“Maybe Santa will put it in your stocking,” my mom says with a wink.
So this is how I come to be having my first ever party party. I tell everybody at the lunch table on Thursday, and the sour look on Rennie’s face makes the whole thing worth it in advance. “Friday night, seniors only,” I say. “Super exclusive. I don’t want any random sophomores or whatever. Only the people we like.” Which means not you, Rennie.
“Your mom’s letting you have a party?” Rennie looks skeptical.
I’m about to snap at her, but then I realize that these are the first words Rennie has spoken to me in over a month. I force a swallow and say, “My mom won’t be here. Nadia, either.”
Rennie’s face gets pinched. “What about booze? Let me guess, this is going to be a dry party. Diet Coke and lemonade, am I right?”
I ignore her and touch Reeve’s arm. “Reeve? Can you ask one of your brothers to get me a few kegs for tomorrow? I can pay you after school.”
“No prob,” he says, gulping down a carton of milk. He wipes his mouth. “Tommy owes me for helping him move last week. Do you want some liquor, too? Something sweet for the girls, like peach schnapps or whatever?”
Hmm. I don’t want things to get too too crazy. But Rennie’s watching, so I say, “Maybe a bottle of tequila. For shots.” To the table I say, “But I don’t want it to get, like, out of hand. Can you guys please help me keep things under control? My mom will kill me if the house gets wrecked.”
Reeve nudges my foot under the table, his sneaker to my bootie. “I’ll be your bouncer,” he promises, giving me a look. “Only VIPs at Princess Lillia’s party.”
I’m tempted to sneak a peek at Rennie, to see the look on her face, but there’s no need. I know she’s seething inside. Guaranteed. To add more fuel to the flames, I say, “And there won’t be a theme. Themes are so over.”
“Sounds good,” Alex says. “Let me know if I can help. Whatever you need.”
“Maybe you can pick up the pizzas?” I ask.
Alex nods. “No problem.”
* * *
After school Reeve texted me and asked me to help him find an outfit for Rennie’s party, and I said yes, only because I hoped it would get back to her. So here we are at Second Time Around, a thrift store near Reeve’s house that his mom told him about. Reeve’s in front of a full-length mirror, trying on a double-breasted pin-striped jacket. “Um, I think that’s a women’s suit jacket!” I say, and I collapse into a fit of giggles.
“No way,” Reeve says confidently. “It’s definitely menswear. It just has a sleeker cut.”
I come up behind and get on my toes to check the label. Ann Taylor. “You’re right,” I say, trying not to smile. “Menswear.”
Reeve gives me a suspicious look and takes off the jacket. When he reads the label, he exclaims, “Ann Taylor! My mom shops there.” He tosses the jacket to me and I put it back on the hanger. “If I can’t find anything else, I guess it’ll work. The man makes the clothes; the clothes don’t make the man.”
I shake my head at him in mock wonder. “I can’t even believe how cocky you are.” I’m giving him a hard time, but the truth is, it’s nice to see him acting like his old self. I hand him a gray checked vest with buttons down the front. “You could wear this with a dress shirt and a tie.”
He unbuttons it and tries it on over his shirt. “Not bad,” Reeve says, checking himself out.
He does look handsome. Very GQ. I take a gray fedora off the hat rack and place it on his head. “Now you look perfect,” I tell him, tilting it just so. “Very jaunty. Very Gatsby-esque.” His cheeks are smooth; he shaved this morning. And he smells good—not like he doused himself in cologne, but clean, like Irish Spring soap.
“Cool, I’ll get it,” Reeve says. I can tell he’s pleased. He looks at himself in the mirror one last time, and then he takes the hat off and puts it on my head. He’s looking down at me, and then he gives my side braid a tug, and I have this strong feeling that he’s about to kiss me.
But behind Reeve, across the store, I spot two girls and a guy from our high school picking through the racks. They’re drama kids, probably looking for costumes or something. I don’t know their names, but I bet they know who Reeve and I are. And if they spotted us kissing, that kind of juicy gossip would be all over the school in a heartbeat.
