part0076

At ten-thirty on the Thursday morning following our night at the fair, I lay on a beach towel on the south side of Huntington Pier with my friends. It was early, but beach real estate in August was valuable.

Normally, I applied a lot of sunscreen since I burned easily. Tanning was an art I had yet to perfect. Tiffany had my same complexion and she’d gotten it down to a science. She wanted to be tan three-hundred-and-sixty-five days a year. Tonight, though, Manning was coming over for dinner. He’d be at the house in about nine hours.

I applied sunscreen to my face and chest only. Vickie, on the towel next to mine, only used tanning oil. “Can I borrow some?” I asked when she’d finished with it.

She handed it over. “You missed a crazy party Saturday night.”

“I was there,” I said.

Mona, on the other side of Vickie, sat up on her elbows. She looked at me over her sunglasses. “You were not.”

“I was outside for a minute.” I squirted oil onto my legs, wedging my fingers under the elastic leg of my one-piece to even it out. “It didn’t look like much fun.”

“Are you kidding?” Vickie asked. “Everyone was there. We tried rum and played drinking games.”

Not everyone , I wanted to say. Corbin Swenson popped into my mind. I scanned the surfers bobbing on their boards in the water, but they were too far for me to recognize faces. “I went to Balboa Park,” I said. Since they looked up to my sister for some reason, I added, “With Tiffany. She says high school parties are lame.”

“Of course they are—to her ,” Vickie said. “She’s not in high school.”

Mona drew her eyebrows together. “Maybe they are lame.”

“Oh, did you hear?” Vickie asked excitedly. “Kim left the party with Jack Firestone, and I guess they were sitting outside in his car for, like, ever .”

I gave Vickie back her oil, lay down on my towel, and picked up my book. I read two paragraphs before my mind wandered. Jack Firestone had graduated with Tiffany. Kim was my age. They’d probably had sex. I doubted nineteen-year-olds sat in parked cars with virgins.

As if the sun were a heat lamp directed at me, sweat beaded on my upper lip. I liked to think I was above sex, that I had more important things to worry about. That I’d have no trouble holding on to my virginity long after my friends had caved. But last night, I’d dreamed about Manning, about his big hands around my waist, and his dark, humorless eyes that sometimes weren’t so humorless around me. I’d woken up in the middle of the night and masturbated. I’d never done it thinking about someone I knew.

All morning, the thought of Manning had come with a tightening in my belly. And it wasn’t weird or bad or shameful. The opposite, actually. I liked it.

When water droplets fell onto my shins, I put down my book. Someone stood over me, silhouetted by the sun.

“Hey, girls.” I recognized Corbin’s voice. “What’s up, Lake?”

Vickie and Mona stayed quiet. I doubted either of them had ever spoken to a Swenson. I lowered my sunglasses. Corbin held a surfboard under one arm. “Hi,” I said.

“You see me out there?” he asked.

“I think so. I wasn’t sure which one you were.”

“The handsome one, obviously,” he said, peeling down the sleeves of his wetsuit. He pushed it down to his waist. Between surfing and baseball, sports had done him well. He wasn’t buff, but his muscles were cut, defined, and his skin golden-brown like his hair.

“What’re you guys up to?” he asked.

“Just this.” I waited for Vickie or Mona to jump in, but they just mutely stared at Corbin. “You?” I asked.

“It was a late surf today. Summer vacation and all.”

He laid his short, cream surfboard upside down in the sand. The underside had a sticker of a frog smoking weed and 420 in graffiti. He shook out his hair, showering me in ocean droplets.

“How was it?” I asked.

“Decent.” When he glanced at my chest, I realized my nipples were hard from the cold water. Turning to the other girls, he said, “I’m Corbin, by the way.”

“Hi,” Vickie said.

“Hi,” Mona repeated.

I could see we weren’t going to get much else, so I said, “These are my friends, Vickie and Mona.”

