Aunt Jane pulled onto their street. There, three driveways down, was a brand-new white BMW 5 Series.
Zoe’s cheeks flushed. This car was LA all the way, a rich-girl car. Even though it had been more than two years since her mom’s screaming fit in London, Zoe still didn’t want people to think of her as a spoiled brat.
“Do you see it?” Aunt Jane asked. She was smiling hopefully.
Zoe didn’t want to sound ungrateful. “I . . . uh . . .”
“I know,” Aunt Jane said. “But it’s the gesture that counts.”
“Holy car!” Anna said when Zoe pulled into her driveway a half hour later.
As Anna slid into the passenger seat, Zoe said, “I know . . . it’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Your mom is a movie star!” Anna said. She wasn’t usually this amped, but she’d bombed her road test twice and had all her freedom hopes pinned on Zoe. “Why not have a million-dollar car?”
“It’s not exactly a million,” Zoe said. She’d pictured asking her mom for a Honda or a used SUV.
“I could get used to this,” Anna said as she slid her hands across the leather seat.
At Book Nook they celebrated with red velvet cupcakes, and piled a stack of books and magazines on the table between them. Zoe was reading Cosmo while Anna flipped through a book called Women in Film.
“Look!” Anna pointed to a chapter entitled “Women We Adore.” “There’s your mom when she was filming One Precious. I know it’s cheesy, but that movie makes me bawl. I love the New Year’s scene.”
Zoe studied the page of candids from the set. One Precious was Sierra’s most popular movie. It was from a long time ago. She played a baker who falls in love with a blind musician. It was the movie people watched when they wanted a good cry.
“She was so young,” Anna said. “Look at her eyebrows. Did people not pluck back then? I wonder if I’ll ever meet her.”
“My mom? Maybe.” Honestly, Zoe couldn’t imagine her Hankinson life and her Los Angeles life colliding.
Anna rotated the book so Zoe could see better. In the pictures, Zoe’s mom was in various stages of makeup and costume, on set with the director and costars and members of the crew. One man from the crew had his arm around Sierra in several shots. He had brown hair and he was on the short side. Zoe’s stomach flipped as she remembered what her mom had said.
“Does it say what that man’s name is?” Zoe asked. Her voice felt far away from her body.
“What man?”
Zoe touched the picture of the brown-haired man and her mom, laughing together on a pebbly beach. “Like, is there a caption?”
Anna leaned closer to the page. “Kevin,” she said. “It says his name is Kevin G. Church.”
NOVEMBER
JAKE
JAKE HAD FIFTY things on his mind when he pushed open the door to the locker room on Friday afternoon. Swim laps in the pool, turn in art portfolio, drop off a budget at the student council office, make up the pre-calc . . .
Oh, crap.
Ted was standing in the locker room in a green swimsuit. He didn’t have a shirt on. Jake tried not to look at his chest. He tried not to look at how his wet swimsuit was clinging to him.
“Hey,” Jake said, trying to breathe.
“Hey,” Ted said, “what’s up?”
“Not much.”
“Me neither.”
There was so much Jake wanted to say. Like, Did you know you were gay when I told you on the bus back in eighth grade? Jake still remembered exactly how Ted had responded when Jake said that he liked him. All he’d said back was, Uh . . . that’s kind of random.
They’d been avoiding each other ever since Ted had come out. The way Jake saw it, he’d put things in Ted’s court almost three years ago. Now it was Ted’s turn to make the next move. Jake was surprised by how Ted’s coming out had been a nonevent at school. He was still in football and he still had the same group of friends. Jake even heard from Marin that Ted had a boyfriend from another school.
“Are you going swimming?” Ted asked. He tossed a towel over his shoulders. “I just went and it’s fucking freezing.”
Jake glanced at a Band-Aid on the floor. “I think . . . I forgot something.”
“Oh . . . okay. That’s cool.”
Jake hurried out of the locker room. Once he was down the hall, he hunched over his knees, trying to catch his breath.
