Phoebe and Eric curl up together and start kissing. They’re not alone. A lot of the people who have chosen to sit this far from the stage are couples who are making out.

  “I feel left out,” says Lucy, who has crawled over to sit with me and Oscar. “Where’s my hookup buddy?”

  “I’m willing to service you both in any way that will help,” Oscar says gallantly.

  “E
ven though we don’t have penises?” I say.

  “I’ll make do. I’m a good friend.”

  There’s no encore—“That’s because they need to stick to the schedule,” Hilary informs us—so we all get up and make our way across the field, back to the VIP area, so we can eat with the twins’ father.

  Dinner’s incredible. It’s in a tent that’s been decorated inside and out with slender branches of sparkling lights. Over the entrance the lights spell out Star Bar.

  “This is the place,” Hilary says, and leads us inside.

  I’ve seen the twins’ father before, at school functions and stuff like that, but all I’ve retained from those brief encounters was the impression of a baseball cap, a fit physique, jeans, and a T-shirt. Oh, and black glasses.

  My memory’s accurate. When we walk into the tent, which is lit unevenly by standing lamps in each corner that create strange shadows on all the faces, the figure that detaches itself to greet us is slim and wearing jeans, a T-shirt, a baseball cap, and glasses.

  “There you are!” says Mr. Diamond. He gives his girls quick kisses on the cheeks. “What the hell are you wearing?” he asks Lily.

  “Leather corset,” she says calmly.

  He shrugs. “Cool.” He turns to the rest of us. “You guys know me, right? Hil and Lil’s dad. Hope you’re having a great time.” The light falls more directly on his face, and for a brief moment, you can see that the guy is solidly in his fifties; there are lines around his eyes that the glasses can’t hide and gray glints in his face stubble. Then he shifts, and his face falls in shadow and he could be our age.

  We all tell him how happy we are to be there and thank him for his generosity. He waves his hand dismissively. “All I ask is that you talk it up afterward. Tell your friends it was the best weekend of your lives and that they should buy tickets for next year as soon as they go on sale. Will you do that for me?” We all say that we will, and he says, “Help yourself to the food, guys. There’s soda too.” He turns back to his daughters. “I’ll see you two in the suite tonight. I want you back no later than one. Which means in the limo by twelve forty-five. Understood?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” says Lily with an angelic blink of her beautiful dark eyes. He turns back to his adult guests.

  The buffet is laid out on a long table that runs half the length of the tent. It is, according to a sign, both vegan and organic, but despite that, it’s pretty good. I especially like the kale chips they’ve put out in bowls around the room. They’re crunchy and salty, and I keep eating them. “These demand alcohol,” says Lily, who’s dipping into the bowl as much as I am.

  “Why isn’t your mother here?” I ask. I’ve seen their mother only once or twice, but I remember her as being incredibly hip, with a youthful body and a shaggy rocker haircut. She was born in Korea, and her father’s a dentist, but she gives off a vibe that’s pure Hollywood.

  Lily shrugs. “She never goes to Dad’s work parties. That’s why Hil and I get to go to all the awards shows. Basically Mom and Dad don’t do anything together unless they can’t help it. I think they kind of hate each other.”

  “But they’re still married,” I point out. “So they can’t hate each other as much as my parents do.”

  “You are so competitive,” she says, and we laugh.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  fifteen

  After dinner we decide to split up. Phoebe, Eric, Oscar, and Hilary want to see the band that’s about to play on the Galaxy Stage, but the rest of us want to check out the two smaller bands on the other stages—one’s from Ireland and has a loud, raucous rock thing going on, and the other’s got a country vibe and a fiddler.

  We all agree to meet up at the North Stage in an hour, so our group decides to start at the South Stage and then head up to catch the second half of the other band’s act.

  On our way Lily threads her arm through Finn’s. “Let’s push all the way to the front this time,” she says to him. “I want to be close enough to smell them.”

  As they move ahead of us, Lucy grabs my sleeve. “Hey, look—isn’t that Jackson’s friend? The one who’s your cousin?” She points, and I see Wade Porter standing in line for a water fountain next to another guy. He glances around just as I look over there, and I wave. He squints at me in the dark then waves back with sudden recognition. He nudges his friend and leads him toward us.

  Lucy and I stop to wait for them. Finn and Lily don’t notice and keep walking. We call after them, but it’s too noisy and they don’t seem to hear us. Doesn’t matter—we’ve got our phones. We’ll figure it out.

