MOVING IN
“So that’s it?” my dad asked after depositing, with a thud, the last cardboard box on top of two others on my new floor.
The ceiling was low, the walls were bright white (practically fluorescent), the room smelled faintly like spoiled yogurt, and the window looked onto the recycling bin. But it was mine. All mine. My stomach hadn’t stopped fluttering since we got here early this morning.
My dad leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him to stretch his upper back. “Are you sure you don’t need help unpacking? I’ve got time, hon. I’m happy to do it.”
“No, no, Vi and Marissa are here to help me. You get back to your own boxes.” I swallowed. “I mean, the movers probably have questions for you.” They were flying out tonight.
Vi gave me a discreet thumbs-up from her crossed-legged position on my new futon. She was wearing black skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder green top. I shot her a small smile, but despite myself, I felt a stab of loneliness.
“I know, I know . . .” He pulled me into a hug. He smelled warm and musky, like always. “Oh, I’m going to miss you, Princess.”
Then don’t move to Cleveland, I almost said. But I didn’t. Because, yes, I’d miss my dad, but he was choosing to go. To leave me. And besides, I was about to live a sixteen-year-old’s dream. House on the beach. No parents. Parties whenever we wanted. Boyfriends whenever we wanted.
“I’ll miss you too,” I said.
“It’s too bad I didn’t get to talk to Suzanne,” my dad said, his forehead crinkling. He glanced at the basement stairs as if hoping Vi’s mom would suddenly appear, while Vi, Marissa, and I simultaneously looked at the floor. Very interesting floor. Old, beige, well-stepped-on, carpeted floor. “I was hoping to go over the logistics one last time,” my dad said. “In person.”
“I know,” Vi said. “She felt so bad about not seeing you. But like I said, my great-aunt fell and broke her hip, and my mom had to take care of her.”
“She’s a good niece,” my dad said.
“She really is,” Vi said, nodding. “She told me, like, five thousand times to tell you how sorry she is.”
“Please tell her I’m sorry to have missed her as well,” my dad said. He headed back up the stairs with the three of us trailing him. By the time I reached the top, I was light-headed, maybe from taking the steps too fast, but more likely because I was having an unexpected panic attack. A real one, with tight lungs and spots in front of my eyes and everything.
If my dad realized what we were really up to . . . ?
I grabbed the handrail to steady myself. Chill, I told myself. Breathe. The only way he’s going to find out is if you let him find out.
“She’s really good on email,” Vi said. “Want me to tell her to check in with you as soon as she’s back?”
“Sure,” my dad said. He turned to me. “So this is it?”
Tears sprung to my eyes, throwing me off guard. I forced a smile. “This is it. Um, I really appreciate it, Dad. Your trusting me and all.”
“Don’t forget your curfew. And remember to start the car every day, or the engine can die. Especially in the winter. I put a flashlight in the glove compartment just in case. And you have your cell.”
He was being so sweet. It was killing me. “Yes, Dad.”
He gave me another hug before leaving. “Be good, Princess. Stay safe.”
I nodded, because I was having a hard time with words. It’ll be better once he’s gone, I tried to tell myself, but this moment—him leaving, me staying, the truth of what I was doing an invisible purple elephant between us—was harder than I’d anticipated. If my dad found out I’d planned such a huge deception, he’d be furious. But worse? He’d be hurt.
I’d seen him cry only once, and that’s what I found myself thinking about when I kissed him one last time, waved as he got in his car, and finally closed Vi’s door as he drove away. In my mind I saw my dad’s eyes welling up that one and only time, tears spilling down his cheeks like raindrops.
Marissa and Vi picked up on none of this, thank goodness. The minute the door closed, they launched into their own versions of a happy dance. Marissa’s involved twirls, which puffed up her blue cotton dress, while Vi’s was kind of like the front crawl. I snapped myself out of it. I would be fine, and so would Dad. He’d be happy in Cleveland. He wouldn’t find out the truth. I wouldn’t let him find out the truth. I could handle living on my own.
“You guys are so lucky,” Marissa said.
Vi was already trotting back down the stairs. “Time to unpack—and I’m talking pronto, sister.”
“Um, why?”
“Your housewarming soirée is tonight,” she called up to us. “And it starts at seven!”
THE ONE TIME I SAW MY DAD CRY
We were at David’s Deli. I was slurping my chicken soup. It was a day after my fourteenth birthday, March 29. My mom fidgeted with her fork. “April. Matthew. Your father is moving out.” Her voice was calm. Too calm. I wanted to yell that she could at least pretend to be sad.