“Guess who?” Allegra asked, coming up behind him and covering his eyes. She’d been back since September, but they hadn’t hung out. From what Jake had observed, she was just as annoying as she had been sophomore year. “I heard you got your license. Do you feel like driving me around tonight? I want to get drunk.”
“Sorry.” Jake wriggled away from her. “I’m busy.”
“Way to blow me off,” Allegra called after him as he walked away.
At his locker, Jake loaded up his backpack and slipped his arms into his winter coat. Screw all the stuff he had to do. He was getting out of here. Student council members could leave school during free periods to run errands, which was basically how people got away with ditching if they didn’t take advantage of it too much. What the hell. Jake was going to cash in on that privilege right now.
WHITNEY
THE WEEK AFTER Thanksgiving, Whitney’s mom hosted a “girls’ night in” with her high school friends, Glenda and Nancy. Glenda lived here in Hankinson. She was the stylist who did Whitney’s hair and also one of her mom’s old friends. Nancy was visiting from North Carolina with her perfect husband and perfect son, Simon. At least that was what she kept bragging about in her loud Southern drawl. The moms were in the kitchen mixing blood-orange cocktails. Whitney was stretched on the couch, reading a script for the Cat on a Hot Tin Roof auditions.
From what she could hear, her mom and Glenda were in their angry-at-men mode. Michael had broken up with her mom a few months ago. And Glenda’s husband, Rich, was out playing music at night and leaving her alone to care for their daughter and their dog, who actually used to be Whitney’s family’s dog before the divorce.
Whitney’s phone pinged on her hip.
Hey, sexy, Brock Sawyer had written.
She and Brock had become friends in drivers ed over the summer. They flirted, but there was too much history with Brock and Kyra, and also she’d gone to the prom with Brock’s older brother, Tripp, freshman year.
Sorry, Whitney texted back. Not gonna happen.
Damn. Don’t want to get blue balls.
TMI, Whitney wrote. What was it with people’s obsession with blue balls?
“Whitney?” her mom called from the kitchen. “You’ve met Simon, right? Nancy wants to show you a picture of him and his girlfriend. They’re gorgeous.”
Whitney hiked up her yoga pants and headed into the kitchen. She’d met Nancy’s son a long time ago, maybe when they were twelve. She remembered thinking he was stupid.
“Here’s my boy,” Nancy said, thrusting a phone in her face.
“Cute,” Whitney said even though he wasn’t. Simon was blond and doughy with a stubby upturned nose.
“If he wasn’t with Lindsey, you two would be perfect together,” Nancy said. “Like Halle Berry and that guy. Of course, if we didn’t live in North Carolina . . .”
“That’s the only interracial couple you can think of?” Glenda asked, examining her long nails. Glenda was much darker than Whitney. “Halle Berry’s guy isn’t blond. Plus, I think Whitney has a boyfriend.”
“Not at the moment,” Whitney said. She poured herself a glass of orange juice and slid into the kitchen nook. They had a bowl of sweet potato chips and a baguette next to some soft cheese on the table. Whitney spread a lump of cheese across a slice of bread.
“Remember sophomore year?” Nancy asked, toasting with her mom and Glenda. “Remember when we saw that guy get run over by a station wagon on his way in to school?”
Glenda sipped her drink. “It was just his foot.”
“Charlie with the red hair,” Wh
itney’s mom said. “I always thought he was cute.” She shook almonds into a bowl and held them out to Nancy. “Here . . . wasabi almonds.”
“You thought that guy was cute?” Nancy clucked, scooping up a few almonds. “Yikes, spicy. What’s in these?”
“Wasabi,” Whitney’s mom repeated. “From Trader Joe’s.”
Whitney took another baguette slice. It was funny to hear them talking about when they were in high school.
“I had a secret crush on Charlie,” Whitney’s mom said, swirling around her drink.
“Remember how he didn’t even scream when his mom ran over his foot?” Glenda asked. “He just said, ‘Back it up, Mom,’ all low and deadpan.”
The three of them collapsed into giggles. Whitney wondered if one day, in thirty years, she and Kyra and Autumn and Laurel would be in a kitchen laughing about high school.
