Even though we’d all been trotted off to the Floods’ place in Greenwich since we were about eight, when we pulled off the access road, drove down the quarter mile path lined with evergreen trees on both sides, and came up to the circular driveway, I was still awed.
The thing about the Floods that I always forgot was that they had a ton of money. The house was four stories high and had a middle section and two gigantic wings. What it reminded me of more than anything was when you see one of those VH1 or MTV shows where they have, like, Keith Richards or one of the old guys from Pink Floyd on their estate in England and they’re driving around on a golf cart in front of this huge mansion, talking about shooting pheasant. That’s what it was like.
It was around two on Saturday when February shot the Mercedes into the six car garage. She got out, slammed the door, and immediately disappeared.
“I got Patch’s bedroom,” Mickey said, and raced off. The rest of us shook our heads. The Flood kids had the whole west wing of the house, and there were at least five bedrooms over there, so we all ended up sleeping wherever we wanted. So while it made sense to call Patch’s, since it was the best bedroom, it didn’t really matter. Between now and bedtime, it was anybody’s guess where we were going to end up. The only thing that was for sure was that we wouldn’t see the grown-up Floods. Frederick would be puttering away at his projects at his studio-on-stilts in a cleared wood about a quarter mile from the house. And Fiona would be at the club, exercising or swimming in the indoor pool, even though they had a perfectly good workout room and a big indoor pool connected to the house.
Arno and Mickey immediately headed toward the kitchen. There was a staff here, and they always kept the place stocked with tons of stuff for heros. Mickey and Arno only had ultra-gourmet food at their houses, so they liked to fill up on bologna and salami and American cheese whenever we came to Greenwich. I heard David call from the kitchen, “Want a sandwich, dude?”
“Nah, but, um, thanks.” Weird. That was so un-David.
“Hey.”
I looked up. Flan Flood. Nobody’d said anything about her being here. She was, as was typical lately, in her riding outfit. There was a deep-green grass smear on the side of her thigh.
“You wipe out?”
“Yeah. Sancho bucked me.”
“Does it hurt?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she opened the door to the house, and I followed her in. She seemed to know that the guys were in the kitchen, so she headed toward the great room in the middle of the house, which got used officially four times a year, during benefits that the Floods threw for their favorite charities. We used it far more often—we liked to party in there. The room was about as big as a hockey rink, and the walls were all brown wood, and there were five different areas for sitting. There was a grand piano in one corner and fifty feet of glass doors that opened onto a stone patio. And beyond that were the English gardens. I know they’re English because they’re all very well organized and once when I was high Fiona gave me a lecture on them while everybody else raided the fridge.
Flan threw herself down on a dark leather couch and sighed.
“I miss you, Jonathan.”
As usual when I was with Flan, I had one thought. She’s adorable and awesome and I really like her but she’s in eighth grade. But this time, I had something to add: Whatever. I’m really into someone else.
I sat down across from her on a zebra-striped chair that was actually made of zebra.
“Well. I’ve missed you, too. Ever since we didn’t get together—I mean, it was such a surprise—and, well, I’m glad you’re with Adam now.” I pulled at the collar of a new Lacoste polo shirt that I’d picked up because it definitely seemed like the kind of thing you were supposed to wear on a yacht.
“Are you?”
“Everyone says he’s cool.”
Flan curled up on the couch. There was a big brown cashmere blanket thrown over the back and she wrapped herself up in it.
“He’s like the only freshman everybody knows about—there’s one every year, and he’s it.”
“I guess. You know, Jonathan …”
“What?”
I had on new Tods loafers that were orange and I was still figuring out if I liked them. Lately I’d been buying so much colorful stuff I was starting to think that I might O.D. on color by the time this trip actually came around, and then I’d be by the gorgeous turquoise Caribbean water and not even appreciate it. I made a mental note to buy some more white things.
“It’s warmer outside than it is in here. I’m cold. Come and sit next to me.”
So just like that, I did. She was cold. I got right up next to her and rubbed her shoulders through the blanket.
“I’m still pissed at you for not going out with me,” Flan said.
Then her arms were around me. She was easily as big as me, if not bigger. And she kissed me. And I let her. And of course it was incredible and something I had known I wanted to do with her for a long, long time. The thing about Flan was that she tasted sweet, just like she always seemed, and I kind of felt like if I didn’t stop right then I’d never stop kissing her because it was just so nice.
“Um, this doesn’t feel right,” I finally said. As gently as I could, I pulled us apart.
“Why not?” She’d dug her hand under my shirt and was rubbing my chest. I glanced around the room. There were so many entrances and exits—more than I could count.
“What about you and Adam?”
“He’s not here. You are.”
“But you two are going out. I mean, I think you should stay with Adam.”
“I don’t want to.” Her voice was like a warm wind. “I want to fool around with you.”
“You’re growing up too fast, Flan.” I knew the moment the words came out that I’d pissed her off. Her eyes changed colors, from blue-green to green-black. “Look Flan, on any other weekend I’d be jumping all over you like, I dunno—the New York Times on last year’s trend. But I’m going through something heavy right now.”
“The stuff about your dad, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You know, so what? Every grown-up I know seems like they do some really bad stuff, and I don’t think it’s such a big deal what your dad did.”
I tried to smile, but it was hard, because it was too a big deal. Her perspective was just limited because, even though she had a big family, she was basically alone all the time, knocking around in overpriced real estate, trying to keep herself entertained, or centered, or something.
Because I wasn’t saying anything, Flan stood up. There were some fresh flowers in a marble vase in the middle of the room. She walked over there—it was about half a city block—and rearranged them. When I could see she wasn’t coming back, I followed her.
“Look Flan, the truth is I’m worried like crazy about it, but nobody’s saying anything. And they’re acting kind of pissed about this trip and putting all this pressure on me to decide who I’m going to bring, but I think maybe it’s about more than that. David knows everything, but you’re the only one I’ve told. You and Ruth.”
“Who’s Ruth?”
I stared at Flan. It was now or later, and later might be never, and I’d gotten in enough trouble with that tactic already in the last week.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend!” She turned around quickly, grabbed some roses and threw them at my chest, then ran from the room. I shook my head. I picked up the roses and the thorns pricked my palm. There were little beads of blood there, of course.