Read Online Epic Fail by Claire LaZebnik - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Claire LaZebnik
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switched to boarding school.”
“Any special reason?”
Derek’s eyes flitted across my face, and then he looked down at his hands and said tonelessly, “Coral Tree’s a mediocre school academically. My parents thought she needed a place that was more challenging.” It sounded like something he had memorized.
“And it’s getting worse by the hour,” Chelsea said. “No offense to your mother,” she added, just to make sure I got the point that she was being offensive to my mother.
I ignored her. “What about you?” I asked Derek. “Why didn’t your parents take you out of Coral Tree?”
He shrugged. “I’m a mediocre student. Coral Tree’s fine for me.”
“Don’t believe it!” Chelsea said. “Derek’s, like, the smartest kid in his class.”
“How would you know?” he asked. “This is the first time we’ve ever had a class together.”
“Everyone says so.”
“Well, I’m not. Not even close.”
“But why a boarding school?” I pursued, genuinely curious. “There are other college prep schools here in L.A. Some really good ones. So why—”
He shifted on the bench and pointed out the window. “Look, the Getty Museum monorail.”
Chelsea obediently gazed out the window. But I was more curious than ever. Derek Edwards was not the kind of guy who went around pointing enthusiastically at trains. He just didn’t want to answer my questions.
Chelsea split from the rest of us as soon as we entered the loud, noisy, crowded party house.
No, wait—I take that back. It wasn’t right away, because first she tugged on Derek’s arm and said, “Want to dance?” and he said, “You know I don’t dance,” and then she said, “Help me find the bar,” and he said, “It’s over there,” and then she said, “Come get a drink with me?” and he said, “I’m not thirsty,” and then she said, “Let’s go see the indoor pool,” and he said, “I’ve seen it,” and then she gave up and headed toward a group of her friends, although not without one last overly loud and enthusiastic, “Bye, Derek! Come find me later!” which was clearly intended for her friends’ ears, so they’d all think she and Derek had come together, I assumed. Which they had—but not in that way.
“Should we get something to drink?” Chase asked right after she’d gone.
“Yeah, I’d kill for a Coke,” Derek said, and led the way toward the bar he had pointed out a second earlier to Chelsea.
Okay, so he definitely wasn’t interested in her romantically.
The bar was the real thing, an ornately carved wooden counter with a built-in sink and (locked) wine storage unit behind it. I had never seen one in a house in real life, only in TV shows and movies.
Then again, the whole house was like nothing I’d seen before. Chelsea had made several deprecating comments in the car about how annoying it was that we had to trek all the way to the “sucky Valley,” so I had expected to end up at some nasty little tract house, not at an enormous gated estate.
I was relieved to see nothing alcoholic on the bar—no need to lie to my mother, who always warned us to leave any party immediately if we saw anyone drinking. I wondered sometimes if she was deliberately naive about this stuff. I mean, she’d been in high school administration for more than a decade. She had to have some sense of reality, right?
I was always honest about my own behavior—I never drank alcohol. But if I told my parents the entire truth—that almost everyone else drank beer at parties—they wouldn’t let me or my sisters go anywhere ever again.
Mom and Dad loved to say, “We trust you to behave appropriately,” and then not trust us at all. I didn’t want to deceive my parents. But they didn’t leave me much choice.
Chase saw me studying the contents of the bar. “It’s all soda,” he confirmed. “Jason has this deal with his parents: he can throw as many parties as he likes so long as he doesn’t serve alcohol.” He
“Any special reason?”
Derek’s eyes flitted across my face, and then he looked down at his hands and said tonelessly, “Coral Tree’s a mediocre school academically. My parents thought she needed a place that was more challenging.” It sounded like something he had memorized.
“And it’s getting worse by the hour,” Chelsea said. “No offense to your mother,” she added, just to make sure I got the point that she was being offensive to my mother.
I ignored her. “What about you?” I asked Derek. “Why didn’t your parents take you out of Coral Tree?”
He shrugged. “I’m a mediocre student. Coral Tree’s fine for me.”
“Don’t believe it!” Chelsea said. “Derek’s, like, the smartest kid in his class.”
“How would you know?” he asked. “This is the first time we’ve ever had a class together.”
“Everyone says so.”
“Well, I’m not. Not even close.”
“But why a boarding school?” I pursued, genuinely curious. “There are other college prep schools here in L.A. Some really good ones. So why—”
He shifted on the bench and pointed out the window. “Look, the Getty Museum monorail.”
Chelsea obediently gazed out the window. But I was more curious than ever. Derek Edwards was not the kind of guy who went around pointing enthusiastically at trains. He just didn’t want to answer my questions.
Chelsea split from the rest of us as soon as we entered the loud, noisy, crowded party house.
No, wait—I take that back. It wasn’t right away, because first she tugged on Derek’s arm and said, “Want to dance?” and he said, “You know I don’t dance,” and then she said, “Help me find the bar,” and he said, “It’s over there,” and then she said, “Come get a drink with me?” and he said, “I’m not thirsty,” and then she said, “Let’s go see the indoor pool,” and he said, “I’ve seen it,” and then she gave up and headed toward a group of her friends, although not without one last overly loud and enthusiastic, “Bye, Derek! Come find me later!” which was clearly intended for her friends’ ears, so they’d all think she and Derek had come together, I assumed. Which they had—but not in that way.
“Should we get something to drink?” Chase asked right after she’d gone.
“Yeah, I’d kill for a Coke,” Derek said, and led the way toward the bar he had pointed out a second earlier to Chelsea.
Okay, so he definitely wasn’t interested in her romantically.
The bar was the real thing, an ornately carved wooden counter with a built-in sink and (locked) wine storage unit behind it. I had never seen one in a house in real life, only in TV shows and movies.
Then again, the whole house was like nothing I’d seen before. Chelsea had made several deprecating comments in the car about how annoying it was that we had to trek all the way to the “sucky Valley,” so I had expected to end up at some nasty little tract house, not at an enormous gated estate.
I was relieved to see nothing alcoholic on the bar—no need to lie to my mother, who always warned us to leave any party immediately if we saw anyone drinking. I wondered sometimes if she was deliberately naive about this stuff. I mean, she’d been in high school administration for more than a decade. She had to have some sense of reality, right?
I was always honest about my own behavior—I never drank alcohol. But if I told my parents the entire truth—that almost everyone else drank beer at parties—they wouldn’t let me or my sisters go anywhere ever again.
Mom and Dad loved to say, “We trust you to behave appropriately,” and then not trust us at all. I didn’t want to deceive my parents. But they didn’t leave me much choice.
Chase saw me studying the contents of the bar. “It’s all soda,” he confirmed. “Jason has this deal with his parents: he can throw as many parties as he likes so long as he doesn’t serve alcohol.” He
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