Drive Me Crazy (6 page)

Chapter Ten
Cassie

W
hen we sit down to breakfast at the hotel restaurant, I can barely look at Lana. She and Howie start right off with the jokes, debating whether doughnuts or chocolate éclairs really count as dessert, or if they should ask the waiter for ice cream instead. I’m halfway through an eye roll—they can’t really mean to have dessert before breakfast?—when Lana kicks me under the table. It surprises me so much I exclaim aloud, and Lana gives me a look that’s almost as harsh as one of Izzy Gathing’s. It’s shocking, this side of Lana, and almost impressive. I suppose if I want her to keep following my rules, it’s only fair to follow hers, so I throw in that I think doughnuts count as cake even if they’re a breakfast food. Howie orders a plate
of them for the table, before we consider anything else.

It’s probably too early for Kendra Mack to be awake yet, but as soon as we’re headed out to the car with our suitcases, I check my phone anyway.

“What is it that’s so important, Cassie?” Nono says with a hint of irritation. “It’s like you’re attached to that thing.”

“My friend back home is planning a party and needs help is all,” I say, sliding my phone back into my purse. I knew this trip was going to be horrible.

“Speaking of parties,” Howie says as he gets in the front seat, “this place we’re visiting today had world-famous ones. It’ll be great to see the rooms up close instead of simply in photos, though those are impressive themselves. Did Lana tell you anything about it, Cassie? As soon as we saw the website, we knew we had to take you there. I have a feeling you’ll want to move in.”

It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. Like he and Lana would know anything about what I like. Or where I’d want to live.

“I know going to the house of some newspaperman sounds boring,” Lana chirps to me as we buckle up, “but Hearst Castle looks incredible. It has Egyptian artifacts, a private zoo, sixty bedrooms, and two swimming pools!”

Ugh. Someone has got to tell Lana how uncool it is, getting so worked up about things. But Nono’s nodding along,
looking equally into this castle idea, and when Nono wants to try something, it’s usually pretty fun. I decide maybe she and I can lose Lana and Howie in one of the sixty bedrooms. But not before showing Lana how good I can be at Rule Number Five.

“Oh, I think it sounds great, Lana,” I say as brightly as I can. “What a beautiful and educational idea for us.”

Neither Nono nor Howie see us shooting I Can’t Stand You faces at each other across the backseat.

It’s harder to be mad at Lana when we get there. I thought she was being overly excited, but the whole place is absolutely stunning. Eighteen times bigger and prettier than our hotel. I take ten photos at the front entrance, sending some to Kendra Mack. I’m tempted to mention to her how great it would be to have a party here, but I don’t want to sound too Lana-ish about it. Still, it’s fun to imagine myself walking down that staircase in a sparkly gown.

“Gorgeous already, right?” Howie tries to look over my shoulder at the photos, but I move my screen so he can’t.

He acts like he doesn’t notice. “Speaking of gorgeous, I haven’t gotten a picture of you three girls together yet,” he says, unzipping that dorky camera case he wears around his neck. “How about over there, by the lion.”

Nono moves in front of a giant black marble lion statue
and puts her arm around Lana. I don’t want my picture taken with Lana right now, especially since she’s getting cutesy with my grandmother, but Nono reaches out for me to join them under her other arm. As Howie tells us to smile, I hear Lana whisper, “I’d like you to meet my marble lion, Josh Pepperkinickey.”

And I can’t stop the giggle that comes out my nose as Howie clicks the shutter.

Though Hearst Castle is interesting, our tour guide certainly isn’t. He’s some old red-faced guy with a hooked nose and drone-on voice. Thank goodness as soon as the tour starts up, my phone chirps in a message so I don’t have to listen too long.

Yup. Been there. That place is cool
, Kendra Mack has responded, obviously not impressed. Of course Kendra Mack has been here before. I ask back which tour she took.

Oh, we didn’t stay long.

Well, you missed out
, I type, remembering the boys at the pool yesterday and how they got Kendra Mack’s attention.
The tour guide is better-looking than the rest of it!

Sounds like Loverboy’s going to be replaced. Poor thing. Do you think Cheyenne Taylor will snap him up next?

I smile and laugh a little. Cheyenne Taylor might agree
Cory Baxter’s good-looking, but she doesn’t go for boys who are shorter than she is. Or who like video games and science fiction more than soccer.

