To: hollygolitely
From: your daily horoscope
HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: CAPRICORN: Feeling lost? Why are you surprised? You’re taking spiritual advice from a computer!
* * *
I have a date with Eli tonight,” Holly said. She settled on the red velvet couch next to Sebastiano for another episode of Los Días del Corazón.
The Altman-Pecks lived in a rambling, low-ceilinged, stucco bungalow furnished with an eclectic array of antiques and decorated with portraits of Sebastiano’s relatives and ancestors. Sebastiano identified a few of the subjects of the larger portraits: “That’s Great Aunt Millie“—a 1920s flapper covered in furs and bugle beads. “She was married eight times—once to a Vanderbilt. And, over there, that’s Uncle Harvey, the inventor of Tidy-Blue Toilet Bowl Cleaner.”
“Cool,” Holly said. She’d always wondered what Sebastiano’s house was like. Somehow she’d pictured him in someplace airier, less cluttered. An ancient Venetian palazzo, maybe, filled with modern Italian furniture and portraits of dukes on the walls.
“Yes, much of this was paid for by the Tidy-Blue bonanza,” Sebastiano said. “That, and a little windfall from Taste-Rite Denture Cream.”
He brought her an orange seltzer and set a plate of turkey, cheese, and crackers on the coffee table.
“Where are you going on your date tonight?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet. Eli’s going to tell me later.”
“After he sees what Otavio is up to, you mean,” Sebastiano said.
“I suppose,” Holly said. “I hope Otavio is in the mood for mushroom pizza today. I’m getting a little tired of mole poblano.”
“Let’s activate our crystal ball and see.” Sebastiano clicked on the TV.
[Translated from Spanish]
“Where are we going?” Marisol shouts over the wind. She and Otavio are speeding down a winding seaside road on a motorcycle at night. The moon shines on the water. Marisol holds his waist tightly.
Otavio’s square jaw twitches. “We are going to find our destiny,” he says. Marisol looks nervous.
The motorcycle stops at a rocky, deserted beach. Otavio dismounts and helps Marisol. In spite of the moonlight, the water is churning and dark.
Marisol: Take me home. You know I’m afraid of the ocean.
Otavio: You must not be afraid. Come with me into the water.
He takes off his shirt and flexes his super-cut muscles.
Marisol: No.
Otavio: But the night is warm. All day I’ve been dreaming of a midnight swim with you. Come. Don’t you trust me?
Marisol looks warily at the waves crashing on the shore.
Otavio: I won’t let anything hurt you. Please—trust me.
He reaches for her hand. Close-up on Marisol s face. She looks terrified.
(Commercial.)
“Can you believe this guy’s bod?” Sebastiano said, chewing on a thin slice of cheese. “He must work out six hours a day.”
“Why is Marisol so afraid of the ocean?” Holly asked.
“Um, I think her mother drowned in the ocean when she was a little girl. After being drugged by her third husband, Marisol’s stepfather. Who was then convicted of second-degree murder. They showed it in a flashback a while ago. The stepfather is about to be let out of jail soon, which is also making her nervous.”
The show came back on.
The terror on Marisol’s face softens. She slips her hand out of Otavio’s grasp. He looks angry. But then she pulls her chiffon dress over her head. Naked, she gives Otavio her hand and together they run into the waves. They splash and dive happily.
Marisol: My fear is gone! I’m liberated! I feel so free. Thank you, Otavio.
Otavio: I’ll take my payment now.
He kisses her hard as the waves crash over them. They roll around in the surf. They are obviously about to make love. Otavio pauses in their passionate kissing.
Otavio: This was a test, Marisol. I needed to know that you trust me. Now our fate is sealed. I know it is our destiny to be together.
Marisol: Yes. Our fate is sealed. I am yours, Otavio.
(Fade out.)
“Woo!” Sebastiano said, slapping Holly on the thigh. “You’re in for a hot time tonight!”
