Wrenn needs to meet with Jamon, Dad’s lawyer, in the valley at eight. Today they’re going to discuss more details about the appeal case, and I’m just glad she believed me when I answered “test” to her “can you come?” I will stab both my eyes out with one of Wrenn’s sculpting tools before I voluntarily sit in a room where I have to witness someone else believe my dad when he says with an eye roll, I shouldn’t be in jail for sending a message . So I lean against the marquee as it scrolls through announcements about midterms and spring break and swim-this, soccer-that while I wait for Ditty, chilled despite the sun.
Cars park and the walkways start to fill up with cliques of friends, none of which seem especially interested in me. And then I see Jess, wearing a tight dress and boots up to her knees, getting out of her mom’s car in the lot. She gets halfway across the lawn before she spots me, and I think to myself don’t turn, don’t turn, don’t turn , but then she waves and turns and four seconds later is standing in front of me.
“The Audi?” I say, pushing away from the marquee. “What’s the special occasion?”
“My parents left for New York today. Some business meeting for my dad, and Mom couldn’t stand to miss the shopping opportunity. Apparently, Mary Boone and Pace Wildenstein,”—she gestures air quotes—“ are to die for .”
“Doesn’t your mom have enough clothes?”
“Art. And you’ve seen our walls. She’s going to have to start hanging stuff from the ceiling. Anyway, they’re gone till Sunday meaning I can pretend for a few days I’m not eighteen and still living with them.” I nod, and she adjusts the backpack on her shoulder. It’s funny how you can know somebody. Their quirks or movements or whatever. Like when Jess lets her hair fall into her face I know she’s thinking. And when she chews on the corner of her lip I know there’s something she needs to tell me that maybe she doesn’t want to tell me.
I wonder if she knows my movements, too. Like my shoes making small , scraping sounds on the cement means I don’t really want to hear what she has to say. Time to make my escape.
“Don’t get a ticket racing around town in that thing .” I start to take off toward Ms. Huckins’s room, make it all of two steps when she grabs my arm. Damn.
“Hey,” she says softly , standing on her tiptoes to nibble my ear. The feel of her teeth on my skin draws up a memory of Cam, and how she nipped at my lip and gripped my skin tightly, and then let me leave without saying a word about seeing me again. I stayed up all night wondering if she does that all the time—bring guys home, wondering if I’ll ever see her again, wondering if I even want to. “Sorry,” Jess interrupts the thought, “about the other night, that I freaked out on you. I just…I don’t know, I guess I was PMSing.”
Whatever, she blames everything on girl problems. I don’t point this out and instead step back and tell her not to worry about it. She tells me that she’s thinking about having people over tomorrow and by “people” she means the ones I used to hang out with when we were together and she thinks it’d be fun if I came, too, and it’s been so long since we all sat in the Jacuzzi together and will I come?
“Come where?” Ditty asks from behind me. His voice is an airy version of the sound that normally comes out of his mouth. Nothing like the biting wo rds from after Monday’s concert, but forced enough to know what happened is still brewing somewhere inside him.
“My house. Tomorrow ,” Jess says, drawing up a small smile. She tucks her hair behind her ear. “You should come, too. Like old times. Bring your suit, okay?” She gives me the I hope you can make it caress down my arm, turns, and walks away.
Ditty watches her , and I swear his eyes follow her ass until she rounds the corner, which should upset me but doesn’t. Then again, maybe he’s watching her limp
Cars park and the walkways start to fill up with cliques of friends, none of which seem especially interested in me. And then I see Jess, wearing a tight dress and boots up to her knees, getting out of her mom’s car in the lot. She gets halfway across the lawn before she spots me, and I think to myself don’t turn, don’t turn, don’t turn , but then she waves and turns and four seconds later is standing in front of me.
“The Audi?” I say, pushing away from the marquee. “What’s the special occasion?”
“My parents left for New York today. Some business meeting for my dad, and Mom couldn’t stand to miss the shopping opportunity. Apparently, Mary Boone and Pace Wildenstein,”—she gestures air quotes—“ are to die for .”
“Doesn’t your mom have enough clothes?”
“Art. And you’ve seen our walls. She’s going to have to start hanging stuff from the ceiling. Anyway, they’re gone till Sunday meaning I can pretend for a few days I’m not eighteen and still living with them.” I nod, and she adjusts the backpack on her shoulder. It’s funny how you can know somebody. Their quirks or movements or whatever. Like when Jess lets her hair fall into her face I know she’s thinking. And when she chews on the corner of her lip I know there’s something she needs to tell me that maybe she doesn’t want to tell me.
I wonder if she knows my movements, too. Like my shoes making small , scraping sounds on the cement means I don’t really want to hear what she has to say. Time to make my escape.
“Don’t get a ticket racing around town in that thing .” I start to take off toward Ms. Huckins’s room, make it all of two steps when she grabs my arm. Damn.
“Hey,” she says softly , standing on her tiptoes to nibble my ear. The feel of her teeth on my skin draws up a memory of Cam, and how she nipped at my lip and gripped my skin tightly, and then let me leave without saying a word about seeing me again. I stayed up all night wondering if she does that all the time—bring guys home, wondering if I’ll ever see her again, wondering if I even want to. “Sorry,” Jess interrupts the thought, “about the other night, that I freaked out on you. I just…I don’t know, I guess I was PMSing.”
Whatever, she blames everything on girl problems. I don’t point this out and instead step back and tell her not to worry about it. She tells me that she’s thinking about having people over tomorrow and by “people” she means the ones I used to hang out with when we were together and she thinks it’d be fun if I came, too, and it’s been so long since we all sat in the Jacuzzi together and will I come?
“Come where?” Ditty asks from behind me. His voice is an airy version of the sound that normally comes out of his mouth. Nothing like the biting wo rds from after Monday’s concert, but forced enough to know what happened is still brewing somewhere inside him.
“My house. Tomorrow ,” Jess says, drawing up a small smile. She tucks her hair behind her ear. “You should come, too. Like old times. Bring your suit, okay?” She gives me the I hope you can make it caress down my arm, turns, and walks away.
Ditty watches her , and I swear his eyes follow her ass until she rounds the corner, which should upset me but doesn’t. Then again, maybe he’s watching her limp
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