“Awesome,” Sloane said now, as she stretched. “I think I’ve got two more in me tonight, how about you?”
“Absolutely,” I said, though I had a feeling we were going to end up watching the whole first season and falling asleep sometime when the sun started to rise. We’d done it before. I stood up and gathered the plates, noticing that both our glasses were empty. “You want a refill?”
“Sure,” she said, as she curled up on the couch, cuing up the next episode. “Or why don’t you grab the wine that’s in the fridge?”
“Okay,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound thrown by this. Sloane always insisted her parents didn’t care if we drank—even if they were home—but it was so different from how I’d grown up, I still had trouble getting my head around it.
I walked across the downstairs to the kitchen, a little slower than I needed to, trying to take it all in. Sloane’s house couldn’t have been more different from mine, with its antiques and rugs and oil paintings with individual lights. I crossed into the kitchen without turning on the light, and put the plates in the sink. Unlike my house, where the kitchen was the hub and everyone gathered there, it seemed mostly unused in Sloane’s house. The first time I’d opened her refrigerator, I’d been shocked to see there were only some takeout containers, a bottle of champagne, and a few ketchup packets. I honestly hadn’t known that it was possible to have a refrigerator without a bottle of ketchup in it. I pulled open the fridge and reached for the bottle of white wine.
“Having a nice time?” I whirled around, my heart hammering, and saw Milly sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, a glass of red wine in her hand. I hadn’t known that Sloane’s parents had come back but realized they had, as usual, come back from someplace fancy—Milly was wearing a floor-length beaded dress that pooled at her bare feet.
“Oh,” I said. I looked down at the bottle of wine I was holding in my hand and realized how this must look. It was one thing for Sloane to tell me her parents were fine with us drinking; it was quite another for her mom to catch me taking her chardonnay. “Yeah. Um . . .”
“Close the door, would you, dear?” Milly asked, holding her hand up to block the weak refrigerator light. I closed it, and the kitchen fell into darkness again.
“Um,” I said, trying to decide what I should do. Hide the wine? Put it back? Pretend like I was cool with this too? “Thanks so much for letting me stay over.”
“Of course, Amanda,” she said, giving me a smile as she took a sip. “It’s our pleasure.”
I just kept the smile on my face, not sure if I should correct an adult, Sloane’s mother, about this. It seemed less embarrassing for both of us if I just let it slide. But there must have been something in my expression, even in the darkness, that gave it away, because Milly lowered her glass and squinted at me. “Not Amanda,” she said, shaking her head. “My goodness, where is my mind?”
“It’s Emily,” I said, with a laugh I hoped didn’t sound too forced.
“Yes, of course,” Milly said, with a laugh of her own. “I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached to my neck.” I nodded at that, and was about to say something else on some safe topic, like the weather, when Milly went on, thoughtfully, “No, Amanda was Sloane’s best friend in Palm Beach.”
She sipped her wine again, like nothing was wrong, and I tried not to let it show just how shocked I was. Sloane had never mentioned an Amanda.
“And then it was . . . What was that girl’s name in South Carolina?” Milly asked, drumming her nails on the table, now seeming to be talking more to herself than to me. “When we were with my sister Laney . . .” I realized, all at once, that this was definitely not the first drink she’d had tonight. There was a looseness in her voice that I wasn’t used to hearing, and it made me feel nervous. Between that and the fact that I was holding a bottle of wine in front of an adult who wasn’t lecturing me, it suddenly felt like there was nobody in charge. “Charlotte!” Milly said triumphantly, taking a sip of her wine.
I gave her a weak laugh in return, though my head was spinning. And it hit me that I probably couldn’t ask Sloane, demand she tell me about other friends she had. Or if I did, she would probably just tell me about them, girls I’d never thought to inquire after since I’d never until this moment imagined they existed. I knew, rationally, that this was no big deal and I was getting bothered by nothing. But still.