“You telling Kendra Mack she should move her pool party to this place?” Lana says, appearing next to me, all friendly. Like we weren’t fighting five minutes ago.

I tuck my phone back in my purse without responding to Kendra Mack. It’s cooler not to answer that kind of question, anyway.

“You’re right that it’s pretty.” I shrug, still not sure if I should let Lana off the hook.

“The Hearsts were one of the richest families in America,” she says, like she’s the tour guide now. “Their daughter, Patty, lived here like this total princess but turned into some kind of rebel terrorist and bank robber later on. Isn’t that crazy?”

“You’ve got to stop saying ‘princess’ like that, Lana,” I tell her. Though the rebel-terrorist-bank-robber thing sounds potentially cool.

“Well, I don’t know what else to call it when the name of her house includes the word ‘castle.’”

She doesn’t know it, but that was a pretty good comeback.

“Probably had a bunch of servants too, I guess,” I say as we follow the tour group into the enormous dining room.
It’s hung with old tapestries. At the center is a table with at least ten chairs on each side.

Her eyebrows go up. “I know. Can you imagine what it would take to run a place like this? Or to clean it?”

I fake shudder. “Not if you were living here, no.”

She blushes but smiles back. The group moves out to what our guide announces is the Neptune Pool, and we both gasp at the same time. There are giant marble statues all around the flawless pool, with a massive Roman-looking building complete with columns and reclining figures standing at one end.

“Oh, I wish Tamika could see this,” Lana breathes next to me.

“Who’s Tamika?”

“My best friend. Although—” She pauses, and the hesitant look on her face makes me curious.

“Although what?”

“I just mean that Tamika’s probably not the same kind of best friend Kendra Mack is, is all.”

I stiffen a little. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Tamika is fantastic. She’s the most athletic person I know, even though she isn’t on a team or anything. She can beat all three of her brothers in a wrestling match. She knows everything you’d want to know about women explorers and politicians, and she can hit the
O
in a can
of SpaghettiOs with a pellet gun from fifty feet. She also comes up with amazing games. And she sews.”

I realize Lana’s doing that thing that
I
do when Kendra Mack asks me what I think about someone: super highlight even the tiniest good points so that you don’t say anything bad, in case she goes behind your back and tells them about it. But I like Lana better when she’s says things straight out. Even, I realize, when she’s mad.

“So where’s the but?” I push her.

“Oh, there’s no but, really. Like I said, Tamika’s my best friend.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“It’s just that it seems like you and Kendra Mack are really tight. You know, talking and texting all the time, telling each other everything.”

I make a noncommittal “mmm” to get her to go on.

“And, well, Tamika and I come up with all kinds of games, and her house is really loud and fun and I love hanging out with her, but we don’t really, you know,
talk
.”

It might be because I have to squint in the sun, but when Lana says that last part, it seems a cloud of disappointment crosses her face.

“So, what kinds of things do you do, then?” I find it hard to imagine what else you’d do with a best friend. Even Fiona and I spent most of our time together talking.

We trail behind the tour through more rooms and halls, and Lana’s face lights up as she tells me about the Olympics she and Tamika plan every year. How they’re always finding new places in the woods at the park, coming up with wilderness adventures, putting on plays they write together, or going off road on their bikes. None of that is really my thing, but Lana makes it sound exciting in the same way I’ve overheard Cory make his video games sound exciting with his friends. I feel a little bad that all my texting with Kendra Mack seems to make Lana compare her to
her
best friend.

“Tamika sounds cool,” I say, because she does. Not the Kendra Mack kind of cool, but still—interesting and fun. I almost tell Lana that Tamika might be someone my old best friend Fiona would like too, but I swallow it. Who cares who Fiona would like?

We peek into the next big room: a real movie theater with deep red walls, a small stage with a screen standing over it, and carved gold statues holding electric lights.

“Oh gosh, I have to get a picture.” Lana takes out her phone. “Tamika would love this.”

“Here, use my camera instead.” I fish out the little Canon I brought with me. “It takes better ones than a phone.”

She smiles. “Thanks.”

I tell her which settings to use in this light, and how to zoom closer when the ones she takes are too blurry.

The tour ends back in the massive Assembly Room, where the grown-ups are offered glasses of champagne. While Nono and Howie chat with the other guests, Lana and I keep taking pictures of each other, posing as though we’re here for an old-world glamorous party. It’s silly but fun, and Lana has some great suggestions for dramatic poses. I say I’ll be sure to send copies to her later, though I’ll probably delete them all way before we get home.