“I should have married him,” her mom said. She nodded at Whitney. “Of course after having you girls with your dad.”
Whitney pressed her lips together. She hated when her parents talked about each other. Even though they tried to sound civil, she knew they hated each other’s guts.
“Did you know he died?” Glenda said. “Last summer. I saw the obituary in the paper.”
Nancy inhaled sharply.
“Charlie Lombard?” Whitney’s mom’s voice was tight. “He died?”
“He had a heart attack while he was running,” Glenda said. “He had kids at the high school. You probably know them, Whit. Or maybe they graduated?”
Whitney gagged on the baguette and started coughing.
“Drink,” Glenda said, passing her a glass of water.
“Are you okay?” her mom asked.
Whitney took the water. That was Gregor Lombard’s dad who her mom had a secret crush on? It wasn’t like she knew Gregor, except they’d been in the same freshman orientation group and he always said hi to her in the hall. She’d heard that Gregor’s dad died over the summer. She kept meaning to tell him she was sorry, but then she always forgot to do it.
Whitney’s mom crouched next to her. “Are you okay?” she asked again. “What is it? Do you know his kids?”
Whitney nodded. What she couldn’t say was that she hated herself for being such a self-centered bitch that her own stupid world seemed so important while Gregor’s tragedy was completely forgettable.
DECEMBER
ZOE
ON CHRISTMAS MORNING Zoe put on jeans and a powder-blue tank top and made her bed. She’d convinced her mom to let her cook breakfast. She was going to make a coffee cake, scrambled egg whites, and a mango salad. Nothing too complicated. She’d tried out the coffee cake recipe on Aunt Jane back in Hankinson. Zoe’s mom wanted them to go to a restaurant, but Zoe had said no. She was going to cook.
Telling her mom what she wanted was a huge deal. But a lot was changing these days. For one, she had a crush. His name was Dinky. He was supertall with massive shoulders. They were always smiling at each other in American studies.
Zoe paused in front of her mom’s door. Her mom was in her bed, rubbing moisturizer on her hands.
“Merry Christmas,” her mom said.
“Yeah, Merry Christmas.”
“Come on in.” Sierra threw back the ivory comforter and patted the empty spot next to her.
Zoe’s heart pounded as she stepped into the room. It had been two years since that horrible New Year’s Eve, but it was still hard to be in here, to remember the paramedics barging in and flopping her unconscious mom onto a stretcher.
“Are you sure you want to do all that cooking?” her mom asked. “Let’s just go to the Polo Lounge. They’re open today.”
“That’s okay. I like being in the kitchen.”
“You sound like Janie.”
Zoe couldn’t tell whether she was saying that in a bad way. The other day, she’d asked her mom why she and Aunt Jane weren’t close, but all Sierra said was that some things were better left in the past. Zoe assumed their falling out happened around the time her grandparents had died. From what Aunt Jane had told her, her grandparents had been driving to Florida for Christmas when they’d been hit by a tractor-trailer and died instantly.
“Want some moisturizer?” Sierra asked. Her eyes were a little red, like maybe she’d been crying. Or maybe not. In so many ways, Sierra was a mystery to Zoe.
Zoe held out her hands, and her mom laced her slender fingers into hers. Her mom’s hands were so tiny. Zoe’s hands were thick, built for working a field. Maybe her father came from peasant stock. Last night, as they were driving home from Beverly Hills, Zoe had told her mom about the Women in Film book and asked if that man, Kevin G. Church, was her dad. Her mom had gripped the wheel and stared straight ahead.
“I’ve been thinking about what you told me,” Sierra said now. She caressed one of her palms over the other hand. “About the pictures that you saw from the One Precious set.”
Zoe held her breath. It was like her mom had read her mind!
“This is hard for me to talk about. It’s true that that man . . . Kevin . . . and I were briefly involved. But he’s not the one.” She dabbed at her eyes. “It was a hard time for me. I was very confused. Do you need a father figure? Is that the problem? Because Max can take you snowboarding, or even—”
“I should start the coffee cake,” Zoe said. She stood up so quickly that she got a head rush.
“No butter, okay? Just a little canola.”