“Em!” I turned in the direction of Sloane’s voice, and realized she was probably wondering what had happened to me. “Come on! This next episode is called ‘The Diamond and the Dachshund,’ so you know it’s going to be amazing.”
“I should . . . ,” I said, taking a step toward the door.
“Of course,” Milly said, giving me a vague smile. She wasn’t demanding her wine back, so I just took it with me. “So nice to see you again, dear.”
I made myself smile back at her. “You too.” I couldn’t have said why, but I had the feeling that she had already forgotten my name. I walked straight back into the library, not stopping to look around this time, and took my spot next to Sloane on the couch.
“Finally,” she said, as she took the wine from me and poured us each a glass. “I was getting worried you’d gotten lost or something.”
I was on the verge of telling Sloane her parents were here, and her mother was in the kitchen, when I realized I had no idea how long they’d been back for. But the fact was, they hadn’t come in to say hi to their daughter. And suddenly, I missed my mother, her constant popping in whenever I had a sleepover, her presence that I knew I could depend on, no matter what. “Just moving slowly,” I said, as I grabbed the remote and pointed it at the TV, making myself smile at her. “I ate too much pasta. Ready?”
Sloane clapped her hands together and grinned at me. “Always.”
14
STEAL SOMETHING
I stood against the wall of what had been Sloane’s living room, clutching a glass of sparkling water I’d gotten from a passing waiter. I was gulping it, hoping that the cold would wake me up, so I could try and understand what was happening. Because it felt a little like I’d just been dropped into a nightmare, or one of my parents’ experimental plays, where everything is designed to make you feel off-balance.
I was standing in Sloane’s living room, and it was still Sloane’s living room. Everything was still there. The furniture, the rugs, the oil paintings with their little lights, the books on the shelves bound in leather. None of it made any sense to me. Why had the Williamses left all their stuff behind? For just a moment, I wondered if it meant they were coming back. But even I couldn’t seem to get myself to believe it, and another explanation had started to circle around in my mind—maybe they had left it behind because it wasn’t theirs to take.
The house was packed, mostly people who seemed around my parents’ age, in tuxedos and gowns, with waiters passing around trays. Frank had waved across the room to me when I’d come in, but he was clearly being monopolized by his parents’ friends. I was okay with that, because I still wasn’t sure what I was going to say to him, or what it was going to be like between us. Frank’s parents, standing in the center of the room, seemed to be pulling off the illusion that things were still fine with them, unless you chose to notice how far apart they were standing, and how they never seemed to talk to each other.
I looked around at the familiar room, one I thought I’d never see again—and certainly not looking just like it always had. I crunched down on an ice cube and it made my back teeth ache. Now that I was in her house, I felt a sudden, surprise rush of missing Sloane intensely.
But I’d been missing her all along. Hadn’t I?
As I shook my glass, just to hear the ice cubes clink, I realized that I hadn’t, not recently. That her list had become less about Sloane, and more about me. And Frank and Dawn and Collins, too. I wasn’t sure what that meant. I wasn’t sure what I wanted it to mean. I sipped at my water, wondering how much longer I had to stay. I was feeling jittery and out of sorts, li
ke even being in Sloane’s house was making me think about things I hadn’t had to face in a while. And all I really wanted was to go home and not leave until things made sense again.
I saw Collins across the room, and waved to him. He met my eye, but then looked away, and I could see him sigh before he turned and headed toward me, expertly navigating his way through the crowd, his hands stuffed in his tuxedo pockets. He had dressed to the nines for the occasion, wearing a maroon bow tie and matching cummerbund, along with a pocket square.
“You’re looking very dapper tonight,” I told him as soon as he was close to me.
“Thanks,” he said a little shortly. He looked at me, then flicked his eyes away. “Nice dress.” The way he said it, I could tell it wasn’t exactly a compliment. Even though it was overheated in the house, far too many people and not enough air, I suddenly felt chilled. And I remembered the look Collins had given me as I’d left Frank’s tent.
