Rules of Summer

  “Why does your swim coach care about running?” she asked.

  “Because it’s part of my training?” he replied. “You know, cardio?”

  She brushed a curl off her face. Her newfound flirting skills seemed to have disappeared. “So, uh… no swimming today?”

  “Nah, I need a break. Actually, I’m thinking of quitting.”

  “You are?”

  “I’ve been doing it for years,” he said. “I think I’m ready for something else. But it’s not really up to me.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  He smiled and looked down the beach. “I guess it is up to me, but my parents would be pretty pissed off. My dad ran track when he was in college. All-American. He’s kind of reliving his glory days through me.” He shook some blond hair off his forehead. “What about you? What do your parents make you do?”

  “My parents?” Rory said. “Well, that would be just my mom. And she makes me do everything.”

  “What do you mean? Sports?”

  “No.” She laughed. “Like, pay the bills. Do the shopping. Figure out the car insurance. That kind of stuff.”

  Connor’s smile disappeared. He obviously thought she was a freak.

  “But when I’m not doing that,” she said, “I like to make films. Documentaries.”

  “Yeah?” he asked. “What about?”

  “This past year at school, I did this piece about people who collect bizarre stuff in my town. One woman was really into Elvis memorabilia. And another woman, she collected vintage diner stuff. Like, place mats from when Denny’s first opened, and napkins with the old Waffle House logo on them. Stuff like that.”

  Connor just looked at her. Wind ruffled his hair. I’m dying here, she thought. Help.

  “Anyway, it’s sort of my dream to go to USC film school. Though I’ll probably just end up going to Rutgers and studying econ or something else that’s useful.”

  “Yeah,” he finally said after a pause. “I know what you mean.” He looked down at the beach again. The clouds were starting to lighten, and she was aware that she needed her sunglasses.

  “Well… I guess I should get going,” Connor said. “I have to get to work soon. I’m teaching sailing at Devon in Amagansett. I did it last year. You sail?”

  “Uh, no,” she said. “Not really. But that sounds cool.”

  “Sure you don’t want to keep me company?” he asked with a smile that made her heart speed up.

  “It’s tempting,” she said, “but I think Bianca’s probably looking for me. Have fun.”

  “Yeah. Have a good day, Rory.”

  “You, too.”

  She turned and left right away, even though she longed to watch him disappear down the wooden planks toward the sand for as long as possible. This time, she knew that she hadn’t made it up. Something was there between them. Something that made her smile so hard that her cheeks ached as she walked into the house.

  As soon as she stepped inside the hall, she heard the familiar sound of her Katy Perry ringtone. She ran into the bedroom and fumbled around in her purse. It was about time she spoke to Sophie and Trish. They’d all been playing serious phone tag since she’d arrived.

  But it wasn’t Sophie or Trish. An unfamiliar 631 number was on the screen.

  “Hello?” she asked, picking up.

  “Hey, Rory,” said a slightly familiar voice. “It’s Landon. How are you?”

  She sat on the edge of the bed. Her conversation with Connor had given her a bit of a buzz, and now hearing Landon’s voice on her phone made her struggle to focus. “I’m great,” she said, her heart beating fast. “How are you?”

  “Good. You want to do something tonight?”

  She shot to her feet. “Sure,” she said, a little more quickly than she’d meant to.

  “Cool. Mission: Impossible Five is playing,” he said. “We could see that. Then get some pizza afterward.”

  She thought about waiting to see if Bianca would need her before she gave him an answer, but she didn’t know how to tell this to Landon. “Sounds great.”

  “Okay,” Landon said. “I’ll pick you up at seven. And yes, I do have a very cool car.”

  She laughed. “I look forward to experiencing it.”

  “Oh, and you will,” Landon joked. “See you at seven.”

  She hung up and jauntily tossed her phone back in her purse. She had a date tonight. A date.

  She smiled at Trixie, who waited patiently beside the bed, still panting from the excitement on the beach.