Holly couldn’t help it—while dressing for her date, she found herself drawn to her blue flowered silk chiffon with the ruffle at the neck. She caught herself reaching for it, then slapped her own hand away. “No! Stop it!” she scolded herself. It was the closest thing she had to the dress Marisol had worn on the show that day. Holly didn’t want to fall into that trap, copying Marisol just because Eli was copying Otavio. But it was hard to resist. The evening was especially warm, and the chiffon seemed perfect. In the end, she gave up and wore it. Maybe I should try to be as much like Marisol as I can, she thought. She was curious: What would Eli try to pull that night? How far would he really go?
She pinned her hair up in a loose bun, the way Marisol sometimes wore it, but that was too much. She undid her hair and let it hang straight down her back.
There’s no way he can re-create the show exactly, Holly thought. They didn’t live far from the beach, but the water was too chilly for swimming, and, anyway, Holly had no fear of the ocean, so what would be the point? Still, she gave her bikini a glance, wondering if she should stuff it into her bag, just in case. On second thought, no. If she did, he might suspect that she was onto him. And she wasn’t ready to let him know that yet. As long as he didn’t know that she knew his secret, she still had power over him.
I’ll just go along on this one last date, she thought. Just to see what he pulls this time. I’ll have a little fun with him, like Sebastiano says. Then she’d dump him. And it would be a total shock. The girl dumping the guy was not in Eli’s script.
Eli picked her up at seven. He looked pleased with her dress. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, different from Otavio’s flashy clothes, but then, it was practically a boy uniform. There were probably dozens of guys in Carlton Bay wearing the exact same thing that very night. And, to her relief, he was still driving his Honda Civic and not a motorcycle.
“You look beautiful, as always,” Eli said as she got into the car. “Let’s just go for a ride.”
They zipped through town to the Marina, a bayside area full of cafés, restaurants, ice-cream stands, and shops. Eli parked and they walked along the boardwalk, holding hands. Holly found herself glancing warily at the water where the boats were docked. It didn’t look all that clean. “What do you want to do?” she asked.
“I was thinking maybe some fried oysters from Zola’s,” Eli said. “Do you like oysters?”
“Love them,” Holly said.
They went to Zola’s take-out window and ordered fried oysters, French fries, and iced teas. When their food was ready they settled on a bench and watched the people stroll by. The boardwalk was busy; it was a beautiful, warm Friday night.
Holly dipped an oyster in tartar sauce. “Mmmm… these are so good.”
“Yeah.” Eli grinned at her. He had a little tartar sauce above his lip. Holly wiped it off with her napkin.
“It’s warm tonight,” Eli said. “Almost summer-hot.”
“Maybe it’s all the lights,” Holly said. The boardwalk was well-lit at night. Moths swarmed the old-fashioned gas lamps that lined it.
“You know what would be great?” Eli dumped his paper plate in the trash and wiped his hands on a napkin.
“What?”
“To go for a swim. A midnight swim.” He put his arm around her. “Wouldn’t that be romantic?”
Holly froze, her fork halfway to her open mouth. He was really doing it. This was just like the show!
I can’t believe this guy, she thought. He was actually sticking to his script. This was almost too easy.
“But it’s only nine o’clock,” she said.
“Okay, then—how about a nine-thirty swim?”
Patience, patience, she told hers
elf. Don’t show your hand yet “But where can we swim? The ocean’s too cold.”
Eli flashed her a wicked grin. “Leave it to me. I think I know the perfect place.”
Oh, please, she thought. Spare me the melodrama. But she couldn’t help wondering what the perfect place would be. If not the ocean… where?
Eli drove inland and out of town. Holly found herself in a suburban area of office parks and malls. It was late at night, and the malls were closed. Everything was deserted. He pulled the Honda into a dark parking lot and cut the lights. Holly could barely make out the sign: ACTIONLAND WATER PARK.
“Why are we stopping here?” she asked.
“Don’t you want to go for a swim?”