“Cool.” He nodded at me. “Wanna take my board out?”

Remembering my fib about my surfing experience, I hoped my sunglasses hid my blush. “I’m working on my tan.”

“You got a hot date tonight?” he asked.

“No,” I said, almost defensively.

Mona gasped and Vickie giggled nervously, looking from Mona to me to Corbin and back again.

I studied Corbin, trying to tell if he was joking around. He grinned pretty hard but waited for an answer. If one of the most popular guys in school was asking me out, I’d be an idiot to say no, but I didn’t feel that tightening in my stomach like I did for Manning.

Corbin squatted next to me. “Come over tonight. Watch a movie.”

He really was as good-looking as everyone said and surprisingly nice, too. All last year, he and his circle of friends had seemed larger than life, but sitting right next to him, all I could think was how different he was from Manning. Corbin was golden, sunny. Manning was dark, shaded. Despite the fact that Corbin looked strong and healthy, Manning still dwarfed him, maybe because Manning’s presence was even larger than his body. But even if Corbin were dark and large and sexy like Manning, I’d still say no. I wouldn’t miss tonight’s dinner for anyone. I never knew when I’d get time with Manning.

“I can’t,” I said. “Sorry.”

He smiled crookedly. “Another time then.”

“I’ll give you a call. Cane has Tiffany’s number.” He stood, picked up his board, and flashed us a wave. “Nice to meet you, girls. Lake . . . I’ll see you at camp, if not before.”

Once he’d walked away, Vickie pinched my elbow.

I yanked my arm away. “Ow. What was that for?”

“Since when do you know Corbin Swenson?”

“Since when do you turn down Corbin Swenson?” Mona added.

I rubbed my arm. “I met him the other night at the Fun Zone.”

“But I saw him at the party.”

“He must’ve done both,” I said. “Not so dorky now, am I?”

“Um, yes,” Vickie said. “You are. Because you said no to a date with a Swenson!”

The girls giggled, and I couldn’t help from joining in. “They’re just people, not gods.”

“Did you not see him with his shirt off?” Mona asked. “You’re mental.”

“We’re having a family dinner tonight.” It was the truth, and it was better than the real reason I’d said no to Corbin: I’d rather spend my evening with an older construction worker.

“But you didn’t just turn him down—you totally blew him off. You could’ve said you were free tomorrow or the next night.”

Vickie rolled her eyes. “This is why you’re single, Mona. Lake’s playing hard to get.”

“She doesn’t know how to do that,” Mona said. “She doesn’t even wear makeup.”

I rose onto my elbows. At some point, everyone I knew had started wearing makeup, as if they’d all gone and taken a course on it without me. I guessed that had to do with looking sexy. Up until now, I’d had little interest and even less knowledge in attracting boys at school. They tried to get away with dumb things like looking up our skirts or chewing gum in class. Most of them cared more about videogames or sports than learning anything of value. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“Just that you don’t care about these things,” Vickie said. “You’re what we call, a late bloomer.”

Mona laughed like it was some kind of inside joke. “Maybe she’s not so late if she’s catching Corbin’s eye. Or maybe she was just born with it. Like, it runs in her family.”

It was ridiculous enough that I almost went back to my book, but then again, it wasn’t entirely off base. My dad liked to brag about how he’d beaten out lots of other suitors for my mom’s attention. I didn’t doubt it. My mom was Miss Orange County when she was younger and had competed to be Miss California. I saw the way men looked at her in the supermarket, the way my male teachers paid attention when she came to parent night. Mom commanded nearly as much male attention as Tiffany did. If there were a gene for that, Tiffany definitely had it—and she’d gotten it from my mom. Maybe I had it, too—though it might be dormant.

It was late afternoon by the time I got home from the beach. I dropped my towel and bag by the base of the stairs. “Mom?” I called.

“In the kitchen.”

I found her looking in the oven. “How’s it going?”

