Art Geeks and Prom Queens

  “Tyler must be getting really tired of that,” she says, raising her perfectly arched brows.

  “We’re fine. Don’t worry about us.” I give her a hard look.

  “If you say so.” She taps the rim of her glass and stares at me. “So how’d it go with his dad?”

  “Okay.” I shrug. I mean, no way am I telling her how I messed that up.

  “You know his mom’s like a local celebrity. She was a USC song leader, and a backup dancer in some music video in the eighties. Did you meet her?”

  “Is she here? I thought they were divorced?” I say.

  “Yeah, she’s here. She’s inside the house sitting on her little stud muffin’s lap. And they’re definitely divorced but they try to get along for the sake of the children.’ ” She mimics that last part and rolls her eyes.

  “What’s this stud muffin story?” I ask, when what I really want to know is how she knows more about Tyler’s family than I do.

  “She’s dating this guy that waits tables at The Bungalow. I totally hooked up with him last summer at this beach bonfire. We smoked a joint and made out for a while. He’s pretty cute.” She laughs.

  “I thought pot was for losers?” I say, remembering how it’s on our forbidden list, and wondering if that list is just for us, while she does whatever the hell she wants.

  “It was that kind of night.” She shrugs, and glances around the room.

  “Are you sure it’s the same guy?” I watch her finish her champagne and nod.

  “Definitely.” She smiles.

  “Poor Tyler,” I say, thinking how embarrassed he must feel.

  “Welcome to Newport.” She laughs.

  Tyler walks up with two glasses of champagne and when he hands me one and keeps the other, Kristi goes, “Hey, thanks. That’s real chivalrous of you.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he says. “Here, take it. I haven’t touched it.”

  She reaches for the glass then looks at me and goes, “So where’s my scarf?”

  “What?” I ask, touching my bare neck. Oh, no, I lost her scarf. I’ll never hear the end of it. “Um, I don’t know. It must be around here somewhere.” I look around the room frantically, even though I’m sure it’s not here.

  “It’s probably in the stateroom,” Tyler says, rubbing his fingers along my shoulder. “Down that hall, last door on the left,” he tells Kristi.

  “Can you show me?” she says, standing and not bothering to fix her miniskirt, which is all creased and folded up way extra-high. “I’ll follow you.” She smiles.

  Tyler looks at me and shrugs, then he leads her down the hall.

  And as I watch them walk away I get this terrible feeling in my gut. Because something in that smile makes me wonder if I can trust her alone with my boyfriend. But then I feel guilty for thinking like that, because I know I can trust Tyler. Especially now that I’ve given him something to look forward to.

  Thirty-one

  I’m really excited because I’m going to lunch with my dad, and it’s gonna be just the two of us, since my mom’s not invited. In fact she doesn’t even know about it, ‘cause my dad’s been so busy that I was actually forced to call his secretary to set it up.

  I was talking to him on the phone when I said, “Dad, when you get back on Tuesday, do you think you could drop by my school and take me to lunch?”

  And he said, “That would be great! Call my secretary and see if I’m free.”

  So I did. And she informed me that he wasn’t free on Tuesday, or Wednesday, or even Thursday. So we made it for today, Friday. Which is good, since Kristi’s having one of her infamous parties tomorrow night, and I promised Tyler he could spend the night at my house since my parents will be up in L.A.

  But now I’m getting kind of nervous about it, because when I originally told him that it felt like the right thing to say to keep him happy and get me through an awkward moment. And after a week of watching Kristi openly flirt with him, hang all over him, and even try to get rides from him (under the guise that her car’s in the shop even though there are four more in her driveway), I’m more determined than ever to go through with it. I mean, I really think it’s the final act that will totally seal our relationship. And I’m sure that the second it’s over I’ll be totally in love with him, and I won’t have anything to regret.

  But even though I’m getting used to the idea of moving forward, growing up, and finally losing my virginity, there’s still this part of me that wants to cling to the past and just hang with my dad, like I used to.