“Here?” Through a chain-link fence Holly could see a large waterslide. It wasn’t really a whole water park, just a single slide. The fence was padlocked, the park was dark, and Holly could only assume that the water wasn’t running.
“Where else?” Eli said. “Don’t worry—we won’t get caught. There’s nobody around for miles.”
“But—” Holly had so many objections, she hardly knew where to begin.
“Hey,” Eli said. “Take a chance. It will be fun. Come on—don’t you trust me?”
He got out of the car. She stayed where she was. He opened her door and gave her his hand. He helped her out.
“I didn’t bring a suit,” she said.
“We’ll go in our underwear. You are wearing underwear, aren’t you?”
Holly blushed. Yes, thank god, she was wearing underwear.
“Come on, then!” He flashed that mischievous grin again, and she was charmed in spite of herself.
“I don’t understand,” she said as she followed after him. “How—?”
He climbed the chain-link fence. It wasn’t too high. She stuck a sandaled foot into one hole of the fence and hoisted herself up, careful not to catch her skirt on the metal. He caught her on the way down. They were in the park. It was dark, except for the moonlight and a street-lamp in the parking lot.
The giant slide loomed over them, dark and dry. “There’s no water,” she said.
Eli went to a small shack and picked the lock. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this before.”
“You have?”
“Run the slide, I mean. My uncle owns this place. I worked here last summer.”
“Oh.” Holly relaxed a little. At least if they were breaking and entering it was on his uncle’s property. Maybe, if the police came, the uncle wouldn’t press charges. That would be a plus.
In the shack, Eli turned on a light and started the water system. Holly heard water stream down the slide with a hiss.
Eli took her hand. “Woo-hoo! Let’s go!”
She followed him up the plastic stairs to the top of the slide. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she said. She turned to look at the landscape around her: the red and white lights of the few cars on the highway; the dark, empty parking lots dotted with security lights; the barren suburban shopping zone. It was nothing like the beautiful Mexican beach where Otavio and Marisol had their tryst. But the two places had one thing in common. From high above, a three-quarter moon shined its pale beams down upon her. “This is so weird. Like a moonscape.”
He took off his shirt and pants and stood before her in his underwear. Plaid boxers. She liked them. He took both her hands in his. “Are you nervous?”
“A little,” she said.
“Don’t be afraid. You can trust me.”
And she did trust him, for the first time. She was finally getting a glimpse of the real Eli. Not a dashing Otavio clone, but a normal guy. A guy whose uncle owned a water park.
Just like Marisol, she took off her flowered dress. A bra and panties are the same as a bikini, she told herself. Or almost the same. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing he hasn’t seen a million times before on the beach.
“Nice bikini,” he said, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at her.
“Keep your eyes on the slide,” she said.
Hand in hand, in their underwear, they stood at the edge of the slide. “You ready?”
“Ready,” she said.
He said, “One, two, three, go!” And down they plunged.
20
Ramona’s Expertise Goes to Waste
* * *
To: linaonme
From: your daily horoscope
HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: CANCER: They say let a smile be your umbrella, but with a smile like yours, that’s a good way to get wet.
* * *
Mood Swing
Current Mood: Peace-loving
News of the day: Autumn Nelson, author of the delightful Nuclear Autumn blog, was seen sharing her post-lunch brownie with her friend Claire today. How sweet! She can be so generous. Some might say that her true motive was cutting her dessert calories in half, but the fact remains that she shared her brownie. Bravo, Autumn! I would also like to add that her chestnut hair looked particularly lustrous today. What’s your secret, Autumn?
“I don’t understand,” Ramona said. “She was mean to you. She’s brilliant at it. Why did you write those nice things about her? Are you setting a trap? Is it some kind of joke?”
“I decided to be the mature one and stop the madness,” Lina said.
Ramona looked blank. “Why?”
“I felt sorry for her,” Lina said. “Writing mean things about her wasn’t working, anyway. So I changed tactics.”
“You call this a tactic?” Ramona said. “Praising her hair?”