“Right on schedule.” She stood up and eased the door shut. “I might need an extra set of hands later, though.”

She never asked Tiffany, who had no interest, for help in the kitchen. When I didn’t have schoolwork to do, I usually enjoyed cooking with my mom, and tonight would be even more special. “I just need to shower.”

“How was the beach?” she asked. “You got a tan.”

“Did I?” I inspected my arm. It looked a little red to me. “It was fun. We got milkshakes at the end of the pier after.”

She smiled. “Hope you left room for pie.”

I hadn’t forgotten. Last night, Mom had walked me through making a pie for tonight. I couldn’t wait to see Manning’s reaction. “I’ll come help when I’m ready,” I said.

I went up to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I pushed my regular products aside. Tiffany hid her expensive shampoo and conditioner on the back of the shelf, even though she warned me all the time not to use them, and I never once had . . . until today.

After carefully reading the instructions on the back, I washed my hair twice. Then, I saturated it with conditioner and shaved my legs slowly, carefully, from ankle to upper thigh. After rinsing and toweling off, I used one of Tiffany’s lotions.

I’d never felt so soft and silky. I picked a sundress to show off my smooth skin. Tiffany said having a tan made you look thinner, and she was right.

After checking the hall to make sure Tiffany wasn’t around, I went into her makeup drawer. I’d burned. Not badly, but my face and shoulders were pink. The sun had also darkened the smattering of freckles across my nose and cheeks. I didn’t trust myself with makeup, so I kept it simple with just mascara and pink lip gloss. Despite the redness, or maybe because of it, my eyes seemed bluer. My teeth whiter. And for once, I saw what others did.

I looked like Tiffany.

After washing basil and slicing tomatoes and Mozzarella, I prepared five Caprese salads. Not knowing which would go to Manning, I took extra care to drizzle the olive oil and balsamic vinegar evenly.

“Where is Tiffany?” Mom asked.

I didn’t look up. Didn’t want to lose focus. “Maybe she changed her mind about him. She does that.”

“I hope she would’ve told someone. At least him. Otherwise, we’re in for an uncomfortable dinner.”

I smiled. “Manning’s easy to get along with. It won’t be uncomfortable.”

The front door opened, and Tiffany breezed into the house with paper shopping bags on each arm. “Manning will be here any minute. Is dinner ready?”

“We were afraid you might not make it.” Mom pulled off her oven mitts. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Of course not.” Tiffany set the bags on the kitchen table, disrupting a pile of silverware. She pulled out a package. “I got the cutest outfit.” She unwrapped white tissue and held up a short leopard print tube dress. “It’s like what Drew Barrymore wears in the Guess? ad.”

“Oh, that’s darling.” Mom always said stuff like that when Tiffany went shopping. The dress was too skimpy for Mom, but she and Tiffany shared clothes a lot. “It’s not too dressy for tonight?”

Tiffany shoved it all back in the bag. “We’ll probably go somewhere after.”

“Well, wear something over it during dinner. Your dad won’t like that it’s so revealing.”

“Duh. I’m not an amateur,” she said.

“I know, honey,” Mom said as she went to the sink to wash her hands. “Your sister and I have been working on dinner for an hour. Will you set the table?”

Tiffany grabbed her bags. “Mom . I have exactly five minutes to transform myself.”

“Then why’d you wait until the last minute?” I pointed out.

Tiffany stuck out her tongue. “Did you get wine?” she asked Mom. “He might want some with dinner.”

“I got wine.” Mom wiped her hands on her apron. “He can have one glass. No more if he’s taking you out afterward.”

Tiffany flurried out of the kitchen the same way she’d come in, a tornado of crinkling paper bags and blonde hair. Would he really take her out tonight? If so, where would they go? It would be late when dinner ended. Too late for me to go with them, if I’d even be invited. Tiffany and her friends hung out until after midnight on the weekends. They had ways of getting alcohol. It was Thursday, but life was one big weekend to Tiffany. She had no job to get to in the morning, but Manning did. Didn’t that mean anything?