My dad made an “ah” sound and I turned to him, expecting him to say something. But instead of speaking, he was swallowing hard, like he was trying to hold down sobs. Tears dripped down his cheeks. He tried to wipe them away before we could see. As if that would work.
Except it did, I guess, because Matthew was clueless. “Is he going to sleep in the tent?” he asked. “Can I sleep in the tent too? Please, Dad?”
My dad shook his head. I knew that no matter what, my dad didn’t want to move out. I wanted to jump out of my seat and throw my arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be all right, like he used to do for me.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to spill the chicken soup over my mother’s head.
I wanted to tell my dad that even though his wife of over a decade had slept with someone else, even though she clearly no longer gave a shit about him, I still loved him.
But it hurt to look at him. So I glared at my mother instead and put my arm around Matthew. I kept glaring, until finally, her eyes filled with tears too and she looked down at her plate.
MARCH 28
Yup, believe it: I was born on March 28, yet my name is April.
I was supposed to be born on April 14, but I was two and a half weeks early and my mom decided that April didn’t have to be literal. It could be metaphorical. A new season. A new family unit.
At least they hadn’t named me March.
LOST IN TRANSLATION
Matthew: You better call Mom back. She’s trying to get in touch with you. Has bitten off all her nails.
Me: Moving into Vi’s today! Will call her later! xxx
Matthew: U R?
Me: Dad leaving 4 the Cleve
Matthew: Oh right.
Me: Didn’t you tell Mom he’s moving?
Matthew: Forgot. Did u?
NOT THAT KIND OF MOTHER
Why didn’t I consult my mother about my living situation?
In a traditional mother-daughter relationship, the daughter would probably call her mother to discuss a move like this. Although in a traditional mother-daughter relationship, a high school junior would live with her mother.
But my mother lived in Paris with her new husband, Daniel (pronounced “Danielle” en français). She’d been gone a year and a half, since the summer after freshman year.
The truth is, it hadn’t occurred to me to consult her about my living situation.
Which I maybe shouldn’t have mentioned to her in those exact words.
“How could you not have talked to me about this?” she asked on the phone, sounding slightly hysterical.
“It’s not such a big deal,” I said. “Daddy and Penny are moving to Ohio—they leave tonight—so I moved in with Vi.”
“Wait—you moved? This happened already?”
I looked around my quickly and fully unpacked room. Vi is nothing if not efficient. “Yes. Today. My housewarming soirée is in a few hours. I just got out of the shower actually, so I don’t have too long to talk. I think Noah is coming over.”
“But-but—you can’t just do that!”
“Actually, I can,” I said, and if it sounded cold, too bad. I didn’t actively want to be cold, but face it, my dad had custody of me. She had custody of Matthew. That’s what they had agreed on when she decided to leave Westport to move to Paris and be with Danielle. She was thrilled to be done with child support, done with alimony, done with my father. “You have no idea how annoying it is to have to justify the cost of orange juice,” she’d said to me. And you have no idea how many people you’ve hurt, I said back to her, but only in my head. Screw the orange juice.
“I think you lost your say somewhere over the Atlantic,” I added.
There was a pause. “I’m still your mother. I still get a say.” She sighed. “I wish you’d come live with us in France.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said curtly. Then I felt bad so I added, “I would never be able to finish high school in French.” For some reason, whenever I spoke to my mom, I felt guilty. But shouldn’t she be the one to feel guilty? She was the one who left me. “I want to be here,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “With my friends.”
“I can’t believe your father agreed to this,” my mother said. “Suzanne’s not the most responsible mother. I remember when she let the two of you walk to the Baskin-Robbins on Main Street by yourselves when you were nine. When you were nine!”
I hung my head upside down to scrunch my hair with gel. “Don’t worry about Suzanne. She won’t even be here. She’s going to be traveling.”
“What? What?”
I grimaced. Why had I said that? “She got the lead in Traveling Mary Poppins. Don’t tell Dad.” No, she wouldn’t tell my dad. She didn’t even talk to my dad. And anyway, she would never tattle on me. I was her friend. When your parents divorced and your mom started dating again, that’s what happened. At least, that’s what happened with us. Roles shifted. Moms need someone to dissect dates with and (inappropriate or not), tag, you’re it.
“April—”
“What?” I snapped.
“I don’t like the idea of you living by yourself.”
“I’m not by myself. I’m with Vi. You’re not going to be annoying about this, are you? It’s not a big deal.” Why had I even told her? Stupid. Did I want her to worry? Did I subconsciously want her to call my dad?