  If only it were with Connor, she thought. But she refused to think about that too much. Isabel was right—Landon was cool, funny, and not too in love with himself. The perfect candidate for her first real boyfriend. Or at least an East Hampton fling.

  CHAPTER NINE

  At exactly three forty-five, Isabel rode her bike through the open gates and turned east on the smooth, sun-baked asphalt, pedaling toward Main Beach. The wind blew her hair off her bare shoulders, and the sun beat down on her back. For the past twenty hours, ever since she’d texted him at the party, she’d barely thought about anything else besides seeing Mike. So it seemed almost incomprehensible that she was about to be face-to-face with him again. She’d agonized over what to wear. Mike hadn’t told her where they were going, so she’d settled on jeans, an off-the-shoulder ivory peasant blouse, and platform espadrilles that could work just about anywhere. She hoped that he’d take her to another place like Buford’s. Though this time she’d take it easy on the rum.

  At Ocean, she hooked a right and headed straight for the parking lot at the end of the street. She slid off the bike, wheeled it over to the rack by the snack bar, and locked it. It was warm, which accounted for the smattering of young mothers on plastic chairs and striped towels, watching as their babies and children dug and played in the sand. She looked at one blond woman in particular, trying to talk to her friend while at the same time keeping an eye on her toddler, who was busy flinging sand with a shovel. That could be me one day, she thought. She shrugged it away. It was too weird to think about that right now.

  And then, from far down the street, she saw a dark red Xterra glide into view. She felt her stomach rise and fall. He was here. She pulled a lipstick out of her pocket and ran it over her lips, then felt the crazy urge to run. But the SUV was too fast, and before she knew it, Mike made a sweeping turn right in front of her, sand hissing under the wheels. The window came down. Mike leaned his head out, and she saw those liquid brown eyes and full lips and that smile that said I know everything that you don’t want to tell me.

  “Hey,” she called out. “Nice turn.”

  “Glad you liked it,” he said, grinning.

  She walked to the car and got into the passenger seat.

  “So, what’s the plan?” she asked, trying not to think about how hot he looked in his plain white T-shirt.

  He examined her shoes. “Are those comfortable?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Just checking,” he said, putting the car in gear and heading out of the parking lot.

  “Um, you still haven’t told me where we’re going,” she pointed out.

  “I know,” he said, covering her hand with his own.

  Rory pushed through the swinging door. “Have you seen Bianca anywhere? She just called me on the intercom, but I don’t know from where.”

  Erica looked up from the egg whites she was whipping into fluffy peaks with an electric mixer. “I think she’s down in the screening room.” She gave Rory a closer look with her kind brown eyes. “Are you okay, Rory? You look all flushed.”

  “Oh, I just got a little too much sun today, that’s all. Thanks!”

  Rory stepped back into the hall and patted her damp hands on the front of her shorts. If Erica was already onto her, then no doubt Bianca would be, too. She was going to have to figure out a nonchalant opening line. Someone just invited me to the movies was all she needed to say. She didn’t need to get into who and how and why—and the fact that
she’d already said yes. And being out of the house for two nights in a row couldn’t be that big a deal. Could it?

  “Oh my god, don’t even worry about it,” Isabel had said in the car while Rory drove her home from Two Trees that morning. “It’s not like you’re a prisoner here. You’re supposed to make friends. You’re supposed to meet people. It’s no big deal.”

  “Except Bianca thinks I’m some partying freak. Remember? Mike? In my room?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Isabel said, looking out of the window and smiling at the memory. “I’m sure she’s forgotten all about that.”

  “I highly doubt it,” Rory said.

  “But that’s great that he called you,” Isabel said. “What are you guys gonna do?”

  “We’re seeing Mission: Impossible Five. Then maybe we’ll get some pizza.”

  “Not the most imaginative first date,” Isabel said, “but okay. Did you tell him yes right away or did you make him wait a little bit?”

  Rory glanced at Isabel. “How was I supposed to make him wait? We were on the phone, he asked me, and I said yes.”

  Isabel pulled some hair behind her ear. “Okay,” she said. “But for the next one, make him wait a little.”