Suddenly I feel dizzy. I take a quick step back and then dart away from him and head up to the register. Reeve follows, and I tell the girl at the counter, “We’ll take the fedora and the vest.”
Then Reeve pays, and we walk back toward his truck. The sun is bright out, but it’s cold. I tighten the scarf around my neck. I’m about to hop into the passenger side of the truck when Reeve clears his throat and says, “Would you want to come to my family’s open house?”
“What’s an open house?” Is he moving?
“It’s a thing my parents do every December,” Reeve explains. “My mom cooks a bunch of food, and people stop by all day. Mostly family and neighbors. It’ll be, like, my brothers and their girlfriends and my cousins. We watch football and decorate the tree, hang lights on the garage, nothing special.”
I wet my lips nervously. “When is it?”
“This Sunday. Drop by whenever. We’ll be around all day.”
“Okay,” I say. I’ve known Reeve for years, and I don’t remember him ever mentioning an open house. I can’t believe he’s actually inviting me. It’s really sweet. But it’s also really real. Like, hanging out with his mom and dad and brothers and their girlfriends? That’s something only a girlfriend would do.
Which I guess is a good thing.
Reeve’s face breaks into a relieved smile. “Yeah? Okay, cool. You can stop by whenever. I mean, people start coming in the morning, and my mom makes these kick-ass sweet rolls, so maybe come around ten before my brothers eat them all.”
“Cool,” I echo.
He looks so happy that I wonder if maybe he’ll try to kiss me again.
Reeve opens the passenger-side door for me, and I climb in, my scarf trailing behind me. Before he shuts the door, he picks up the end of my scarf so it won’t get caught in the door, and he winds it around my neck. Then he runs around the other side and starts the car and turns the heater on. “It’ll get warm pretty fast,” he tells me, and I nod. I have to keep telling myself that none of this is real; it’s all going to be over soon. I can’t let myself get swept away because I have feelings for him. I can’t have feelings for him. I have to control it.
Reeve pulls up in front of my house, and before I get out, he says, “Everything’s set with the kegs. I’m going to pick them up tomorrow after school. I can grab the pizzas, too.”
Surprised, I say, “Oh, thanks, but Alex said he’d pick them up.”
“I’ll do it. It’s on my way.”
“Okay. Thank you. I’ll give the pizza place my credit card number when I place the order tomorrow.”
Reeve gives me a weird look and says, “I can afford a couple of pizzas, Cho.”
Great, now I’ve offended him. I’m trying to think of what to say to make it less awkward, and then he goes, “I can come early with everything and help you get set up, if you want.”
I look at him out of the corner of my eye. “People are going to notice, you know.”
Reeve shrugs. “What?”
“Come on, Reeve. I’m just saying that if we want things to stay, you know, between us, we should probably be more discreet.”
Reeve reaches out and tucks some of my hair behind my ear. “We’re not going to be able to hide this forever.”
“I know that. But we can’t, like, throw it in everyone’s faces either. People will get upset.” People, aka Rennie and Alex.
He rubs his eyes. “I’m just going to do what feels right. If people have a problem with that . . . well, then they can go to hell.”
I nod. What else can we do? Then I go with what feels right to me at that very second. I lean across the center console and give Reeve
a peck on the cheek. I do it so quick I don’t get to see the look on his face, and then I hop out and run to my front door.
I’m breathless and flushed by the time I run up the stairs and to my room. I’m brushing my hair in front of my vanity when Nadia steps inside in one of our dad’s big Harvard sweatshirts and her fuzzy slippers. “Hey,” I say. “I thought you were going to the barn.”
“I am, later.” She comes and sits on my bed and watches me, her arms hugging her knees. “You look happy.”
“I do?”
“Yeah. Was that Reeve dropping you off?”
I notice something in her voice. A sharpness. “Yeah. A bunch of us were hanging out downtown and he gave me a ride home because he was on his way over to Alex’s.”
Nadia doesn’t say anything. She knows I’m lying. I know I’m lying. And so the lie just sits there between us. Then she says, “I saw you kiss him.”