“I’m not going to call your father, but I don’t like what you’re doing one bit.”
Relief washed over me. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it. We’ll be good, I promise.”
“I trust you, April, but promise to call me if you get into any trouble. No, before you get into any trouble.”
The doorbell rang. Noah. I hoped Vi would let him in. “Listen, Mom, I gotta go. Noah’s upstairs and I just got out of the shower. And isn’t it, like, midnight there? Matthew’s asleep?”
“Can you call me tomorrow please?” There was defeat in her voice, and it irritated me and made me feel guilty simultaneously.
“Yup. Give Matthew a kiss for me.” He had spent a week with us in Westport over winter break and the second he got his Unaccompanied Minor butt back on the Air France plane, I’d felt like a part of me was missing. I cried when I said good-bye to him. I always did. Most sisters found their little brothers annoying, but not me, never me. I brought Matthew along with me everywhere. We used to play hide-and-seek and build forts out of cardboard boxes and speak to each other in pig Latin so our parents wouldn’t understand.
“Really tomorrow, though,” she continued. “Not like two weeks ago when you said tomorrow and then I call again today and discover your landline’s been disconnected.”
“Right. Sorry about that. I’ve been busy.”
“Apparently.” Another sigh. It was amazing how well I could hear the sighs despite the ocean between us. I said good-bye, hung up the phone, slipped on my jeans and shirt, and turned on the music, trying to drown out any concerns about my mother.
I needed to raid Vi’s closet. She had tons of funky stuff. Cool shirts, sexy heels, and one red dress that was superhot. Long-sleeved, low-cut, and short. It screamed Notice Me, among other things. Moving in with her came with the added bonus of borrowing whatever I wanted, right? And I wanted to wear that red dress. Not tonight, but soon.
There were three knocks on the basement door.
I tossed my cell on my bed. “Come in,” I said, trying to make my voice sound light and fluffy.
“It’s me again!” Marissa called, running down the stairs. She was in a gray knit dress and black tights and ballet flats. Marissa always wore dresses. She loved them. Winter dresses. Summer dresses. Tights. Bare-legged. Whatever. She was probably the only teenager who hated wearing jeans. She’d wear a dress to play soccer if she was allowed. “Did you miss me? I’ve been gone a whole hour. Did you see that Vi taped your dad’s rules to the fridge? So funny.”
“Oh, hey,” I said.
“What, I’m not exciting enough for you?” she asked.
“No, you are . . . of course you are. I was just expecting Noah.”
He had flown in that morning and I thought he’d have come over by now. Wouldn’t tonight be the big night? First night back . . . first night in the new house . . . hello, first-time sex. It was new Independent Me. And Independent Me was a hundred percent ready for sex.
“Have you spoken to him yet?” Marissa asked.
“Not yet,” I said. “I left him a message. I told him to come over for the soirée.”
“I’m sure he’s just crazed,” she said, waving her hand.
I felt out of touch. Noah had called a few times from Palm Beach but it was tough to actually talk since he was staying with his whole family at his grandfather’s.
I hunted for my black eyeliner and viewed my reflection in the full-length mirror we’d leaned against the wall. Not bad. My long hair was perfectly wavy instead of frizzy, and my skin looked smooth. I lined the inside rims of my lids, hoping to make my brown eyes pop.
“I don’t know how you do that,” she said crawling onto my futon.
“Penny taught me,” I told her. The one thing we bonded over—makeup. “Want me to show you?”
“God, no. I’m getting heebies just watching.”
Next up—mascara. “Sorry I’m taking so long. Almost done.”
“No rush.” She smiled dreamily. “I’ll just lie here and pretend this is my room. I might nap.”
“Happy to get a trundle bed.”
“Wait till Noah sees your new digs. He’s going to freak.”
“We’ll find out if he ever gets here.” Where was he, anyway?
“He’s probably getting you flowers or something. Something sweet. Do you know how lucky you are? You have an amazing boyfriend who lives ten minutes away, plus you have your own place.” Aaron, Marissa’s boyfriend, lived in Boston.
I applied my lip gloss. “You’re forgetting one of the most important things.”
“What’s that?”
I smacked my lips together, then went over and hugged her, because I really did love Marissa. Without Marissa, I’d probably still be lying in a pool of my own misery. “I have you.”
A KICK IN THE PANTS
Two and a half years ago, in September of freshman year, Marissa decided we needed to be on the soccer team.
“But we’re not athletic,” I reminded her. We were both around five foot five and small, and not particularly active.
“So? A sport would be good for us. Our confidence. Our morale. Our asses.” We both knew what she really meant was, a sport might make you stop moping.
