Kyle
Kyle lay on the couch, clicking the remote, wondering how there could be nothing interesting to watch—especially when they had about two thousand channels to choose from. A reality show about people who were addicted to reality shows? Seriously? And who the hell would watch something called I Married My Brother: A True Story? Talk about gross.
Oh, wait. Double D-Lite was beginning soon, which sounded fun. She had gotten into pornos about a year ago, partly because they were so hilariously fake, but mostly because her uptight mother absolutely forbade it. Fortunately, Kyle knew the password to get through the lame parental control feature. She would simply have to wait until Kat and Beau were out the door. Which, judging by the sound of their conversation, was imminent.
BEAU: Sweetheart, have you seen my belt with the fancy buckle? And what time’s our reservation?
KAT: Seven-thirty, honey. Movie’s at nine-twenty. Did you check the top drawer of your dresser? Oh, by the way, did you remember to call your aunt Trudy about Thanksgiving dinner?
Kyle wondered if married couples always had such boring conversations. She reminded herself to stay single, forever. She continued surfing, coming across some random celebrity chef cooking up a fancy pizza. Yum. She wondered if there was anything decent to eat for dinner . . .
“Hi, doll!”
Kyle glanced up. Oh, God, it was her mother, dressed in a red T-shirt, black silk shorts, and ballet flats. Apparently, she was auditioning for the cast of Glee.
“Aren’t you guys gone yet?” Kyle said, hoping she’d get the hint.
“Just waiting for Beau. So! What are you doing?”
“I’m discovering a cure for cancer. What does it look like?”
“Very funny. Why don’t you throw on an outfit and come out with us?”
“No, thanks.”
“We’re going to Capriccio’s for Italian.”
Oooh, pizza. “Nah.”
“You sure? We’re seeing that new Steven Spielberg movie after,” Kat persisted.
“I have plans,” Kyle lied.
“With who?”
“Like that’s any of your business? Ash and Priscilla, if you must know.”
“Okay. Well. You know where we are, if you change your mind.”
Kat wandered off in search of Beau. Kyle turned her attention back to the TV screen. In truth, Ash and Priscilla were at a house party in Westwood tonight. Kyle was supposed to be there, too. But she’d blown it off, just like she’d blown off Graydon Garrison’s party earlier.
The problem was, Ash and Priscilla were getting into increasingly hard-core stuff. Smoking pot was one thing, but coke and E? And what were those things called, whippits? A quiet night in with a porno and a bottle of tequila was more Kyle’s speed. With Bree at a sleepover and Benjy out with his fellow drama nerds, she’d have the whole place to herself.
Kyle continued surfing channels. She wondered what was up with her mother’s dinner invitation—and with all the invitations, lately. Last week, Kat had surprised her by picking her up after school to take her shopping. The day before yesterday, it was mani-pedis. The woman had obviously been reading self-help books or talking to a shrink about this. Note to self: Bond with Kyle!
Yeah, good luck with that, Mom, Kyle thought wryly. Although Kyle’s nails, which were painted a shade called Toxic Taupe, did look sick. And she was never one to say no to free merch.
Half an hour (and a total waste-of-time discussion about which car to take) later, Kat and Beau were finally gone. Café Romero was closed for minor renovations, so they were taking advantage and having a “date night,” which was apparently what old people called going out. Kyle went to the kitchen to scrounge for dinner (a frozen pepperoni pizza—yes!) and retrieve the key to the liquor cabinet, which Beau kept quote-unquote “hidden” in a cracked Dodgers mug full of loose change.
Kyle heard the front door open just as she was settling back on the couch with her dinner, a bottle of Patrón, a Grand Canyon souvenir shot glass, and the opening credits of Double D-Lite. Crap! Had they forgotten something? She grabbed the Patrón and frantically tried to find a place to stash it.
“Hello?” A familiar voice came from the hallway.
It was Kass. What was she doing here?
“Kass? In here!” Kyle called out.
A moment later, Kass popped her head through the doorway. “Um, where is everybody?”
“Out.”
“Oh.”
Kyle stared at Kass, confused. Her sister’s eyes were red, and her makeup was all streaky, as though she’d been crying. Which made zero sense. Like Kyle, Kass was not the crying type.
