“So then Brandon slipped and totally wiped out,” Clay said, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “Puke everywhere.” He reached over Andie and punched Brandon in the arm. Brandon laughed, exposing a row of green braces. His black hair was gelled in the front, forming stiff spikes.
“That’s funny,” Andie mumbled. She was trapped between them on the love seat in the den, listening to another one of Clay’s stupid stories. This time it was about Brandon falling into a puke puddle on the 6 train. Andie glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was nine twenty. Which meant in just ten minutes Clay and Brandon would be off to the Ludacris concert, and Andie would finally be free.
On the sofa Parker Adams was making out with her Haverford boyfriend, while two other couples faced off in foosball. Shelley DeWitt was perched in the window seat with Fillmore Weitz, whose skin looked surprisingly clear compared to the last time Andie had seen him. Everyone was paired off—everyone except Andie. She was supposed to be Clay’s girlfriend (even if it was fake), but ever since Brandon arrived she’d felt like a third wheel. A third wheel on an annoying, fist-pounding tricycle to Dude Land.
Just then Lola strolled in, carrying Heath Bar in her arms. “Lola?” Andie tried to steady her voice. “Where’s Cindy? I thought you guys were watching movies in dad’s room?”
“I’m bloody bored. Cindy fell asleep twenty minutes ago.” Lola looked around the den. “I can’t watch the telly when everyone is down here having…” She trailed off, her gaze falling on Parker and her boyfriend. Parker was sucking on her boyfriend’s ear. She was going to say fun but that didn’t seem like quite the right word anymore. Parker made snogging look scary, like her tongue was in a boxing match with her boyfriend’s ear.
“What’s the deal with your hair?” Brandon asked.
“Nothing…” Lola smoothed down her headband, feeling her face flush. Since the shoot she’d washed it three times but it was still greasy. Even worse, it looked a little green, like it used to get in London, after she spent all day in Abby’s indoor swimming pool. She’d spent so much time trying to become one with the gutter, she’d never considered how she’d get out of the gutter. All she had to show for her brush with supermodeling was a stringy mop of hair that smelled like her grandmother’s olive grove in Tuscany.
“Maybe you should check on Cindy. She might need help.” Andie’s heart sped up. Kyle would be here any minute. If Lola was wandering around the house, she wouldn’t be able to talk to him, or look at him, without feeling like she was under FBI surveillance.
“She’s fine.” Lola tugged on the bottom of her black, long-sleeved T-shirt. It was covered with an inch of orange fur.
“Then as soon as Clay leaves I’ll go upstairs with you to wake Cindy up. I just don’t want her”—Andie searched for an excuse—“sleeping on my dad’s bed.” Even if Cindy had snuck out of her house with a stuffy nose and a bad cough, she was only there because she promised to watch Lola. Cough syrup or no cough syrup, Andie needed her awake.
“Sleeping on the bed?” Lola furrowed her brows. “Mum and Winston won’t care.” She held Heath Bar over her shoulder and bounced him up and down like he was a twenty-pound, fur-covered newborn.
On the love seat, Clay and Brandon had started punching each other. They reached behind Andie and in front of her, trying to get at each other. “You’re an idiot!” Clay hooted, standing to knock Brandon hard in the shoulder. Brandon pulled the hood of his orange Triple 5 Soul sweatshirt over his head and ducked behind Andie, using her as a shield.
Parker noticed Clay’s clenched fist, which was pulled back like he was aiming for Andie. “What’s your problem?” she yelled. “Isn’t that your girlfriend?” Her red hair was staticky from making out, and it floated up on one side, as though she’d just rubbed a balloon to it.
“Yeah,” Clay said. “I wasn’t aiming for her—I was aiming for Brandon.” He sat back down on the leather couch, wrapping an arm around Andie.
“Well maybe you should stop punching your friend and start making out,” Parker said with a laugh, revealing two snaggleteeth that made her look just a little bit menacing, like a friendly vampire.
“Yeah,” Parker’s boyfriend hooted. His face was bright pink from making out, like he’d just come out of a sauna. “Get it on!”
Andie felt Clay’s arm around her shoulder, like a cold, dead snake. This had gone too far. Clay wasn’t actually her boyfriend, and she definitely didn’t want to make out with him. He’d probably stick his fat tongue down her throat so far it would touch her tonsils. Besides, she wanted her first kiss to be with Kyle—lead singer of the Wormholes, snowboarding, soccer-playing, genuinely nice, silly Kyle. “Right.” Andie laughed, pretending it was just a joke. She inched away from Clay and pulled her polka-dotted Milly blouse closer around her neck.
“Do it! Do it!” Brandon chanted. He glanced around the room for support. The couples playing foosball joined in, raising their arms and cheering. A boy in a vintage Dr Pepper T-shirt even stomped his foot, shaking the flat screen on the wall.