While soccer was fun, it didn’t stop me from crying into my pillow at night over how my mom cheated on my dad and made him cry and how dinnertime was lonely and quiet and usually McDonald’s and how my father was dating like a lunatic and my mother wanted to chat with me about the cute guys in her office.
Marissa thought it was awesome that my mom wanted to hang out and gossip, but it just gave me a headache. Marissa moved to Plan B. “I told Noah Friedman to come to Burger Palace for lunch with us,” she told me.
“Who?” I thought I knew who he was, but I wasn’t sure.
“Noah. He’s in my English class. You’ll like him.”
“Why?” I asked, leaning against my locker.
“He’s cute. He’s sweet. He’s smart. I think you guys would be good together,” she said.
The three of us met by the front door. He had wavy brown hair, green eyes. Taller than me, but not much. His cheeks were pink, like he’d run to meet us. He smelled fresh, like mint gum. We walked down the street to Burger Palace, Marissa in the middle.
The waitress came over and asked us for our order. Marissa got chicken fingers. I got a burger. Noah, sitting across from us, got a burger, fries, a side of mac ’n’ cheese, and a milk shake.
“That’s a lot of food,” Marissa said.
“I’m a growing boy,” he said.
“I’ll share your fries,” I offered. “So you don’t explode.”
He smiled at me. He had dimples. I wanted to reach over and touch one.
“Glad you’re here to keep me under control. But where were you two weeks ago when I actually did explode at Bertucci’s? I ate way too much pizza.”
I laughed. Sitting there with Noah, I felt like I belonged. I forgot to be sad about my parents’ divorce. I forgot to be angry.
The waitress came back to our table. “Sorry to tell you, kids, but we’re out of beef patties.”
“But . . . this is the Burger Palace,” I said.
She shrugged. “Turkey burger? Veggie burger? Lamb? We still got burgers.”
“Um . . .”
“Sure,” Noah said. “Turkey.”
“And you?” the waitress asked me.
“Turkey burger, I guess. Thanks.” I waited for the waitress to walk away before grumbling, “How does a burger place run out of burgers?”
“They have burgers, just not beef. You don’t like turkey?” Noah asked.
“I do,” I said. “But I can’t just switch gears like that. I need to rearrange the expectations of my palate.” I made an exaggerated lip-smacking sound. “There we go. Rearranged.”
“Your palate, huh?” He laughed. “You’re cute.”
Now my cheeks felt pink. So are you, I thought.
Under the table, Marissa squeezed my hand.
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
Noah showed up last to the soirée.
Vi was busy pouring beers and glasses of wine as the guests arrived, and Joanna handed them out. It felt odd watching them serve alcohol. Like we were old, living in an apartment in New York, having cocktails. Already Dean and his brother, Hudson, were finishing the last of the chips.
We’d left the door unlocked and I was refilling the chip bowl when I spotted Noah at the door. “Hi!” I said. I dropped the bag and pushed through the others to get to him as he smiled at me. It wasn’t the private homecoming I’d been dreaming of—but at least he was here.
“Hey, everyone,” he said, glancing around the room. He was looking adorable, like he always did when he came home from Florida. Slight tan, cheeks a bit burnt. He was wearing a new green top that his parents must have bought him on their trip. I’d never seen it before.
“What’s up?” RJ called from the couch. RJ played center on the varsity basketball team with Noah. Compared to RJ’s six-foot-three, wide, bulky frame, we all looked like dwarfs.
I wrapped my arms around Noah’s neck, which was cold from outside. His cheeks were flushed. “Hi,” I said again.
“Hey,” he said softly, looking around.
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips. He was the perfect height for me, only a few inches taller. “I missed you,” I said. He smelled like shampoo.
“I missed you too,” he said. He kissed me again.
“Get a room!” Dean hollered.
Noah blushed. “So,” he said, looking around again. “This is home.”
“This is home,” I repeated. I tried to make eye contact. “How was your flight?”
“No problems.” He checked out the surroundings—the appliances from the seventies in the kitchen, the huge rectangular wooden dining room table, the purple tablecloth, the massive blue suede couch, the shag carpet, the clutter of lamps, and candles and stuff that did not belong to me. The water behind the windows and the lights across the way. “Crazy.”
“I know.” I was sure it was bizarro for him to see me in this new environment, this new home. It was weird for me to be in it. But what was also weird was why he hadn’t called me when he’d landed. Why hadn’t he come straight over? Why wouldn’t he look at me?
Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe it was just that everyone was watching. Maybe it was because Corinne was watching.
“Come sit down,” I said, leading him to the rest of the party.
I NEVER
“My turn,” Vi said. “I’ve never kissed a girl.”
All four guys—Noah, RJ, Dean, and Hudson—plus Joanna, drank to that one. But that was no surprise.
Dean put his arm around Vi. “If the rest of you ladies would like to try right now, don’t let us stop you.”
Vi punched him in the arm. “Yes, that’s what we’re going to do, make out with each other for your viewing enjoyment.” The two of them were sharing a lounge chair.
“Excellent,” Dean said, his loud laugh reverberating around the room. Dean and Vi had been best friends since they met freshman year. Now he had his hands on Vi’s hip. He always seemed to be touching someone or something. A ball, a cushion, a girl’s hip.
I was sitting between Marissa and Noah on the couch, and Joanna was on the other side of Noah.
Joanna was a senior at Andersen. She was wearing vintage jeans and a lace shirt that you know she bought at an actual thrift store and not at Urban Outfitters like everyone else. Next year she was backpacking through Australia instead of going to college. She was also the only gay person I knew who had come out, and possibly the only gay person I knew, period. Last year she had brought her (now ex) girlfriend from Stamford to her junior prom. Joanna lived a few blocks away from Vi, also on Mississauga Island, but at the end, near the yacht club.
“My turn,” Dean said. “I’ve never had sex.” Then he drank. Dean had been the first guy in their year to lose his virginity, when he was in eighth grade, with a high school student. It had made him a bit of a legend. He had always been cute—he had shortish, shaggy brown hair, puffy cheeks, and a quick smile. But it wasn’t his looks that got the girls—he was funny.
“Hells no,” Vi said. “You can’t say something you’ve done and then drink.”
Dean swallowed. “Why not?”
“That’s the rule.”
“Your rule,” he said.
“House rules,” she answered.
“So should I be drinking here or not?” RJ asked, lifting his glass.
“That depends on whether or not you’ve had sex,” Vi said.
He didn’t drink. Neither did Corinne, who was sitting across the room, running her pale fingers through her red hair and watching us not drink.
Joanna, Hudson, and Vi drank.
No one else touched his or her glass. It was a clear division between juniors and seniors, my friends and Vi’s friends.
I didn’t know who Joanna and Hudson had done it with, but I knew Vi had lost her virginity to Frank, a hot college student who had a part in one of her mom’s plays.
I’d been hoping to change my virgin status tonight. I kind of assumed that was the plan.
But . . . apparently Noah’s plans were not the same as my plans.
TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER
“Okay, everyone, it’s time to play I Never!” Vi had called, and started passing out cups.
“I’m driving,” Noah said, waving his away.
“Hells no!” Vi exclaimed. “I assumed you would just crash here.”
“No can do,” he replied.
“Why not?” Vi asked.
Noah shifted uncomfortably. “Because.”
“Because why?” Vi asked.
“Because my parents want me home,” Noah said.
She turned to me. “Is he a mama’s boy?”
I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t because Noah looked annoyed. But he was a mama’s boy. Noah’s mom was the kind of mom who knew every detail of her two boys’ lives from their upcoming tests to what underwear they were wearing. Fine, maybe not the underwear. She wasn’t creepy. But she knew when they needed new underwear because fresh boxers would appear in their rooms. “A little,” I said.
“A guy who treats his mom well treats his wife well,” Marissa said.
“He definitely treats his girlfriend well,” I said, kissing him on the cheek.
“You can still play,” Vi said. “I’ll just give you something else to drink.” She put the glasses down on the coffee table and headed back to the kitchen. “How about . . . soy milk?”
Noah shrugged, still looking annoyed. He shifted away from Vi and put his arm around me. Since Vi’s and my friendship was so separate from my everyday social life, Noah and Vi had never spent much time together. I had assumed they’d get along. Why wouldn’t they? I liked them both.
“Soy milk? That’s disgusting,” Dean said. He was fingering one of the seven candleholders that were also on the coffee table.
“That’s all we have. April, we really need to go grocery shopping tomorrow. How about water?”
“Whatever,” Noah said.
“Water it is. Chardonnay for everyone not driving. Thank you, Mom, for leaving me a stocked liquor cabinet.”
BACK TO THE GAME
“Dude,” Dean said, looking at Noah. “You’ve never done it? That’s going to change. Your girlfriend has her own house. Speaking of . . .” He lifted his glass. “I’ve never had my own house.”
Vi and I drank.