“What’s up? You look like shit.”
“Thanks. Hey, what are you doing with that? Do Mom and Beau know you’re helping yourself to their liquor?”
Now there was the old Kass. “I’ll get you a glass,” Kyle offered.
“No!”
Kass ignored her and went to the kitchen. When she came back (with a Niagara Falls souvenir shot glass—their father had been a collector), Kass was sitting on the couch, plucking a nonexistent dog hair from her not-entirely-ugly purple dress. (Fashion was not Kass’s strong suit.)
“Cute outfit,” Kyle complimented her. She poured two shots and handed one to Kass. “Tough day?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Kass took a sip. “Wah! It burns!”
“It’s supposed to. And you’re not supposed to drink it like it’s a cup of tea, dummy. Watch and learn from the master.” Kyle tipped her head back and downed her shot glass, demonstrating.
“Like this?” Kass followed suit.
“Like that! Exactly!”
“It’s not too bad, if you like the taste of hydrochloric acid,” Kass said sarcastically.
“Whatever.” Kyle poured another round. “So. What’s up? I wasn’t kidding before when I said you look like shit.”
This time, Kass finished off the tequila in one gulp. Then she picked up the bottle and helped herself to more. “My love life is a mess. I really, really screwed things up with Eduardo tonight.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Kyle said, surprised. Dating was the other thing Kass never did, besides crying.
“No! He’s not my boyfriend. Not exactly. He’s in my econ class at school, and we hang out. The thing is, he wants more than friendship. And actually, I do, too, except that I’ve been kind of nervous about taking that next step because, well, he may seem like an amazing guy, but what if he turns out to be an asshole and just wants to use me for sex? Like Adam Kerrigan?”
“Adam who?”
“You don’t remember Adam? My high school boyfriend? The love of my life?”
Oh, yeah, him. Kyle had a vague memory of a chemistry geek with bad skin and BO. Great boyfriend material. “So you and this . . . Edward, Eduardo haven’t hooked up yet?” she said out loud.
“No. But tonight was going to be the night, maybe. I bought champagne and a box of—never mind, you’re way too young.”
“You bought condoms?” Kyle grinned. “So you were finally gonna get your V-card punched, huh?”
“My . . . what?”
“Your V-card? Or did you do it with that Adam guy? Never mind. Okay, so, what happened?”
“Wellll . . . we never made it back to my house, because we got into this awful fight.”
“About what?”
“About this hideous picture Dish magazine published. Of me. And the stupid crap they printed.”
“Really?” Kyle was totally confused. What could Dish possibly want with Kass? “Let me grab my laptop, I’ll check it out.”
“Don’t bother, I brought it with me.”
Kass reached into her purse and pulled out a rolled-up magazine. She unfurled it and turned to a dog-eared page, and handed it to Kyle.
Kyle took a look at the picture—and the story, too. God, no wonder Kass was losing her shit. If some pretend journalist had called her “Kamille’s dumpy younger sis,” then implied she looked like a guy, she would have been forced to kill the asshole.
“Yeah, this blows,” she said after a moment. “You know, if Kamille wasn’t such a fame whore, this wouldn’t have happened,” she added bitchily.
“Right? Finally, someone who agrees with me! Thank you!” Kass tipped back another drink.
“Yeah, her stupid so-called career is like a magnet for these media douche bags.”
“Exactly! That’s what I tried to tell—whoa! What are those people doing?”
Kass’s eyes were suddenly glued to the TV screen. Kyle followed her gaze. A guy and two girls—or was that two guys and a girl?—were getting it on in a hot tub.
“It’s the Nature Channel,” Kyle joked. “I think this bottle’s empty. You want me to grab another one?”
“Hmm? Yeah, sure. Ohmigod, what is he doing to her with his tongue?”
“I want to hear all about this Eduardo dude when I get back. Okay?”
“Hmm.”
“And . . . Kass? When it comes to guys? You need to think less, hook up more.”
Kass turned to Kyle and started giggling hysterically. “Think less, hook up more! Ha-ha, that’s hilarious!”
Kyle raised her eyebrows. Kass giggling was about as rare as Kass crying. And dating. And, for that matter, getting drunk.
Kyle’s night had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting.