The best place in Manhattan to Fall
Later that afternoon, I was standing in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom wondering why there were never any wardrobe indecision scenes in fairy tales. I found it hard to believe that all these girls just knew what to wear to the ball with Prince Charming. Here I was, getting ready for my skating date with the Prince of New York, and feeling totally crippled by my lack of costume options.
This wasn’t like me. Usually I just slapped on whatever I was most comfortable in, as per my mother’s cardinal rule: In order to look comfortable in your own skin, you have to first feel comfortable in your clothes.
But now I was rifling through my closet, feeling absolutely certain that I had nothing at all to wear on this first date. I thought about popping down the street to Intermix or Marc Jacobs—but nothing I’d seen in the windows recently seemed quite right either.
Was the Thoney preppiness getting to me already?
Or was it something about Alex that was intimidating me?
I’d first met Alex in the Hamptons a few Fourth of Julys ago. It was the summer between seventh and eighth grades, when my friends and I spent our time hanging out with guys who were constantly trying to outdo each other organizing late night parties on the beach.
I remember Alex stood out because he insisted that everyone go through this one private entrance behind Garrison Toyota’s mansion. People were complaining about having to sneak in, about how the view from Alex’s parents’ private beach was even better than the one we were risking getting busted to see. The night I met Alex, I remember Camille summing it up perfectly by saying, “This guy must just get a thrill out of breaking every rule he can find.”
In a way, I sort of got that. I’d seen Alex at parties around the city after that, and I’d watched the way crowds of people parted like the Red Sea so that he could get to the front of the line to grab a drink or enter a club. He was the president of the sophomore class and the captain of the lacrosse team. Apparently, he never even studied to get the elusive Dalton A. If everything came easy for him, I could sort of see why he might have to make his own challenges.
But when I applied that theory to his interest in me, it made me more than a little bit nervous. Was it possible that Alex saw me as some sort of challenge?
And then … what would a challenge wear on a first date?
When I finally did make it out the door to meet Alex at Wollman Rink in Central Park, I’d decided on the black leggings (of Kennedy infamy) and a long dark red sweater. Not exactly fairy princess material, but it did match my new red earmuffs, and I knew it was going to be freezing on the ice.
When I got to the park a few minutes after five o’clock, Alex was leaning on the railing that looked out over the rink. Against the backdrop of Central Park South’s glittering skyscrapers, in his pin-striped blazer, orange scarf, and skates slung over his shoulder, he really did look like the Prince of New York.
“Ready to get klutzy out there?” he asked with a smile. Normally, I’d turn beet red if a guy I liked teased me about something as mortifying as my pizza party foul. But when I looked at Alex, he was smiling, and all of a sudden I didn’t mind what he’d said.
“You don’t even know what I’m capable of on the ice,” I teased back. “Get ready to feel deeply jealous of my moves.”
“Actually, I’m already a little jealous,” he said, looking more serious. “You looked pretty smooth out there during field hockey practice. I guess you played on the team at Stuy?”
“Uh-uh,” I said, shaking my head. “That practice you saw was my first one.”
“You’re kidding,” he said. “You were great.”
“Beginner’s luck,” I said, feeling a shiver as Alex touched my back to lead me down the steps to the skate rental booth.
We found a spot on the bench and Alex helped me tie up my skates. It was no glass slipper, but it still felt sort of like a fairy tale to me.
Soon, Alex had taken my hand and was pulling me out on the ice. “I’ve never seen this place so empty,” Alex said, wrapping his arm around my waist. “It’s like we have our own private rink.”
It had been a long time since I’d been skating. The last time Camille and I had made the mistake of going to Rock Center pre-Christmas, there’d been less actual skating and more shuffling against a thousand other people on a tiny fleck of a rink.
Today, though, Wollman Rink was wide open. The cold must have scared off a lot of tourists and little kids. But I realized that as long as you had earmuffs and the warm hand of someone like Alex, it wasn’t all that bad. In fact, as we whirled around the rink a few times to warm up, it was actually incredibly romantic.
“The most exclusive skating party in the world,” I said. “And we didn’t even have to sneak in through Garrison Toyota’s backyard to get here.” There was something about our rapport that made it easy and fun to tease each other.
“Hey—watch it there,” he said, giving me a squeeze. “Speaking of exclusive, how are you finding Thoney life?”
“So far, it’s been fun,” I said, trying to choose the right words. “But sometimes I feel like everyone’s playing a game that I didn’t get the rule book for.”
“I don’t believe in rules.” Alex shrugged. “Well, at least not the annoying ones.”
“I know,” I said. “And the Thoney rules are borderline ridiculous, but the girls seem to take them so seriously.”
“Like what?” He rubbed his gloved hands together.
I thought about Willa’s Virgil campaigning and considered whether to bring up the whole Host thing to Alex. It did sound a little lame to say it out loud, but he was looking at me so sincerely with his dark eyes that I decided to go for it. “Well, there’s this … position I’m running for … to host this party—”
“Virgil?” he said. “Virgil Host is serious stuff. My older sister was super into it. You’re going to run?”
“I guess so. I was kind of put up to it by my friends. But now it seems like there are all these things I have to do to win—all these favors I’m supposed to give, this whole strategy I’m supposed to follow.”
Alex seemed to think about this for a minute. “Hey, remember that surprise hip check you worked on the field yesterday?” he said.
“Yeah, I still have the bruises from the aftermath,” I said. “But what does that have to do with Virgil?”
Alex laughed. “Maybe you don’t have to know all the strategies. Just pick the tricks that work for you so you can win the game.” He skated forward and gave me a light bump on the hip.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” I said, laughing, then boldly taking a light bump back at his hip. “It’s like this.”
“My bad,” he said, laughing too. “You know, I think you might be able to trademark that move: the Flood.”
“Right. If I could just find the off-field equivalent of the hip check, then I’d totally rock the competition,” I joked.
“Exactly.” Alex nodded. “You’ll be Virgil Host in no time.”
Alex’s eyes locked on mine, and he started to skate up next to me. His face was only inches away from mine, and I realized I was holding my breath.
Just then, a careening ice-skater in a giant blue puffy coat came flying into us, knocking himself—and the two of us—to the ground.
“Ouch!” I cried out when my butt hit the ice.
“You two should watch where you’re going,” the man called out angrily. It was hard to see his face under his Yankees ski cap, but he seemed more embarrassed than legitimately huffy. Before we could respond, he got to his feet, brushed himself off, and wobbily skated away.
“Hey, are you okay?” Alex called out.
“I think so,” I said, checking myself for bruises. “I don’t think I’ve fallen this many times in one week since I’d figured out how to walk.”
When I looked over at Alex, I couldn’t help but crack up. His hair was covered in snowy ice residue. “But you look like you just aged forty years.”
“Oh yeah?” Alex grinned, pointing at my head. “Bold words from someone who’s only got half her earmuffs on, don’t you think?”
“Where’d that guy go?” I said as Alex helped me straighten my earmuffs. “Somebody should hip check him.”
“Dude, seriously,” he said, looking around the rink.
“Yeah, but he was pretty big. I nominate you.”
Alex laughed and held up his hands. “Not it.”
“Hey, you’re supposed to be chivalrous and protect me,” I joked.
“Wait a minute. I thought you were the pro-hip checker. Why don’t you show everyone here how it’s done?”
By then the puffy-jacketed problem skater was nowhere to be found. But the sun was setting over Central Park West, and I realized I was having way too much fun with Alex to care.