I put my hand on my hip, the alcohol making me feel tough. “You didn’t want to say, I’ve never been abandoned by my parents?”
Dean blushed and shook his head.
Marissa squeezed my shoulder.
Hudson laughed.
I looked over at him and smiled. “At least someone thinks I’m funny.”
Hudson was also a senior. Which was weird because he was ten months older than Dean but still in the same grade. Hudson was hot, while Dean was more of a cutie. Hudson had dirty-blond hair, crazy cheekbones, and blue eyes that were right now popping from across the room. He looked nothing like his brother. And as far as I could tell, Hudson kept his hands to himself. He kept most things to himself. He dated Sloane Grayson for most of last year but they broke up during the summer before she left for college. He was a possible drug dealer. Probably a rumor but supposedly he’d bought a brand-new Jeep with no help from his parents. Also, he was always “working” yet no one would say what he was doing.
“I can’t believe you guys get to live together,” Joanna said. “Lucky bitches.”
“My parents would have made me move,” Corinne said.
“Our parents keep hoping we’ll move,” Dean said. “Vi, why couldn’t April just move into your mom’s room instead of the basement?”
“My mom is going to come back for a weekend or so,” Vi said. “This is still her house.”
She was?
“It’s kind of like April has her own apartment,” Marissa said.
“But, April, won’t you, like, miss your parents?” Corinne asked, looking not at me but beside me in Noah’s direction. She definitely wasn’t concerned with my feelings. She wanted me on the next plane to France or Ohio. Or anywhere not here. She licked her lips after she spoke. She always licked her lips. Maybe she thought it made her look sexy. Or maybe her lips were just dry and scaly and in desperate need of moisturization.
In a way I felt bad for her. It must be hell to be so obviously and publicly in love with someone else’s boyfriend for all of high school. Not bad enough for me to hand him over. Sorry, Cor. Keep licking those lips.
“She’s going to have too much fun to miss anyone,” Marissa said.
RJ stretched his right arm, making it pop. “What happens if April’s dad Googles Vi’s mom and sees that she’s in Chicago?”
Silence.
“Then I’m screwed,” I said. I took a sip of wine.
“Let’s get back to the game,” Marissa said, bumping her knee against mine. “I’ve never worn a tie.”
All the guys drank.
RJ looked at Corinne. “Never have I ever worn a bikini,” he said.
Vi snorted. “Never have I ever?”
“That’s how we do it,” RJ said.
“It sounds ridiculous,” Vi said. “But since I have worn a bikini, I will drink.”
RJ watched Corinne as she sipped. He was probably trying to get her drunk so he’d have a chance with her. He’d been obsessed with her since the beginning of the year. He invited her everywhere. But if Corinne liked him back, she would have hooked up with him already. Clearly she was still interested in Noah.
“I’ve never been to Europe,” Hudson said.
I drank. Noah drank. Corinne drank. Awesome. Maybe the three of us should take a trip together. Or not.
“I’ve never been to Disney World,” Joanna said.
I drank again. I hated Disney. More specifically, I hated Epcot. The burn down my throat helped wipe out the memory.
Marissa bumped my knee again. She knew all about my Epcot story.
“I’ve never been to Danbury,” Corinne said.
I laughed into my glass. Seriously?
Joanna looked incredulous. “How is that possible? It’s forty minutes away.”
Corinne shrugged. “No reason to go.”
“What about the Danbury Fair Mall? That should be reason enough,” Marissa said.
Corinne shook her head and licked her lips.
Hudson’s cell rang. He picked up the phone, looked at the call display, and muttered, “Excuse me.” He took the call in the bathroom.
“Who’s he talking to?” Joanna asked Dean. “Why so secretive?”
“You’d have to ask him,” Dean said with a smile.
I wondered if he was still seeing Sloane or if it was something sketchy.
“Is he making a delivery?” RJ asked in a fake whisper.
“Yeah. To your mom,” Dean responded. He refilled all the empty glasses and then squeezed himself between Marissa and the end of the couch.
“Um, hi there,” she said, scooting away from him and laughing.
Vi rolled her eyes. “Try not to molest the newcomers,” she scolded him. “And Marissa has a boyfriend.”
“Then where is he?” Dean asked.
“Boston. We go to camp together.”
“Clearly you need a Westport boyfriend too,” Dean said.
Hudson returned to his spot.
“My turn,” Vi interrupted. “I’ve never gotten dumped.”
“You’ve never been in a relationship,” Dean said, drinking.
“So? I’ve still never been dumped.”
Corinne, Joanna, RJ, and Hudson drank too.