  So the second the bell rings I run out of class and head for the parking lot. I’m wearing these gray wool pants, suede flats, and a V-necked argyle sweater with a white blouse underneath. It’s way more conservative than how I usually dress, but I know my dad likes this outfit and I want everything to go perfect.

  He pulls up in my mom’s Jag, since she needed the Range Rover for yet another home-decorating expedition, and I climb in beside him and kiss him on the cheek.

  “Hey, kiddo, I like your outfit,” he says, smiling and pulling away from campus.

  “That’s why I wore it. Where we going?” I ask.

  “I’ve made reservations at The Ritz. It’s over by Fashion Island.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, crossing my fingers and hoping that Jas’s dad doesn’t own that one, too.

  We pull into the parking lot and there are so many Bentleys, Ferraris, and Mercedes that it looks more like a luxury import dealership than a restaurant. My dad tosses the keys to the uniformed valet guy, and when we go inside it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The place is all formal-looking with dark wood walls and a deep burgundy paisley-print carpet. And on the way to our table we pass several booths filled with wealthy businessmen eating and deal-making, while a handful of trophy wife hopefuls giggle a little too loudly at the bar.

  My dad must have noticed the same thing I did, ‘cause like the minute we’re seated we both look at each other and start cracking up, and it makes me feel really connected to him, just like I used to.

  We both order cheeseburgers with extra fries instead of fresh fruit, since my mom’s not here to judge us, and when the waitress walks away my dad looks at me and goes, “So what’s up, kiddo?”

  “Can’t a girl just want to have lunch with her dad?”

  “Sure,” he says. “Although I was under the impression it involved something more.” He looks at me closely, waiting.

  “Seriously,” I say, picking at the hem on my napkin. “I just wanted to hang out. I mean, we never really get to do that anymore do we?”

  “True,” he says, taking a sip of his half-iced tea half-lemonade, which I think is named after some famous golfer, but not Tiger Woods. “So how’s school going?”

  “Everything’s really great.” I pause while the waitress sets down our plates. “I mean, I feel really settled in, I like most of my teachers, and I’ve made some great friends.” I smile.

  “Sounds like you’ve got it made.” He bites into his cheeseburger, then uses his napkin to wipe a stray crumb in the corner of his mouth.

  “I really do,” I say, picking up a French fry and making it dance circles in the little bowl of ketchup on my plate. And I want to say something more, something to get his assurance that he’ll always love me, no matter what, but then his cell phone rings.

  He gives me an apologetic look, flips it open, and says, “Yeah? You’re kidding? Just now?”

  Then his eyes briefly meet mine and I look down at my plate because I don’t want him to see how disappointed I am. I mean, it’s not his fault.

  “Okay, I’m on my way.” He closes his phone. “Rio,” he starts.

  “It’s okay, Dad.”

  “The jury just came back with a verdict. I’m sorry. Can we have a rain check?”

  “Sure.”

  “How ‘bout Sunday? We can have brunch, go to the plant nursery, whatever you want, just you and me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let me get
the waitress to wrap these up.” He points at our half-eaten burgers.

  “That’s all right,” I say, pushing my plate away. “I’ve had enough.”

  During the ten-minute drive back to school I didn’t want him to feel bad about having to bail on me, so I mostly spent the time joking around, trying to make him laugh.

  But when I get out of the car and watch him drive away, I’m kind of embarrassed to admit this, but my throat goes all tight and I feel like I’m about to cry. I guess it was really stupid to try to recapture that bond with my dad because things are so different now and there’s just no going back.

  I stand there, squeezing my eyes shut, refusing the tears. And when the moment finally passes I run my hands through my hair, touch up my lip gloss, and head straight for the lunch tables and Tyler, knowing I’ll feel better once we’re together.

  But when I get there, Kristi’s sitting right next to him.

  “Hey,” I say, leaning down to kiss him, and glaring at her. I mean, who does she think she is, sitting here when I’m not around?