As though sensing this thought, Frank looked over at me and Collins, grimacing and shooting us a Sorry about this expression.
“Look,” I said, turning to Collins. I took a breath and decided to jump right in and not bother with the segue. “About the other morning, what you saw. Me in Frank’s tent? Nothing happened. I just didn’t bring a pillow.”
“I didn’t think that anything happened,” Collins said, his voice flat.
“Oh,” I said, a little thrown by this. I’d expected this, somehow, to be a much longer conversation. “I just didn’t want you to think I’d do something like that.”
“Emily, I don’t,” Collins said, now sounding annoyed. “Come on. We’re friends.” I just looked at him for a moment, and maybe something of what I was thinking was in my expression because he frowned. “What?”
“I just . . . ,” I started. I really hadn’t expected to have this conversation with him, but we were there, so I might as well tell him what had been bothering me, just a little bit, all summer. “It’s just sometimes . . . it seems like you don’t want me around. That’s all. Sometimes I think you do,” I added quickly. “But it’s just a little confusing.”
Collins just looked at me for a moment, then tipped his head in the direction of the side porch. I nodded, and he led the way outside, as though he was the one who knew this house well, like he’d been the one to sit on this porch with Sloane on the Adirondack chairs, feet propped on the railing, looking up at the stars, talking for hours.
The porch was empty, maybe because the air was humid and damp, and there was a charged, heavy feeling, like the sky could open and it could storm at any moment. “Are we actually talking about this?” he asked, when we were both outside. “We have our honesty hats on?”
“Um,” I said. “Okay. Hats on.”
Collins looked away for a minute, out to the rolling hills that had been Sloane’s backyard, then turned to me. “Frank’s my best friend. Has been since we were kids. But most of the time, I only get to hang out with him when he’s not with Lissa, or student government, or the newest species of frog that needs saving.”
“Collins,” I started, but he waved this away.
“It’s okay,” he said, “it is what it is and I’ve accepted that. But this summer, when she was away, when he wasn’t trying to save the world or get the most polished transcript in history, I thought it was going to be the summer of Frank and Collins. Working together, hanging out . . .”
“And that’s happened,” I said, hearing how defensive my voice was, since I thought I knew where this was going.
“For about a week. And then you showed up.”
I swallowed hard. Even though I’d agreed to the honesty, that didn’t mean I necessarily liked this conversation. “But . . . ,” I started.
“And I’d been planning this camping trip forever, and when it gets rained out, Frank tell me he has this great idea for how to make up for it. And he invites you and Dawn.” He let out a breath and stared down at the scuffed wooden floor, his shoulders hunched.
“I didn’t mean to get in between you guys,” I finally said, hoping he knew it hadn’t been anything deliberate. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Collins said, shaking his head, sounding frustrated. “And I’m sure Frank doesn’t even know he’s doing it. It just gets hard, always being someone’s second choice.”
I took in Collins’s expression and realized why it was so familiar. It was the same one I’d had when Sloane had started choosing Sam over me. It was the reason I’d started skipping meets and cross-country practices, since I wanted to hang out with her whenever I could. “I know,” I said quietly.
“I think you do,” Collins said. He shrugged. “Or at any rate, you will soon enough.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. Collins just looked at me for a long moment, and I got the impression that he was weighing how much to tell me. “Hat,” I reminded him.
“Okay,” he said, folding his arms. “What do you think is going to happen when Lissa gets back?”
This question, on top of what I’d realized in the tent, hit me with what felt like physical force. “I . . . What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you think he’s still going to keep hanging out? And are you going to keep hanging out with Dawn when she’s back to school at Hartfield?” He gave me a measured look, and I realized Collins had been paying much more attention this summer than I had given him credit for. “September’s coming soon, Emily. And I know you lost your friend, but you didn’t do a great job picking replacements.”