  “Fine,” Rory said. “What about you? What are you and Mike gonna do?”

  “I don’t know,” Isabel said. “He’s being kind of mysterious. But I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

  “Just be careful,” Rory said. “He’s older, right?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Rory had been about to say that it had a lot to do with everything, but she decided not to say anything. After all, she knew that she wasn’t an authority on relationships.

  She crossed the marble floor of the foyer and descended another set of stairs, which she was fairly sure led to the screening room. She’d seen the screening room only once, on her tour with Bianca, but she remembered it being extremely, almost ludicrously, luxurious. It had Art Deco–style sconces that dimmed to the lowest lights, oversize suede easy chairs with matching ottomans, and thick red-and-black-patterned carpeting that looked just like what she imagined movie theaters used to have, back before multiplexes and stadium seating. “Why do they have a screening room?” Rory had asked Bianca as they stood on the threshold. “And such a nice one?”

  Bianca had looked at her strangely. “For entertaining,” she’d said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

  Rory had felt stupid at the time, but now she was getting used to the over-the-top touches in this house. Things were all about plenty on Lily Pond Lane. It wasn’t enough to have a Ping-Pong table; you had to place a pyramid of rolled-up towels nearby just in case someone worked up a sweat. It wasn’t enough to have a Blu-ray player; you needed real movie-theater seats and carpeting so that you could feel like a Hollywood mogul.

  She knocked softly on the double doors and entered. Bianca and Fee were dusting the mahogany tables between the easy chairs.

  “There you are,” Bianca said as she pounded an orange throw pillow with her fist. “We’re going to need you to make a run over to Amagansett. Mrs. Rule is having some people over to watch The Geisha’s Lament.”

  “So then why do I have to go to Amagansett?” Rory asked.

  “Because Billy Withers is going to lend it to her,” Bianca said, as if Rory were already supposed to know this.

  “He’s a publicist,” Fee said, guessing Rory’s next question. “He gets all the first-run movies and sometimes loans them out.”

  “The guests should be getting here around six,” Bianca said. “After you pick up the movie, you’ll help me pass out some drinks and hors d’oeuvres. We’ll see if Mrs. Rule wants to serve a full dinner after the film.”

  “Um, okay.”

  Bianca put down another pillow and folded her arms. “Do you have other plans?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Well, actually,” she said, forcing herself to look Bianca right in the eye, “someone asked me to go to the movies tonight.” She noticed Fee break into a smile, but Bianca had no expression.

  “Didn’t you go out last night?”

  “Yes, but I just thought in case you didn’t need me—”

  “Here everyone is!” Mrs. Rule said, bouncing into the room on white tennis shoes. Her face glowed from a lesson, and in her pleated tennis skirt and damp ponytail, she looked younger than Isabel. “I’m so excited to see this movie. Nobody has seen it yet. Not even Birdie, and she sees everything.”

  “Rory’s going to go over to Billy’s now,” Bianca reported.

  “Oh, good!” Mrs. Rule beamed. “And I hope you can help out tonight,” she said to Rory. “My friends will be so interested to meet you.”

  “Actually, she’s asking if she can go out,” Bianca said.

  “I’ve just been invited out—by a friend,” Rory said quickly, looking at Bianca. “But I don’t need to go if it’s going to be a problem.”

  “Oh, of course you can go out,” said Mrs. Rule. “Bianca and I can manage.”

  “She still needs to get the movie,” Bianca said.

  “Then she can get the movie,” Mrs. Rule said blithely. “Fee, have you seen my black James Perse dress? I just can’t find it anywhere, and it would be so perfect for tonight. Can you come upstairs with me?”

  “Of course,” Fee said.

  As Fee and Mrs. Rule left, Rory realized that she was blessedly in the clear. Mrs. Rule didn’t care at all if she had a date tonight or not. But Bianca gave Rory a searing look anyway. “You’ll find Billy’s information in the book in your room. And I don’t think I have to remind you not to bring anyone back with you tonight.”