Clay leaned toward Andie, his lips pursed and his eyes closed in concentration. He was so close she could smell his Doritos breath. She didn’t want to do this, she couldn’t. But she could feel Lola watching her. She was chanting too, her lilting British accent making her voice stand out from all the rest.
Andie ran her hands along the top of her J Brand jeans. Maybe she could kiss Clay—just a peck. She closed her eyes, waiting for Clay’s lips to touch down on hers. She could feel his breath getting closer and closer, the Cool Ranch smell stinging her nostrils.
Do it, do it, do it! echoed in her ears. Her whole body was tense, braced as though she were about to get hit by a baseball, flying ninety miles an hour at her face. She felt Clay’s lips press against hers, their plumpness giving way. She held them there as the chant broke into hoots and cheers. Someone screamed, “Yee-ha!” When she pulled away, her face felt hot, like she had a hundred and one-degree fever.
Across the room, she felt someone’s eyes on her. There, in the doorway, was Kyle Lewis. He looked like someone had just put his Fender guitar through a wood chipper. “You’re early…” Andie mumbled.
“Kyle!” Lola called, clapping her hands together. “You came!” She bounded over to him, but Kyle stood frozen.
He looked at Andie, then Clay, then back at Andie, his hands clenched together in tight fists. “You’re with him?” He was wearing a tattered Ramones T-shirt and dark blue jeans.
Andie’s hands trembled. What was she supposed to say? No, I was just pretending I’m Clay’s boyfriend, because Lola likes you and would kill me if she knew I was dating you? There was no way to explain it. She looked at Kyle, chewing the MAC lip gloss from her lips.
Kyle’s brown eyes looked wet. “Here,” he said, pushing past Lola to drop a CD case into Andie’s lap. On the front of it was a picture of his band under the lights at Arlene’s Grocery. Kyle was wearing his headband and aviators. “I made this for you—it’s all the new songs you heard on Friday. Enjoy.” When he said enjoy, it sounded more like, Have a nice life. With that, he stormed out.
Andie stared at the CD, feeling like Kyle had just tossed a bomb in her lap. She’d dated Ben Carter for a month last year. Their entire relationship had consisted of passing notes back and forth in math class, until she got so bored she broke up with him. And even if everyone else liked Clay, she couldn’t spend two hours with him without wishing she had earplugs. But everything with Kyle was different. She would’ve stayed up all night talking to him online, even if she got detention for falling asleep in first-period history. She would’ve gone to every one of his concerts for the next two years, just on the chance that he might’ve written a song about her—for her.
“Who’s the toolbag?” Brandon asked, watching Kyle run down the stairs. His hiccupy laugh made Andie wince.
You’re the toolbag, Andie thought as she inched away from him. Kyle didn’t use the word dude in every other sentence, or have punching contests. And he could have a conversation about more than just soccer or pantsing his best friend. He was nothing like Brandon, or Clay, and that was a good thing. Maybe the best thing about him. She turned the CD over in her hands, sniffing back tears. Whether she thought that or not, Kyle didn’t know. All he knew was that she was kissing Clay Calhoun, the guy who poured Gatorade over his head at the soccer scrimmage. She could forget being Kyle’s girlfriend now—she’d be lucky if he ever talked to her again.
“Seriously, though, Sloane,” Clay whispered. He pulled his arm from Andie’s shoulders. “What’s the deal with that kid?” For the first time ever, he looked worried.
“That’s Kyle Lewis,” Lola hissed. She squeezed Heath Bar so hard he let out a loud mew. Andie had gone to Kyle’s band practice. Kyle Lewis. The same Kyle she’d walked along the Thames with as a child, watching the salmon jump. The same Kyle whom she’d watched play cricket at London Fields, even when it was raining. And the same Kyle she’d (just last week!) gone on a date with to Madame Tussauds. He was her Kyle. And Andie had been sneaking around behind her back, letting her keep on about how he’d been MIA. Give him some time, she’d said!
“You bloody liar,” Lola muttered, her nose twitching. She had been right all along. Kyle was talking to someone else. But it wasn’t Imaginary Girl, with her long silky blond hair and her tiny, perfect ears. It was Andie.
“No, Lola,” Andie started, but Lola turned and ran up the stairs. Heath Bar looked over Lola’s shoulder, shooting Andie a disapproving look.
The entire den was watching her. Parker Adams’s jaw dropped open in a dramatic O. Andie let out a deep breath, wishing everyone would just go home. It was useless. Lola was convinced she was a lying, sneaky backstabber, and Kyle was convinced she was a cheating, boy-crazy idiot. And the worst part was, both of them were right.