I took a step back; it felt like Collins had slapped me. “That wasn’t . . . ,” I started. “I didn’t do that.” But the words had hit a nerve; they wouldn’t be affecting me this way if they hadn’t. It was pretty much what I’d just thought, after all.
“Okay,” Collins said with a shrug, clearly willing to let it go.
“And are we not going to be friends?” I asked, a little combatively. I was still trying to get my head around the fact that apparently everything I thought had been building this summer was going to disappear in a few weeks’ time.
“We’ll be friends,” he said to me. “But,” he said, and in that word, it was like the old Collins persona came back; his very posture seemed to change. “When I start dating the very lucky lady who’ll be my steady hang, maybe not so much.” He winked at me. “You understand.”
“Do you want to hear the truth?” I asked. I didn’t even think about it, just suddenly wanted to be as direct with him as he’d been with me. “Are our hats still on?” Collins nodded, looking wary, and I said, “You ask out the prom queens because you know they’ll say no.” It had just been a theory, but when he flushed a dull red, I realized that it had been correct. “Why don’t you try asking someone who might actually say yes?”
Collins just shook his head. “I don’t expect you to understand this, Emily,” he said after a pause. “But who’s going to want to go out with me?” His voice was shaky, and after a summer of bravado and theatrical winks and neon polos, I felt like I was finally seeing him, hat on and guard down. Not the guy who tried the week before to get everyone to call him LL Cool C—Ladies Love Cool Collins—even though it only seemed to stick with Doug from work. This was the real Collins. And the real Collins just looked sad and disappointed. He gave a short laugh and gestured to himself. “I’m not exactly a catch.”
“Of course you are,” I said, surprised and a little mad that he couldn’t see this. “And you should ask Dawn.” As I said this, I just hoped that I’d understood her offhand comments about him, not to mention how long it had taken her to look away when he was skinny-dipping.
Collins just looked at me for a long moment, then down at the ground. “You think she’d say yes?” he finally asked, sounding more nervous than I’d ever heard him.
I wanted to be able to tell him yes, definitively, but I didn’t really feel sure about anything anymore. “What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked, doing my best to give him a smile. He gave me a tentative one bac
k just as the porch door opened.
“Matthew!” an older woman, half of a couple who had been talking to Frank for most of the night, motioned for him to join them inside. Collins glanced at me, but the woman seemed pretty insistent, making large Come here movements with jewel-encrusted hands that caught the light and reflected it onto the walls.
“Sorry,” Collins said to me. “Uh . . .”
“Go,” I said, giving him a smile. “I’ll be fine.” He nodded and made his way back into the house, and I followed a minute later. As I passed the living room, I sensed Frank trying to catch my eye, but I looked away, into my glass. I could hear fragments of conversations as I walked, architectural terms I didn’t understand, but also snatches of discussions that baffled me.
Yes, the house is stunning isn’t it? All the original Harrison furnishings . . . in trust . . . some fight over a will . . . I don’t know, some tenants, I think? Well, not any longer . . .
Every room I stepped into, I saw Sloane. There was the couch where we’d mainlined whole seasons of TV shows; there was the table we’d sat on top of, sharing a pint of ice cream while she told me all about her first kiss with Sam, there was the counter where she’d laid out every eye shadow she owned, trying to get my eyes to turn the same color.
I had just given my empty glass to a bored-looking cater-waiter when I spotted the back stairs at the end of the hallway. There was a ribbon tied across them, clearly indicating that the upstairs rooms were off-limits.
I headed toward the stairs, already coming up with my alibi if I needed one. I was just looking for the bathroom. I didn’t see the ribbon. I got lost. I looked quickly over each shoulder, then lifted the ribbon, ducked under it, and hurried upstairs.
Like the downstairs, everything upstairs was still the same. The hall table, the oil paintings, the framed maps. I looked for a long moment at the window at the end of the hall, the one with the beige curtains, the one that I had helped Sloane tumble into on the day we met, the day she told me that she’d been waiting for me—or someone like me.