“On the cheek!”
She shakes her head, looking at me like I am a stranger. “But you know it’s not right. Whatever you’re doing with him, it’s not right.”
“Why can’t it be right?” My voice sounds weak, desperate.
I hate that Nadia’s looking at me like that—like she’s disappointed in me. Like I’ve disappointed her. “Because you know how Rennie feels about him. He’s hers.”
“No, he’s not. She thinks he is, but he’s not.” I feel tears spring to my eyes as I say, “I don’t even know how you can defend her after the way she’s been treating me. Have you really not noticed? It’s been almost two whole months of her ignoring me in public, talking about me behind my back. And I know you and all your friends have been making decorations and stuff for her New Year’s Eve party. How is that supposed to make me feel? You’re supposed to be on my side, Nadi. You’re my sister, not hers.”
“It’s not about what she’s doing. It’s about what you’re doing.” Nadia looks like she is about to cry too.
“Nadi,” I begin. I’m not sure what I can say to make this better. Before I can figure it out, my sister gets up and leaves. I call out her name again, but she doesn’t come back.
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
* * *
KAT
MY FRIDAY NIGHTS ARE GETTING less and less exciting these days. Lillia’s having a big rager and I’m sitting on the floor of the den, trying to untangle a knot of holiday lights. It’s a pretty, glowing puzzle. Pat and Dad went to buy us a Christmas tree from the YMCA with a coupon from the newspaper. Pat was all, “I want one that smells piney. Some of them don’t.” I put my hands on his shoulders and said, “Tall and cheap, Pat. That’s your mission.”
It still feels weird to spend money on Christmas trees. Back when Mom was alive, we’d go out “tree hunting.” That’s what she called it, anyway. I think other people might use the word “trespassing.”
After dinner, when the sun had set, the four of us would go for a walk in the woods behind our house. Each of us would have a flashlight. When we’d find a good tree, Dad and Pat would each take a side of an old-timey handsaw, and they’d push it back and forth. Mom and I would quietly cheer them on, mittens dulling our applause, and sip hot cider from a thermos.
This was the only thing illegal my mom ever did. We’d drag the tree back to the house, and the whole time we’d tease her about it. Pat would get quiet and say in a whisper, “Judy! I think I hear sirens!” and then he and I would bust up laughing. But Mom refused, she flat-out refused, to spend money on a tree when the woods were full of them. Never mind that the woods weren’t our property. They belonged to the Preservation Society, bought in an effort to keep parts of Jar Island undeveloped.
My cell buzzes on the coffee table. I reach over and click open a text.
Can we talk? Please?
I feel my lip curl up, like I’ve tasted something sour. This is the second time Rennie has reached out to me. First the daisy in my locker, which was so beyond emotionally manipulative I can’t even, and now this. I never responded to the daisy. I’ve looked straight through her when I’ve seen her at school. And I’m definitely not going to write back now. I mean, come on. Why the eff would Rennie think that I’d want to open that door again? It was barely a month ago that she was trying to start shit with me at the Greasy Spoon.
I know why she’s doing it. She’s on the outs with Lillia. She’s probably not even invited to the party tonight. If things were okay between them, she’d never reach out to me. Um, yeah. Thanks but no thanks, you witch.
Another text comes, before I can delete the first.
Pleeeease?
Why is she refusing to take the hint? The fact that she keeps trying, even when I’ve blown her off . . . well, it’s making me feel bad, which is total BS. Because I don’t owe her anything. She’s the asshole. Not me. She needs to get that straight.
I write back. Go fuck yourself.
I figure that’ll be the end of it. But she texts me back again, almost immediately.
One coffee. Java Jones in ten?
My jaw drops. Girl has serious balls.
There’s no way in HELL I’m meeting you at Java Jones!!! My fingers tap the screen so hard I’m afraid I might break my phone.
For all I know she could be planning some grand humiliation of me à la Stephen King’s Carrie, complete with a bucket of pig’s blood that’ll crash down on my head when I walk through the door.
Fine. No coffee. Can I stop by your house? For five minutes?
