Lily and James are still going strong as a couple. He’s here tonight in a hipster tuxedo that’s designed to fit tight and short—you can see an inch of neon green socks above his black-and-white leather shoes. They’re both heading off to the University of Miami in the fall.
Hilary thinks this is a huge mistake. “What if one of them wants to break up, and the other doesn’t?” she keeps saying to me when they’re not around. “Then they’re stuck in the same place for four more years.” But they certainly show no signs of breaking up anytime soon. Besides, as I’ve pointed out to Hilary, it’s a big school. They can avoid each other if they have to.
Hilary’s going to Tufts—she really wanted to be in the Boston area, and this was the school that worked out for her. She’s looking forward to being somewhere new and different, but I think she’s going to miss Lily more than she realizes. For all that her sister could drive her nuts, they’ve moved through the world side by side. This will be the first time she’s going to face something new all by herself.
Hil’s date tonight is a good friend of James’s, a guy named Wilson something (I never did catch his last name), who goes to high school in the Valley. The date was basically a setup by Lily and James, but Hilary met him and approved. Right now he’s good-naturedly and willingly putting his arms around her for the couples photos, so I’m guessing he’s also happy with the setup.
“Which direction are we supposed to be looking in?” Finn murmurs in my ear. His arms are warm around my shoulders, the fabric of his tux scratchy on my bare skin.
“I’m trying to focus on Molly and your mom,” I whisper back. “I figure theirs will be the photos that matter.”
“The twins’ mother is so loud, I keep looking at her unintentionally.”
“I know. How can someone so tiny have such a loud voice?”
The cameras and phones whirr and pop, and my cheeks are hurting from smiling for too long. Phoebe finally steps forward and says, “Enough with the photos. Mom, please stop.”
The cameras lower, and we all gratefully move apart. Yuri Lee invites the other parents to enjoy the hors d’oeuvres that Lorena’s put out on a table in the shade. The limo isn’t due to arrive for another ten minutes.
Finn’s mother comes over to us. She’s a small woman with a brutally short haircut and round, wire-rim glasses that make her look like an owl. She’s wearing what I’ve come to realize is practically a uniform for her: khakis, a cardigan sweater, and loafers.
“Look at you,” she says to her son, running her hand over the front of his jacket. “You look like James Bond.”
“Yeah, no one has ever said that to a guy in a tuxedo before,” Finn says.
“Be nice to your mother,” I say. “Let her enjoy seeing you all cleaned up for once.”
“See?” she says to Finn. “Anna appreciates me, even if you don’t.”
The funny thing is, she’s right: I do appreciate her. She works long hours and is maybe a little absentminded and distracted, but she always makes me feel welcome in their home and has told me several times that she’s never seen Finn happier than since he and I started dating.
Finn’s dad totally scares me. He’s not usually around much, but the one time he and I were both at their house for dinner, he turned to me and asked me what I would do about the Israeli-Palestinian situation if I were secretary of state. Apparently that’s his idea of making small talk. I panicked and said I hadn’t really thought about it, and then to my relief Finn cut in and said, “Let her eat in peace, Dad,” and his father said, “I apologize if an intellectual discussion feels onerous to your friend. Perhaps you’d prefer it if I stick to observations about the weather?” “Actually, yeah,” said Finn. “We both would.”
Mr. Westbrook actually made me appreciate my own father, who’s always gracious and polite to Finn. He’s taken us out to dinner a couple of times, and Finn proved to me—not for the first time—that he can talk about anything with anyone. It’s incredible. My dad said something about how much he likes wood-fired pizza, and Finn was instantly able to tell him all about the temperature the ovens get to and how it affects the crust and the cheese and stuff like that. Which is why Dad now thinks he’s totally brilliant.
Finn’s never really warmed up to Lizzie—probably because of his carpool memories—but he likes Molly a lot. She’s an abnormal psychology major, and one night back in January I sat and just listened as the two of them discussed everything from autism to schizophrenia to rage disorder. Molly’s smart, and she’s graduating with all these honors and going right into a graduate program at NYU next fall, but even so, Finn kept up with her, and, after he left that night, Molly said, “He’s a good guy, Anna.” Since she’s never been exactly gushy, I took that as a pretty major compliment.