  Rory didn’t blink. “No, you really don’t,” she said. “But thanks anyway.” She walked out of the room. She wasn’t going to let Bianca keep intimidating her all summer long.

  “Okay. I guessed it. We’re obviously going to your house.”

  “Nope.”

  “But this is the North Fork,” Isabel said, looking out the window at sweeping cornfields and vineyards, and beyond them, the still blue waters of Peconic Bay. They’d been driving for almost an hour, talking nonstop as Mike headed west past Bridgehampton, Water Mill, and Southampton. When he’d gone north at Riverhead, she hadn’t been surprised. She just hoped that he wasn’t taking her home to meet his parents.

  “I know, but we’re not going to my house,” Mike said as the sun slanted in through his car window and threw golden light across the dash.

  “It’s really pretty here,” she said. “I read once that it’s all the water around here that makes the light so beautiful. You know, the bay on one side, the ocean on the other. It makes everything really specular.”

  “Specular?” Mike asked.

  “It’s the opposite of diffuse,” she said. “The surface of water is smooth, so light gets bounced back all in one piece. That’s specular.” God, what’s wrong with me? she thought. I sound like Rory.

  Mike glanced over at her. “Do you get straight A’s or something?”

  “No. I just remember a lot of things.” She looked out the window, a little elated that Mike had just asked her that. “So where are we going?”

  “I told you. It’s a surprise.”

  Suddenly, Mike made a left off the highway, away from the bay, and they were traveling down a long gravel drive shaded by oak trees. “Okay, I’m completely at a loss,” she said. “Are we at some kind of farm?”

  “You said you liked strawberries, right?” said Mike.

  “Yeah. So?”

  He rounded a bend, and acres of strawberry fields came into view.

  “Wait,” she said. “You brought me to a strawberry farm?”

  “It’s my friend’s,” he said. “He said we can pick as much as we can carry. And these are amazing. All organic. He sells them down on Montauk Highway for six bucks a pound. Now you can make me that strawberry shortcake you were telling me about.”

  Aston March would never have remembe
red that, she thought. Not in a million years. He parked, and she unbuckled her seat belt. “You have a good memory, too.”

  “Are you kidding? I can’t wait to have some.”

  Mike walked around to the trunk, opened it, and took out an empty fruit crate. “You spend any time around farms?” he asked.

  “My dad just bought some property near a potato field in Sagaponack,” Isabel said.

  “What’s gonna happen to the other house?” Mike asked, carrying the fruit crate as they walked toward the field.

  “I don’t know. Someone’ll buy it,” she said. “I’ll miss it, though. I think the next house will be even bigger. If my dad has anything to say about it.”

  “Bigger?” Mike asked.

  “Believe it or not, there are bigger homes out here than mine.” Dirt flew up into the heels of her shoes as she walked, but she didn’t care.

  When they opened the gate that led out to the field, Mike put down the crate and reached into the green leaves. She could see the dangling strawberry stems, with the berries hanging at the ends like rubies.

  “Okay, try this,” he said, picking one off. “This looks good. The redder, the better. If it has any green, it still needs to ripen.” He placed the crimson berry in her hand. “Go ahead, try it.”

  She popped it into her mouth and took a bite. “Oh my god.” Strawberry juice, ripe and sweet, seeped onto her tongue. “It’s so sweet. It’s amazing.”

  “I told you, right?” he said. “You also want to make sure you pick them with some of the stem on. It keeps them fresh.”

  She watched him start picking and tossing berries into the box with the brisk pace of an expert.

  “You rock at this,” she said.

  “Just so you know,” he said, looking back at her, “I prefer real whipped cream. No Cool Whip.”

  She laughed out loud. “I’ll remember that.”

  Rory pulled up to the Rules’ garage, parked, and picked up the DVD from where it lay in its plastic case on the shotgun seat. Reaching Billy Withers’s home at the end of a twisting, barely paved road had taken some time, but once she was there, the entire transaction had taken less than a minute. A tall man answered the door dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, just like the Rules’ staff wore.