  “What happened to your lunch date?” he asks, moving away from her to make room for me.

  “He bailed.” I laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about it. “Well here, have some of this,” he says, pulling me close and giving me half his sandwich.

  I close my eyes and nuzzle into his neck, feeling the warm assurance of his skin. Then I reach for the sandwich, take a bite, and stare at Kristi. And I continue staring at her until she finally gets up and moves away.

  Thirty-two

  When I wake up on Saturday morning the first thing that pops into my head is: This is the last morning I’ll wake up a virgin.

  I put on my favorite thick, white terry-cloth robe, which my dad got for me on one of his business trips. It has a lion’s head on a crown and says “Ritz-Carlton” in blue embroidered script underneath. Then I go downstairs, where my parents are having breakfast.

  My dad is hunched over a bowl of cereal, reading the New York Times (yes, even though we’ve moved west he refuses to read the L.A. papers), and my mom is sipping coffee and scrutinizing the glossy society pages of Orange Coast magazine—scanning for pictures of all her new best friends.

  “Morning,” I say heading for the coffeemaker.

  This is the last time I’ll pour coffee as a virgin.

  “Hey, kiddo.” My dad winks at me.

  “Do you want me to make you some eggs or something?” my mom asks, still not looking up.

  “No, thanks,” I say, grabbing an orange.

  This is the last orange I’ll peel as—well, you know.

  “Rio, tonight’s that benefit in L.A. Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” she asks.

  “Mom, we’ve been over this. I’m seventeen. I’m not a baby.” I roll my eyes and peel my orange.

  “Well, you can have some of your friends over if you want and Tyler, too, but no parties, and no spending the night! Well, your friends can, but not Tyler!” She gives me a stern look.

  “Jeez, Mom.” I shake my head and act as though the thought never occurred to me. But ohmygod! How did she know???

  She’s back to reading her magazine so it’s not like she’s dwelling on it or anything, but I’m still completely creeped out by her saying that. So I quickly finish my orange, grab my coffee mug, and go to my room, pretending I have homework and stuff, which technically I do, but it’s not like I’m actually planning to do it.

  I flop on my bed and watch TV for a while. Then I pick up my cell and call Kayla. After four rings she finally answers. “What’re you doing?” I ask.

  “Getting ready to go to Kristi’s.”

  “Already?” I glance at the clock on my nighstand. “But the party’s not ‘til way later.”

  “I know. We’re just gonna hang by the pool until her parents leave, then we’ll start setting up.”

  “Is Jen going, too?” I ask, sitting up and gripping the phone even tighter.

  “Yeah, we’re going together.”

  “Oh,” I say, wondering why no one invited me.

  “We were gonna invite you,” she says, like she’s reading my mind or something. “But we figured you’d be busy with Tyler.”

  “Oh, well I’m not. I’m just hanging in my room, totally bored,” I say, hoping she’ll invite me now.

  But she just goes, “So are you guys gonna come by before or after?”

  “Before or after what?”

  “You know.” She laughs.

  “Oh, that. Well, I think we’re gonna leave the party early and then come back here. My parents are staying in L.A. tonight so we’ll have the house to ourselves,” I whisper.

  “Cool. Oh, listen, Jen Jen’s here. Gotta run.”

  “Kayla, wait—” I say, but she already hung up.

  I sit on my bed staring at my silent phone, because I can’t believe she didn’t invite me. It’s like ever since I started dating Tyler they’ve been doing all this stuff without me, and it’s so not fair. I mean, just because I hang with the seniors a lot doesn’t give them the right to ignore me when I’m alone.

  I spend most of the day sequestered in my room, and by the time my parents finally leave (it took my mom forever to get ready), I only have an hour left to come up with the perfect outfit for losing my virginity. But after trying on nearly every piece of clothing in my closet, it suddenly occurs to me that clothes aren’t really the issue tonight. It’s really more about what’s underneath.