I look around for her now and spot her talking to Oscar and his boyfriend over by the pool. When I told her he was bringing another boy to prom, she had said, “Tell him he’s my hero.” I did, but it looks like she’s repeating the message herself right now.
Phoebe’s mother calls my name, and I turn toward her. She’s wearing a silk wrap-dress with a heavy gold necklace today, even though most of the other parents are dressed casually, and her hair has clearly been professionally styled into an updo. I’d like to believe she’s going out to a fancy dinner after this, but I have a feeling that she’s dressed up to feel like she’s sharing in Phoebe’s prom experience.
“Wait, wait,” she says anxiously. “I haven’t gotten a photo with you and Finn yet. I need one.”
Finn’s mother glances over at her with a slightly baffled expression. She clearly doesn’t understand why someone she barely knows would want to take a photo of her son and his date. But I’m not surprised—Phoebe’s mother has made it clear she wants to record every single moment of her daughter’s high school career, and that includes keeping track of her friends and who they date.
“Now remind me,” she says, lowering her camera once Finn has obligingly put his arms around me again and she’s taken several shots. “You’re both going to be in Rhode Island next year, right? That worked out nicely. I assume you planned it?”
“Well, Anna got into RISD, which is amazing—” Finn says.
“And Finn had his choice of schools, which is even more amazing,” I add.
“He really did,” his mother says with a small sigh. She had hoped Finn would choose MIT or Stanford, but he didn’t. He claims he chose Brown because it was his top choice—and that it was only a coincidence that it was practically within walking distance of where I’m going to be for the next four years.
That’s what he claims.
I’ve been floating ever since we made our decisions, ridiculously happy. I’m going to be studying art at one of the best schools in the country, and Finn will be in the same city. And Molly’s going to be in New York, so we’ll be able to visit each other easily.
I know that plenty of things might go wrong over the next year or so. I could trip going up to get my diploma at graduation and break my nose or my hip or my leg. I could get a horrible roommate and spend freshman year fleeing from my own dorm room. I could hate Providence and miss Los Angeles. I could get lost in a snowstorm and get hypothermia. Finn could fall in love with someone else and we could split up. I could fall in love with someone else and have to break his heart—
No, that one won’t happen. Maybe those other things, but not that last one.
Anyway, there’s no point in thinking about what could go wrong. I’m here, right now, basking in the early evening spring sun with my closest friends, waiting for a big-ass limo to take us to the prom that we’ve been thinking about and planning for and making fun of for the last three and a half years.
And Finn is here, at my side, when he so easily might not have been.
The two mothers move off, and Finn and I look at each other, laughing a little at their essential momness and at this whole ridiculously formal, overly photographed event that we’ve willingly committed ourselves
to.
“The limo will be here soon,” I say.
He nods and then says, “Oh, wait! I just remembered—I saw the coolest photo this morning. It’s this flower called a monkey orchid. The blossoms look like little dancing men. Little purple dancing men. Here, I saved it for you—” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
“Show me,” I say, moving right up close to him so I can peer over his arm at the screen. “Show me.”
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About the Author
Johnny LaZebnik
CLAIRE LAZEBNIK lives in Los Angeles with her TV-writer husband and four children. She has co-authored two books about autism with Dr. Lynn Kern Koegel, Overcoming Autism and Growing Up on the Spectrum. Her previous novels include Knitting Under the Influence, The Smart One and the Pretty One, Families and Other Nonreturnable Gifts, Epic Fail, and The Trouble with Flirting. You can visit her online at www.clairelazebnik.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors and artists.
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Also by Claire LaZebnik
The Trouble with Flirting
Epic Fail
If You Lived Here, You’d Be Home Now
The Smart One and the Pretty One
Knitting Under the Influence
Same As It Never Was
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
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Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE LAST BEST KISS. Copyright © 2014 by Claire LaZebnik. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
[tk]
ISBN 978-0-06-225228-9 (pbk.)
EPub Edition October 2013 ISBN 9780062252289
14 15 16 17 18 XX/XXXX 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
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Claire Lazebnik, The Last Best Kiss
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