I wondered whether it would be Noah or me who would have to drink to that eventually.
“Who dumped you?” Joanna asked Hudson. “It wasn’t Sloane, was it?”
“That’s a personal question,” Hudson said, leaning back.
“It’s a personal game,” Joanna answered.
“We should make it more personal,” Dean said. “Let’s play strip I Never.”
“I’m in.” RJ looked at Corinne.
“Not happening,” Vi said. “Keep your pants on. Why do guys have such one-track minds?”
“We don’t,” RJ said. “We care about beer too. And Fantasy Football.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Dean said to Marissa. “I’m a Renaissance man. I care about lots of things. Like flowers. And orphans.”
We all laughed, but Vi wasn’t done with him. “Please,” she said. “Even if you were in a relationship, you wouldn’t kick a hot, naked lady-stranger out of your bed.”
“I would too,” Dean cried, holding his hands to his chest in mock hurt.
“I love you, babe, but you wouldn’t.”
Noah rolled his eyes.
“Let’s move on,” I said, my neck tensing. “Who’s next?”
“Something’s ringing,” Corinne said.
In the distance I heard a cell ringing. My cell. Crap, it was downstairs. All of my friends were here. Which meant—my mom, dad, or Matthew. But my mom and Matthew were probably sleeping . . .
I excused myself and ran down the stairs.
The phone was no longer ringing by the time I reached it. I checked the call display. My dad. Three times. Uh-oh. I was about to hit REDIAL when it rang.
Him again.
“Hi,” I said.
“I was about to get back on a plane. Is everything okay?”
My heart jumped into my throat. “No! Yes! I mean, everything’s fine! I was just upstairs. I didn’t hear the phone.”
“I think you should always have the phone on you. So you can reach us. Or so we can reach you.”
“You want me to get one of those cell-phone belts? People will think I’m a drug dealer.” And, hey! Speaking of drug dealers, there’s one sitting upstairs! Maybe.
“April, that’s not funny. If I call and get no answer, I get worried. I’m a dad. I’m allowed.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll keep my phone with me.”
“Next time you don’t answer I’m calling the police.”
“Dad! That’s insane. What if I’m in the shower? I don’t want the police barging into the house.”
“Then answer the phone.”
WHY I MADE MY DAD’S RINGTONE A POLICE SIREN
See above.
BACK TO I NEVER
Two minutes later I was once again in my seat on the couch between Noah and Marissa. Joanna, who was still sitting beside Noah, had her glass lifted. “I’ve never had a pet,” she said.
“Does a mouse count?” Dean asked.
Hudson groaned. “Michelangelo the mouse. He lived in your closet for six months.”
“You couldn’t trap it?” Vi asked.
Hudson laughed. “And kill his pet?”
Vi slapped her hand against the couch. “Shut up. Why have I never heard this story?”
Dean sighed. “It was before your time, my sweet.”
“Noah has the cutest dog,” Corinne said, and I hated her a little.
“Thanks,” he said. He put his hand on my knee. “April had a very cute cat too.”
“Had?” Hudson said. “That sounds . . . sad.”
“Oh, Libby didn’t die,” I said quickly, placing my hand over Noah’s. “When my mom moved to Paris she couldn’t bring her along ’cause of customs issues. And my stepmom isn’t a cat person, so . . . we gave her away.”
“Still sounds sad,” Hudson said. I looked up and realized he was staring at me. Those eyes. Wow.
“It was,” I said, wondering if he meant my mom taking my cat, or my mom moving to Paris.
Noah turned his palm up so our fingers were pressed together. My hand was sticky from the wine.
Dean lifted his glass again. “I’ll follow the house rules now, okay? I’ve never hooked up with anyone in this room.” He scooted closer to Marissa. “Perhaps I can drink to that later in the evening?”
Everyone laughed, including Marissa. Marissa is too head over heels for Aaron to take Dean seriously anyway.
Noah drank. I drank.
Corinne drank. And smiled.
Noah turned pink.
THE CORINNE SITUATION
It happened the summer after freshman year when I went with my mom to France. They were moving. I was visiting.
Noah and I had “the talk” before I left. We weren’t breaking up, but we agreed that if something happened over the summer, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It had made sense at the time. At least to me. Noah and I had been together for less than eight months, I was going to Europe for two months, and I assumed there would be cute European boys to flirt with. I wanted to have an adventure. Since we were only fifteen, it seemed silly to stay exclusive for the summer. We would only resent each other, et cetera, et cetera.
Obviously when I had made the suggestion to potentially see other people, I had imagined it would be me who would see the other people. Not him. And especially not someone we went to school with.