I was straightening my tomatoes when the doorbell rang. My heart stopped.

Mom showed me her oven-mitted hands. “Can you get that, honey?”

I went through the house and stood at the front door, listening. Tiffany was still upstairs getting ready, and Dad was in his study. It was just me and Manning, and that wouldn’t be the case for long. It seemed unfair that even though I’d seen him first, even though he was my friend, I had to savor my time with him before it was stolen.

I opened the door to Manning standing on the top step in jeans and a black, collared button-down he wore open over a white t-shirt. He’d shaved and gelled his hair back. I’d half expected him to show up in his work boots, but I thought he might even be wearing cologne.

I held onto the door handle until my hand began to sweat. Manning’s dark eyes mostly stayed on my face, except for the second they flashed down, all the way to my ankles. Maybe men had some kind of radar for freshly shaven legs.

“Hi,” I said. Dumb . I wanted to tell him how nice he looked.

A cricket chirped out front as Manning white-knuckled a bouquet of pink tulips. “You look different.”

I straightened my shoulders a bit and tried not to smile. “So do you.”

“Are you wearing makeup?”

“A little.” I pointed my foot, showing him my leg. “I got a tan.”

He didn’t look. I moved aside so he could duck into the entryway. One of his tennis shoes could easily crush both my bare feet. I was nearly eye-level with the flowers. It was a good guess—my mom loved tulips.

“I hope you like steak? We should’ve checked with you first.”

“I’ll eat most anything. But yes, Tiffany already asked.”

That meant they’d spoken since the fair on Saturday. When? It shouldn’t have surprised me. Of course, she’d had to tell him when to be here, and maybe she’d also mentioned the tulips. It occurred to me that they might’ve even seen each other.

“She called,” Manning said, catching my eye. “Just about dinner and timing and stuff. That’s all.”

“Oh.” We both looked up when we heard footfalls upstairs. Finally, I closed the front door. “Come meet my mom. My dad’ll be out in a second. He usually works in his office until dinner starts.” I showed Manning into the kitchen.

Mom turned around, smiled widely, and came to us. “It’s so nice to meet you, Manning.”

“You too, Mrs. Kaplan.” He held out the flowers, but she went past them for a hug. He bent down to make it easier but was otherwise stiff. “These are for you.”

“You shouldn’t have.” She took the bouquet. Mom had twisted her hair back from her face, and as she inhaled, a few strands fell forward. “My favorite. Thank you.”

“Thank you for having me. Dinner smells great.”

“I’ve been in here all evening, so even if you don’t like the steak, say you do.” Mom laughed. Nobody ever disliked her food, but she said that a lot. “Lake helped,” she said, and as an afterthought, added, “Tiffany, too. She’s great in the kitchen.”

“She is not,” I said. “She wouldn’t even set the table.”

“Lake, honey.” Mom chuckled and passed me the bouquet. “Put these in water and get our guest something to drink.”

I frowned. I just wanted Manning to know I’d done my part of the cooking with him in mind. But when he nodded at me and patted his stomach, I understood—he did know.

“I put some wine out on the bar,” Mom told me. “You like wine, don’t you, Manning?”

He hesitated. “Sure.”

It didn’t sound convincing. “Dad has beer, too,” I said.

“It’s okay. Wine is great.”

I put the flowers in a vase, then went to Dad’s bar and carried two heavy bottles back into the kitchen. I’d never opened wine before, though I’d seen it done plenty of times. I set them on the island and went to find the screw-looking thing Mom used. I rifled through a couple drawers before picking out what I was pretty sure was the right utensil. I had no idea how it worked, though.

“Did you grow up here, Manning?” Mom asked.

I assessed the bottle of wine. The sharp part went into the top, but the top had a wrapper around it. Did that come off first?

Manning took the thingie—a corkscrew , that’s what it was called!—out of my hand and peeled away the foil.

