seasonal help. Even if Gemma didn’t dress like the daughter of a millionaire and speak her mind to the point of cruelty, school would be awkward. As it is, she’s ostracized by almost everyone.
But she doesn’t care. She insisted on staying in public school, even when her grades improved and her parents pressured her to go back to the private school in Los Olivos at the beginning of her freshman year. She’s the type of person who only needs one friend, one follower, and sometimes doesn’t even seem to need that.
“Whatever.” She shifts into reverse and backs down the drive.
Rain pounds the roof as we slide from under the carport and spin in a tight circle before zipping down El Camino. The day is gray, colorless. It’s no wonder I overslept. If it weren’t for the nightmares, I’d wish I were still asleep. I’m so tired. I should be filled with Ambassador magic by now, feeling strong enough to take on the world—or at least the Mercenaries. But I don’t. I feel … off, exhausted.
“I guess your new
boyfriend
doesn’t care what you look like,” Gemma says, hitting the word
boyfriend
hard enough to break a rock.
“What?”
“Melanie told me,” she says. “I can’t believe you told your mother—who you hate like ass sores—that you were going on a date, but didn’t tell me.”
“Oh.” The date. That’s why she’s angry. Ariel decided not to tell Gemma until afterward, when she’d hopefully have a real story to tell.
“ ‘Oh.’ That’s all you have to say? ‘Oh’?”
“Sorry. I didn’t want to say anything unless we had a good time.”
“Well, did you?” she asks, a twinkle in her eye. “Who’s the guy? Where did you go? How late did you stay out? Did you finally see a penis in real life? Tell me everything. Immediately.”
I surprise myself with a blush. “No.” How much to say? I know Ariel won’t want Gemma to know the date was a joke. “It was awful. Dylan’s not—”
“Dylan, as in Dylan Stroud?” she asks, enthusiasm draining from her tone.
“Yeah.”
“You went out with Dylan?” Her lips press together, the bright red of her lipstick making her mouth a crooked slash across her face. “Wasn’t that … awkward?”
“It was,” I say, not sure why the moment has become strained. “Like I said, it was awful.”
“Right …” She turns her gaze back to the road. “Well, of course it was. I could have
told
you it would be if you’d given me the heads-up. He’s
Dylan Stroud
. He’s a sociopath.”
“I know. He just seemed so nice at rehearsals.”
“That’s because he’s pretending to be someone else,” Gemma says, making a valid point. Ariel’s crush on Dylan developed while she was watching him play Tony, the boy who falls in love with the little sister of the leader of the opposing street gang in
West Side Story
.
West Side Story
, the musical based on Shakespeare’s
Romeo and Juliet
. Which means that—should Romeo decide to continue with the drama club—he’ll be playing
himself
. I’m sure he’ll find the irony delicious.
“I mean, don’t you think there’s a reason a gorgeous guy like that doesn’t have a girlfriend?” Gemma asks. “Or even some steady friends with benefits?”
“Because he’s a jerk.”
“He’s insane. He and Jason both are, and their band is embarrassingly lame. Dylan can sing, but I swear he looks like he’s having a seizure when he plays guitar.” She turns left and then almost immediately right, taking us into the heart of Solvang’s tourist district, a place Ariel thinks of as Disneyland for grown-ups who like wine.
The town is built to look like an old-fashioned Danish village, with wine-tasting rooms on every corner, testimony tothe region’s growing industry. Gemma’s parents’ tasting room is the largest, taking up two stories of a redbrick building on Mission Drive. We pass it on our right.
A heavy wooden sign advertising Sloop Vineyards sways in the wind, but Gemma
But she doesn’t care. She insisted on staying in public school, even when her grades improved and her parents pressured her to go back to the private school in Los Olivos at the beginning of her freshman year. She’s the type of person who only needs one friend, one follower, and sometimes doesn’t even seem to need that.
“Whatever.” She shifts into reverse and backs down the drive.
Rain pounds the roof as we slide from under the carport and spin in a tight circle before zipping down El Camino. The day is gray, colorless. It’s no wonder I overslept. If it weren’t for the nightmares, I’d wish I were still asleep. I’m so tired. I should be filled with Ambassador magic by now, feeling strong enough to take on the world—or at least the Mercenaries. But I don’t. I feel … off, exhausted.
“I guess your new
boyfriend
doesn’t care what you look like,” Gemma says, hitting the word
boyfriend
hard enough to break a rock.
“What?”
“Melanie told me,” she says. “I can’t believe you told your mother—who you hate like ass sores—that you were going on a date, but didn’t tell me.”
“Oh.” The date. That’s why she’s angry. Ariel decided not to tell Gemma until afterward, when she’d hopefully have a real story to tell.
“ ‘Oh.’ That’s all you have to say? ‘Oh’?”
“Sorry. I didn’t want to say anything unless we had a good time.”
“Well, did you?” she asks, a twinkle in her eye. “Who’s the guy? Where did you go? How late did you stay out? Did you finally see a penis in real life? Tell me everything. Immediately.”
I surprise myself with a blush. “No.” How much to say? I know Ariel won’t want Gemma to know the date was a joke. “It was awful. Dylan’s not—”
“Dylan, as in Dylan Stroud?” she asks, enthusiasm draining from her tone.
“Yeah.”
“You went out with Dylan?” Her lips press together, the bright red of her lipstick making her mouth a crooked slash across her face. “Wasn’t that … awkward?”
“It was,” I say, not sure why the moment has become strained. “Like I said, it was awful.”
“Right …” She turns her gaze back to the road. “Well, of course it was. I could have
told
you it would be if you’d given me the heads-up. He’s
Dylan Stroud
. He’s a sociopath.”
“I know. He just seemed so nice at rehearsals.”
“That’s because he’s pretending to be someone else,” Gemma says, making a valid point. Ariel’s crush on Dylan developed while she was watching him play Tony, the boy who falls in love with the little sister of the leader of the opposing street gang in
West Side Story
.
West Side Story
, the musical based on Shakespeare’s
Romeo and Juliet
. Which means that—should Romeo decide to continue with the drama club—he’ll be playing
himself
. I’m sure he’ll find the irony delicious.
“I mean, don’t you think there’s a reason a gorgeous guy like that doesn’t have a girlfriend?” Gemma asks. “Or even some steady friends with benefits?”
“Because he’s a jerk.”
“He’s insane. He and Jason both are, and their band is embarrassingly lame. Dylan can sing, but I swear he looks like he’s having a seizure when he plays guitar.” She turns left and then almost immediately right, taking us into the heart of Solvang’s tourist district, a place Ariel thinks of as Disneyland for grown-ups who like wine.
The town is built to look like an old-fashioned Danish village, with wine-tasting rooms on every corner, testimony tothe region’s growing industry. Gemma’s parents’ tasting room is the largest, taking up two stories of a redbrick building on Mission Drive. We pass it on our right.
A heavy wooden sign advertising Sloop Vineyards sways in the wind, but Gemma
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