  And I’m kinda freaked since Tyler’s never seen me naked. I mean, he’s seen parts of me naked, but never like, “all together in one continuous piece” naked. Somehow I always manage to keep something on. But tonight he’s expecting to see everything at once, and it’s making me feel really self-conscious.

  I don’t know how other people do it. And I’m not talking about actresses and models and porn stars that get paid to be naked sometimes (well, in the case of a porn star pretty much all the time), but just normal everyday people with husbands and boyfriends and gym memberships where they walk from the shower to the locker with only a towel on their head.

  I mean, how do they see themselves naked, and not hate what they see?

  Okay, I know I’m supposed to love and accept myself and refuse to fall prey to evil things like fashion magazines and MTV videos and the impossible standards the media puts on women. But honestly, how can you truly not care? It’s like, before I moved here I never really thought about how my body looked. I was short and chubby and always hiding in a pair of baggy jeans and a sweatshirt or an ill-fitting school uniform. And getting naked in front of some gorgeous guy never seemed like something that would happen to me. But then, you know, everything changed—my home, my body, my friends, my clothes—everything! And now I’m supposed to put myself on full display in front of my boyfriend who’s completely perfect, and I’m panicked. I mean, what if he expects me to be perfect, too?

  I’m starting to wonder if maybe I should have listened to Kristi and my mom when they tried to warn me about eating so much. Because, what if they’re right? It’s like, just now I turned to the side to check out my profile, and I swear, my stomach doesn’t look near as flat as it used to, and it seems like my butt is in direct competition with J. Lo’s. And believe me, three husbands and gazillions of dollars aside, that’s not a look that’s exactly coveted in my neighborhood.

  But even worse, what if Tyler notices and gets all grossed out or something?

  I’m glaring at myself and poking at the flabby parts when I hear him drive through the open gate.

  I throw on a faded denim mini, a pink cami (that matches my new pink lace bra and matching thong), a green BCBG wrap sweater, and some gold Chanel ballet shoes that belong to my mom.

  I’m swiping her little pink Dior handbag just as he rings the bell. But before I go downstairs, I run back in my room, unscrew the light-bulb in the lamp next to my bed, and bury it in the trash. That way when we come back after the party, the room will be so dark he can’t s
ee all my imperfections.

  When I open the door he goes, “You look hot.” Then he comes inside and kisses me.

  “Thanks,” I say, anxious to get out of here, so I can delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

  “What’s the hurry? Are your parents home?” he asks, looking worried.

  I shake my head.

  “Then let’s hang awhile.” He pulls me toward him.

  I let him kiss me, but then he starts really getting into it and I can totally tell he’s gonna try to blow off the party, and there’s no way I’m letting that happen. So I push away. “We have to go. I told Kristi, we’d help set up.” (Okay, maybe I lied, but he doesn’t need to know that.) Then I smile and say, “But I promise we can bail early” (Knowing that once he gets around his friends and a keg of beer, he won’t want to leave.)

  Then I drag him out the front door, all the way to his black Escalade.

  The second we walk in the door, Tyler ditches me. Okay, maybe it’s not quite that bad, but the fact is he sees a bunch of his friends (and the keg) and heads straight for them without once looking back to see if I’m following.

  What’d I tell ya?

  But I don’t go after him. Instead I go searching for my friends, making my way through the crowded living room, through the sliding-glass doors, and out to the backyard. I say hi to a few people, grab a beer from a big metal can filled with ice and bottles, then I lie back on one of the beige padded lounge chairs by the pool.

  I see JC lounging in the Jacuzzi between two girls I vaguely recognize as frosh-soph cheerleaders. They’re draped all over him, kissing him, and when he reaches for his beer, he looks right at me.

  I want to look away, but it’s too late now, so we sit there gazing at each other, and I start remembering how much I hurt him, and I wonder if he still hates me.

  Then JC smiles and goes, “Hey, Rio, come ere.” He waves me over to join them.

  And while it’s nice to know he’s not holding a grudge, I’m definitely not interested in making it a menage a quatre. So I give a little wave back, then get up and go inside the house.