“I know how to do it,” I said under my breath.

“You shouldn’t. You’re only sixteen.”

I watched closely as he stuck the sharp, coiled end into the cork. Exactly what I would’ve done, but when he bore down to screw it in, I was pretty sure I would’ve messed it up somehow. “I don’t know how to do it,” I admitted.

That earned me his first smile of the night. His neck muscles strained and the cork slid out with a pop .

I turned around to find Mom watching us. She pulsed her eyebrows and mouthed, So handsome.

He was. It was like our first date, me bringing him home to meet my parents. Manning moved around me, looking for glasses. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him where they were, because I couldn’t speak. I just wanted to watch him. Manning was here, in my kitchen, where I’d made him steak, and it was going well.

As he pulled down two wine glasses, he glanced at me. “You okay?”

I nodded. Hard. “Yes.”

“Got some sun today, huh?” He winked. “Were you outside?”

“I went to the—”

I heard Tiffany before I saw her. “I’m here, I’m here,” she said. “Sorry I’m late.”

My heart fell, my smile melting. Tiffany came around the corner in her short dress and a black cardigan. She’d ripped a synthetic daisy off an old hat and stuck it in her hair. She went directly to Manning. In her platforms, she had a few inches on me and came up to his shoulder. Mom wore heels. I was the only one without shoes on.

Tiffany leaned toward him, offering her cheek, but he kissed her forehead. “They kept me entertained.”

She smiled. “You met my mom?”

“Yep. Just getting her some wine.”

Tiffany moved aside so he could pull a third glass from the cupboard, but he only poured two drinks. He handed one to my Mom and kept the other for himself.

Tiffany put a hand on her hip. “What about me?”

“You’re not twenty-one. Other one’s for your dad.”

“It’s fine if she has one,” Mom said. “We aren’t stupid; we know Tiffany drinks. At least here, we can monitor it.”

Manning had the bottle in his hand, looking unsure of what to do. He set it down, so Tiffany poured her own glass.

“So, Manning.” Mom took a sip. “How long have you and Tiffany been dating?”

“We’re friends,” he said.

I looked at the ground to hide my grin.

Unlike me, neither Mom nor Tiffany liked that answer. “I’m sorry,” Mom said. “I got the impression—”

“I told you he’s a gentleman,” Tiffany snapped, looking away. “He doesn’t discuss stuff like that.”

The timer beeped. “Well, we’ll leave it at that then,” Mom said. She slid the steaks from the oven and set them on the counter. “Lake, go get your father.”

Like most other nights, I went and knocked on my dad’s study, waiting until he said, “Yes?”

“Dinner’s ready,” I said.

“I’ll be out soon,” he said without looking up from his computer. “Start without me.”

If it were up to him, he’d eat in here. One wall was a library of business and law books. His desk was topped with USC paraphernalia. Against another wall stood his regal glass case of guns. “We can’t. He’s here.”

Dad glanced up wearing his default expression, heavy-browed annoyance. “Who?”

“Manning. Tiffany’s friend.”

“Christ. Come get me when dinner’s on the table. I’m not interested in entertaining her flings.”

I didn’t want Dad at the table at all. At best, he wouldn’t be nice to Manning. At worst, he’d try to cut him down in front of us. Manning didn’t deserve to be embarrassed. I’d have been happy to let Dad stay in here with his toys, even though it’d surely kill Tiffany a little bit that she wouldn’t get to rub Manning in his face, but Mom would never let Dad skip dinner. As it was, they’d fought about it already. Mom thought Tiffany was better off with a boyfriend. Dad didn’t want to deal with it. “It’s on the table already,” I said. “He’s been here a while.”

Dad stuck his elbows on the desk and massaged his temples. “I work all damn day. I should be able to enjoy a nice, quiet meal in my own goddamn home.” He looked up at me as if he’d forgotten I was there. “Go on. I’ll be right there.”