I hadn’t planned on missing him as much as I had.
I had thought, France! Romance! Chocolate! French boys who’d kiss me on the Eiffel Tower! I hadn’t expected to feel so out of place. I hadn’t expected the language barrier to be so tough. I hadn’t expected my mother—and my brother—to be so consumed with setting up their new lives that they had no time for me. I hadn’t expected my emails and phone calls to Noah to feel like a lifeline. Since we spoke every night, I assumed he was twiddling his thumbs waiting around for me, that he was just as lonely as I was. In retrospect, I always spoke to him before I went to bed, which was only around five his time. But not once during any of our phone calls had he said, “Oh, by the way, you’ll never guess where my tongue just was! In Corinne’s mouth!”
We had plans for the night I flew home.
Penny had unpacked all my stuff from my mom’s while I’d been away. My clothes. My books. My ceramic pen holder. All nicely put away in my dad and Penny’s furniture. I sat on the canopy bed Penny had picked for me when they’d first moved in and looked around the room, feeling out of place and comforted all at once. Then I jumped into the shower to get ready.
When Noah pulled his bike into my driveway, I ran outside and kissed him before he could even get off.
We met our friends on Compo Beach. Corinne was there. I was oblivious. I was nice and sweet and triumphant in an “I just got back from my über-glamorous trip to France, and what did you do this summer? Hang out at the mall? How original” way. I had tossed my styled-in-Paris hair and let my glowing skin speak for itself. Maybe I hadn’t had a French fling, but I had managed to come back from France looking hot. While my mother and brother were setting up their lives I was sitting in the backyard taking in the sun, or walking through the neighborhood. My skin was tanned, I’d had a great haircut, and I was skinny, despite the pounds of bread and Brie I consumed. French women don’t get fat, you know.
I flounced around Compo Beach like an idiot.
That must have been what Corinne thought—that I was a clueless idiot. She kept licking her lips and playing with her hair and I couldn’t help but wonder what was up with her.
Later, back on my porch, I said to Noah, “I didn’t see anyone in France. I just want you to know.”
I waited for him to say, “Of course I didn’t either—I am crazy in love with you!” Or a simple “me neither” would have sufficed.
Instead, he looked down at his sneakers and flushed, and then fidgeted with his fingers. And I knew. I knew who it was too. I was almost more pissed that he didn’t tell me immediately—for letting me go out in public clueless—than I was about what happened. Almost.
Come on! He stood by while I asked Corinne how her summer was! She had an incredible summer. She was hooking up with my boyfriend!
Tears streamed down my cheeks as he told me the story.
“You’re making me cry,” he said, his eyes welling up.
“Good!”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m a dumbass! I just assumed you were hooking up with French douches . . . and Corinne was there. . . . Shit. I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” I asked. I felt as if my world had flip-flopped, as if everything I trusted had been turned upside down, and not for the first time. “Would you even have told me if I hadn’t brought it up?”
“Yes!” he said, looking at his shoes. “I was going to tell you.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes . . . maybe . . .”
“Maybe?”
“I’m just so happy you’re home!”
“Whatever. You’re probably going over to her house next.”
“No, of course not! April . . . you’re the one who said we should see other people.”
I pressed for details. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
What did you do exactly? (Just kissed.) No under-the-shirt action? (A little, but not much.) A little was enough. Anything below the belt? (No, no, nothing.) Why should I believe you? (I wouldn’t lie.) How many times did it happen? (Not many.) How many times exactly? (Two, maybe three. Four tops.) Where did it happen? At your house? (At the beach.) Compo Beach? Where we just went? (Yes.) Every time? (Mostly.) So not always. Where else? Your house? (No. Never. Her house.) You were in her house? Her room? (The living room.) What, did her family meet you or something? (Just once.)
The black spots danced in front of my eyes. My heart hurt. I was sinking, sinking, sinking.
I hadn’t been back to France since. Obviously I’d have to go at some point. My mom and Matthew lived there. And I would visit. Soon. It wasn’t just because I didn’t want to leave Noah unattended, I swear. My brother spent Christmas in Westport, so it hadn’t made much sense for me to go there. And my mom and brother came here last summer to see me. She wanted me to visit this summer. She expected me to visit this summer.
And maybe I would. I wasn’t sure. I had a lot going on. You know.
And it wasn’t that I didn’t trust Noah. Because I did.
When we’d first started dating, I’d asked him if he’d ever cheat on anyone.
“I’d never,” he said. “You?”
“Never,” I’d told him. Never would I ever.