“No butter,” Zoe said, and she fled downstairs.
When Zoe got to the kitchen, she bumped into the edge of the marble counter and yelped in pain.
“Everything okay?” her mom called downstairs.
Zoe rubbed her hip. “Yeah. Fine.”
She reached for the mixing bowl, but then dropped it onto the floor. Thank god it didn’t break. She poured in two cups of Bisquick and way too much milk. What on earth did her mom just tell her? That she used to be a sex addict and didn’t actually know who Zoe’s father was? Because that was what it sounded like.
Zoe tore open the brown sugar and got to work on the crumble topping. She used canola instead of butter, but it looked wet and gross. Screw it. Zoe threw it into the trash and dumped the batter down the garbage disposal. Then she picked up her phone and called the Polo Lounge for a breakfast reservation. All she had to do was use her mom’s name; they got a prime table within an hour.
MIA
MIA COULDN’T BELIEVE her parents were taking her to the Caribbean over Christmas break. It was so not like them to include her in anything. And they were even paying for Sophie to come along! If Mia was being cynical, she’d say her makeover was the reason. She finally looked like the preppy daughter they’d always wanted. Mia figured they invited Sophie along so they could still do their tennis lessons and have fancy dinners by themselves.
On the plane, Mia glanced over at Sophie listening to music in the seat next to her.
“I have a new goal,” Mia said. She traced her finger across her tablet. She was reading The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld.
“A new what?” Sophie lowered the volume on her phone.
“A goal.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. Over the past few months, Mia had become obsessed with goals. Growing her hair three more inches. Narrowing her list of college choices. Advancing in piano so it would stand out on college applications. Practicing driving. Taking her road test the instant she turned sixteen. That was two days ago, and she’d rocked it. Sophie said she needed to chill, but Mia didn’t see the problem with self-betterment.
Mia’s new goal was to kiss a boy. And not just any boy. Mia wanted to set the bar high. She wanted her first kiss to be with someone gorgeous.
“Do you think there’ll be cute guys at the hotel?” she asked Sophie.
“What?”
Mia tugged out one of Sophie’s earbuds. “Cute guys. Do you think we’ll meet some at Royal Reef?”
“I hope so,” Sophie said, shrugging. “Otherwise, why did I become
anorexic for the past six weeks? Skinny doesn’t come naturally to some people.”
Mia watched Sophie fit her earbud back in and unwrap a piece of gum. She decided to keep her kissing goal to herself.
The Royal Reef Hotel overlooked the harbor. From their room, Mia and Sophie watched the cruise ships coming and going. The air was warm and moist and sweet with flowers. Mia woke up before Sophie every morning and went running on the mile-long beach. While Mia ran, she could see her parents playing tennis. They were always the first people on the court.
Every afternoon she and Sophie lay on towels near the pool. There were definitely cute guys at Royal Reef. The problem was, they were all older, and most of them had girlfriends.
“Skanks,” Sophie called the girlfriends. “It’s obvious they’ve had boob jobs because they’re so skinny. At least mine are the real thing.”
“Mine are real too,” Mia said. She adjusted her new yellow bikini top. Her boobs weren’t huge, but at least she wasn’t flat anymore.
“Yeah . . . well,” Sophie said, reaching for the sunblock. “You’re you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Sophie said. “Can you do my back?”
“I found the cutest boy in the universe,” Sophie hissed. She’d just returned from the bar where she’d gotten them glasses of tropical punch. “Man of my dreams. No skank in sight. Hubba, hubba, is he hot!”
Mia propped herself on her elbows. “Where?”
“He was getting a Sprite, but then he headed inside.” Sophie plopped down next to Mia. “I should have followed him and offered him my sumptuous body.”
Mia laughed. “And told him you have a friend. A threesome!”
“He’s all mine,” Sophie said, nibbling the maraschino cherry from her punch.
“If he’s yours, then maybe you should give him that,” Mia said.
They collapsed into giggles and sipped at their drinks.
That night, as they were having dinner with Mia’s parents, Sophie dug her fingernails into Mia’s thigh.