Classic Rennie. She’ll browbeat you until she gets her way. She pulled that shit all the time when we were kids. Once, Rennie wanted permission to go to a midnight screening of a horror movie that was rated R for being extra, extra gory. Paige said no, but Rennie kept asking until the answer changed. Which, of course, it did.
I write back. DIE BITCH!!!!
Then I cram my cell between couch cushions, because I’m over it. I’m over this damn knot of lights, too. It’s Pat’s fault; he’s the one who chucks them in a bag every year instead of wrapping them up carefully. I dig in the boxes, looking for our tree topper. Instead I end up unwrapping the white porcelain angel from a shell of newspaper. I use the sleeve of my black sweater to dust the windowsill and then set it down. There’s a place inside to put a candle, one of those tea lights that come inside a metal cup, but we’ve never done that. I make a mental note to buy some of those candles. I’m not even sure where we got the angel, if it was ours from before or a gift after, but when I see it, I always think of Judy.
The doorbell rings. Shep slides off the chair and barks his way to the front door.
Oh no. No no no no.
I peek through the curtains and see a white Jeep in my driveway.
Hell no!
The doorbell rings again. And then there’s knocking. Impatient knocking.
I stand a few feet from the front door and shout, “Get off my property, Rennie!” through the wood. I wish Shep was a guard dog that I could sic on her.
“Kat, come on. Please talk to me!”
I press my back against the door. She keeps knocking.
This is ridiculous. Rennie’s somehow found a way to make me look like the idiot. The girl hiding inside, afraid to face down her tormentor. I swear to God . . .
I pull the door open, hard.
“You have sixty seconds. Go.”
Rennie smiles shyly. She’s got on an olive-green sweater, dark jeans, and some fringy suede Sherpa boots that look utterly ridiculous. “Hey,” she says, casual.
I don’t say anything. I stand there and wait for her to start.
Except that Rennie doesn’t do anything but stare at me, like she’s a person with amnesia, trying to remember who I am.
I burst out with “Say what you’ve got to say!” to get this moving along.
She bites her lip and nods. “Kat,” she says, and then pauses to take a big breath. “I’m sorry.” She raises her arms up like she’s offering me something, I don’t know what, and then lets them fall back limply to
her sides.
I laugh, I can’t help it, and it makes a cloud in the cold air. “That’s it? That’s what you came here for?”
She lets out a sigh, and it sounds almost annoyed, like I don’t know how hard this is for her. “I know the people I hang out with haven’t made things so easy for you. Lillia, Ashlin . . .”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. I’m shutting this shit down right now. “Don’t you dare blame anyone else for what you’ve done to me the last four years.” I don’t say it; I growl it.
Her eyes flutter, and then she stares at the ground. “I . . . I . . .”
“Oh, come on.” I start pushing the door shut, because this is ridiculous.
Rennie takes a step toward me and uses her foot to block the door from closing. “Wait. Okay. Okay. I wish I could go back to the first day of high school and do everything over. I wish I could take it all back, Kat.”
“Well, you can’t,” I tell her. It’s way too late for that.
“I know I can’t. And that’s what sucks.”
I lean against the door. “You know what sucks? Your timing. I love that this apology is coming now, now when your whole circle of friends is completely fucked up and you’ve got nobody.” I’m practically screaming.
She blinks a few times.
“Everyone at school knows, Ren. You and your precious little Lillia are on the outs.” I don’t know why I say that stuff about Lillia. I’ve made my peace with her; I’ve forgiven her. We’re cool now. But it’s like the anger is still inside me, somewhere, for getting dropped. “You picked her over me, so why would you think I’d give a flying fuck that she’s ditched you now?” I laugh, and it sounds hollow, but I don’t care. “I love it! Karma, baby!” I try closing the door again.
“Wait! Please, Kat. Just listen to me for a second. Lillia’s a duplicitous bitch. It’s almost psycho, how two-faced she is. I just never saw it before now!” Rennie looks so convinced, so sure of herself. In her sick mind, Lillia’s clearly guilty of something.