  Wade gives me a hug and says hi to Lucy, whose name he remembers, and then introduces his friend. Connor has bright red hair and the pale skin and freckles that seem to go with that.

  “I can’t believe you’re here!” Wade says. He decided to come at the last minute, he explains. He and Connor didn’t have any plans for this weekend—except the usual college application and school stuff—and heard an ad on the radio just that afternoon saying that you could get discounted festival tickets through some ticket site. So they did. They arrived only about half an hour ago.

  “We’re headed over to the South Stage now,” he adds. “I was just waiting to refill my water bottle.”

  “We’re going there too,” I say.

  “Fantastic—wait for me.” He turns away but then turns back with a grin. “This festival just got much better.” He heads over to the fountain.

  Connor rocks awkwardly on his heels, then tucks his hands under his armpits and nods at both of us. “So,” he says. And then. Nothing.

  Lucy takes pity on him. “You having fun?”

  He glances around warily. “About to.” He untucks his hands, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a joint. “We were going to find some place quiet to smoke this before the next show. Want to join us?”

  I’m neutral. Weed isn’t my thing, but I’m happy to pass one around in a group and have a hit or two. I look at Lucy, trying to gauge her level of interest. She looks equally uncertain, and then Lily suddenly appears at my elbow—she and Finn must have done a U-turn when they noticed we were missing, and now she’s back and instantly zoning in on the object in Connor’s hand.

  “Is that what I think it is?” she asks.

  He closes his fingers quickly. “No.”

  “She’s our friend,” Lucy tells him.

  “Oh, then yes,” he says, opening his fist back up.

  Wade returns, screwing on his water bottle cap. He shoves the bottle into his backpack. “Better hide that,” he says to Connor. “There’s a security guard about ten feet away. But I think I know where we can smoke it.” He hesitates and looks at me. “I mean, if you guys want to.”

  Lily says, “Lead the way. I’ve been hoping someone would come up with some weed.”

  I glance at Finn. Back in ninth grade, he used to maintain that anyone who used drugs was an idiot. “Brain chemistry is so fragile,” he once said to me. “Why would you ever screw with it?” But I guess he’s become more open-minded, because he just stands there, apparently willing to go along with whatever Lily wants. Maybe that’s love?

  Lucy is now quizzing Connor about his source. He says, “I wouldn’t trust anything I picked up here—I bought this from my regular guy back home. He’s captain of the tennis team.”

  “All right, then I’m in,” says Lucy. I raise my eyebrows at her, a little surprised. She shrugs. “We’re here to have fun, right?”

  “I guess. I just thought you’d—”

  Lily interrupts me impatiently: “Come on.”

  Wade tells us all to follow him and takes my arm. I fall into step next to him.

  I check him out as we’re walking. He’s wearing jeans and a blue V-neck sweater over a T-shirt. He catches me checking him out and grins at me. Confident I’ll like what I see. And I do. I like what I see.
What’s not to like?

  Lily can’t stop giggling.

  “Could she be more of a cliché?” Lucy whispers to me. She and I are relatively sober. We each took one hit of the joint, but it was super strong and we waved it away after that. I don’t like feeling either paranoid or catatonic, and too-strong weed makes me both. And Lucy never takes more than a puff or two—enough to get a little relaxed without losing any real control.

  Finn didn’t have any, so I guess he’s still into protecting the, uh, fragility of his own brain. But the other three have been passing the weed around for a while, and now Lily seems to find Connor’s hair the funniest thing in the world.

  “It’s just . . . the whole redhead thing . . .” She gasps. “It’s so weird. And why do they call you gingers? Have you ever seen ginger? It’s tan. Blond people should be gingers! I don’t get it.”

  It seems to take Connor a while to process what she’s saying, to think about it, and to formulate an answer, but finally he manages to get out, “It’s because we’re so spicy,” and he and Lily snort with laughter.

  We’re sitting in a small circle, all the way at the edge of the field, in a dark, unused corner to the west of the South Stage. We’re all sitting very close together, creating a tight wall with our bodies so the burning tip won’t give us away in the dark. Not that the security guards seem to be cracking down on any kind of smoking. As far as I can tell, from the clouds of fragrant smoke we’ve been walking through all evening, they’re okay with anything that requires inhalation. It’s only underage drinking they seem determined to prevent.

  Still, we don’t want to take any chances.

  Lily shifts over toward Finn and rests her cheek against his shoulder. “You’d look good as a redhead,” she says, gazing up at him dreamily. “You have a redheaded personality.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” he says with a smile.