“I’m killing her with kindness. Anyway, I want to be a real journalist,” Lina said. “Not a tabloid gossip writer. So I only wrote true things. True, nice things. As much as I could stomach. It wasn’t easy to find something to say, believe me. If I’m being nice and she’s being mean, it makes her look bad. She won’t be able to keep trashing me much longer.”
“I’m disappointed in you, Ozu. You had so much potential. You were a talented reputation trasher. Under my expert tutelage, you could have gone far.” Ramona sighed. “But I guess you don’t have the guts for it. Shame, really.”
“You’ll see,” Lina said. “By the end of the week, Autumn will be on her knees. She’ll be saying nice things about ‘Tess,’ and the war will be over. And my chances of getting the internship will rise because I will be able to demonstrate my journalistic integrity to Erica.”
Ramona stared at her. “You’re serious, aren’t you.”
Nuclear Autumn: Keeping You Informed of
the Latest Developments in the Lives of Autumn
Nelson, Peter, and Tess
Tess has dog breath. Why do you think Peter won’t kiss her anymore? Pass it on.
“See?” Ramona said. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”
“But look how lame her posting was,” Lina said. “Three sentences! She’s losing strength, I’m telling you.”
Dear Autumn,
Why are you still writing about Peter and Tess or Lina and Walker or whoever they are? Your last posting on them sucked. We want to hear more about YOUR life, your greedy stepmonster-in-waiting and annoying half sister and clueless dad. Bring back the news of Autumn!
—An anonymous fan
Dear Anonymous,
Finally somebody has some brains around here! I totally agree that Tess/Lina and Pete/Walker are huge bores and nobody cares about them. Why bother with their snooze news?
Dad’s girlfriend, Chloe, is way more heinous than anybody at RSAGE could ever be. I haven’t written about her in a while, so we have a lot to catch up on. First: Dad bought her a beautiful diamond tennis bracelet for her birthday. He was so excited to give it to her and he thought she was going to be thrilled. But she wasn’t. She called it “ordinary.” She demanded that he take it back to Cartier and exchange it for a bracelet with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires because “color is in right now.” Of course, the ruby, etc., bracelet costs like ten times more than the diamond one, but poor Dad coughed up the money, thus depriving
me and my college fund of another few thou….
“That was you, wasn’t it?” Lina said to Ramona. “The anonymous fan?”
“It was time to put Tess and Peter out of their misery,” Ramona said. “Can we all please move on now?”
“Thanks,” Lina said. Peter and Tess were finally dead. Lina and Walker were very relieved. That night she pressed on Walker’s squeaky spot to celebrate.
21
The Tongue Rule
* * *
To: mad4u
From: your daily horoscope
HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: VIRGO: No one expects you to be master of your domain, but low-level competence would be nice.
* * *
Is it me? Is it him? What am I doing wrong?” Mads asked Quintana. They were sitting on the bleachers after school, watching the boys’ varsity lacrosse team practice.
“Tell me again what happened,” Quintana said. “And this time, give me every single detail.”
“The gum thing was kind of a fluke,” Mads said. “The main problem is, whenever we’re really into it, and I start to French-kiss him, something interrupts us. It’s getting to the point where I think I’m turning him off. But, why? He seems really eager to kiss me at first, but—”
“Stop right there.” Quintana shook her head in disapproval. “Did you say you start to French-kiss him?”
“Yes?” Mads said uncertainly. “What?”
“No, no, no,” Quintana said. “Mads, don’t you know about the Tongue Rule?”
The Tongue Rule? “I’ve never heard of that,” Mads said.
“I thought everybody knew it,” Quintana said. “The Tongue Rule is: Never put your tongue in a boy’s mouth first. Always let him do it first.”
“But why?” Mads asked, baffled. This sounded like a rule left over from her grandmother’s days, like expecting a boy to stand up when you entered a room. Remnants from another time. Another one that was big with Grandma: “No boy will ever want to marry you if you don’t learn to hold a fork properly.”