Chapter Eleven
Lana

A
fter Hearst Castle, we head south to Visalia. There isn’t time for any crazy stops, because we want to make it to the baking demo class we’re taking this afternoon with TV celebrity chef Brick Hasselback. Grandpa Howe has watched his cupcake challenge show for over a year, and he can’t wait to learn the secrets of buttercream icing from a pro. We had to sign up weeks and weeks ago to make sure all four of us could get in, and if we don’t arrive in time, we forfeit our spaces.

We do have time to stop for lunch at least, and while Cassie and I are washing up in the bathroom, I try to get our conversation from the castle going again.

“How long have you and Kendra Mack been friends?” I ask.

“We ride the same bus,” she says quick, taking out her phone because a text has come in.

I watch a minute while she types. “Since elementary school?”

“Since sixth grade. We didn’t start hanging out until this spring, though.” She puts her phone on the edge of the sink and checks herself in the mirror, but it chimes again right away. This time when she looks at it, she rolls her eyes.

“Cheyenne Taylor’s asking if I want to play tennis this afternoon. It’s sweet”—she types a quick response and then digs in her purse for some lip gloss—“but Cheyenne Taylor is also kind of stupid. She knows I’m on this trip. I whined to everyone about a hundred times. Though maybe she’s just trying to rub it in my face that I’m not there with the rest of them.”

If you ask me, Cassie’s friends sometimes sound a little more like enemies. I wonder why she doesn’t hang out with more thoughtful people.

“Who was your best friend before Kendra Mack?” I ask, hoping I’m not in No Annoying Questions territory.

Fortunately, Cassie forgets the rule, or is too distracted
by her reflection to care. “Just this lame girl. Kendra Mack helped me realize that she wasn’t a very good friend.”

“Oh. What did she do?”

Cassie turns to face me with such intensity I worry for a second she’s angry with
me
. “She betrayed my trust. She was careless with my secrets. She humiliated me, and she never even said ‘I’m sorry.’”

She tosses her hair a final time in the mirror. “But I’m glad that all happened, because Kendra Mack is fabulous. Being her friend is fabulous, and now my life is fabulous. I don’t even think about Fiona anymore. Like, ever. Okay?”

I swallow, startled by the sudden ferocity of Cassie’s voice. “Okay.”

Back at the table, Grandma Tess is laughing at something Grandpa Howe just told her while they were waiting for us, and their smiles put one on my face, too.

“Hilarious,” Cassie mutters.

“Oh, it is,” Grandma Tess says back, either not noticing Cassie’s grouchiness or ignoring it. “Tell them, Howie.”

“Oh, I was just saying that you could’ve fit the entire house at the End of the Road in about one of those rooms we saw today.”

Between ordering our food and eating, Grandpa Howe explains to Cassie how his grandfather built the old
summer cabin in Maine. While he’s talking, another message comes in on Cassie’s phone, and when she starts to reach for it, Grandma Tess gives her a disapproving look. Cassie sees it, puts on an I’m Totally Listening face, and straightens up. Grandpa Howe hasn’t skipped a beat, telling us how one summer his own father tried following in his dad’s footsteps by expanding the back porch all by himself.

“Every day that month, Mother would send my brothers and me out on longer and longer hikes, telling us not to come back until we’d found, well, all kinds of crazy things. An old snake’s skin. A certain kind of fern. Hairs from a fox’s tail. We thought she was sending us on an excursion, you see. That she was giving us our independence, letting us roam all over the place like that. Until one afternoon my brother Buck tripped on a root and broke his tooth. Me and Tad had to carry him back, bawling.”

Grandpa Howe mimics lugging his youngest brother down the path. Grandma Tess laughs again, but a funny feeling has started swimming around in my head, and I can’t join her this time.

“Loud as Buck was screaming,” Grandpa Howe goes on, “we could hear Pop cussing over those boards and shingles long before we reached the house. There were nails and scraps everywhere. Place was a mess. He’d been doing
that every day, Mother making him clean up before we got home. Sometimes, just barely.”

“Oh, I can just imagine your poor mother,” Grandma Tess says.

I’ve seen photos of Great-Grandma Rachel, even of her at the End of the Road with Grandpa Howe and his brothers when they were young. But right now all I see is Grandpa Howe and me, biking together on our own to the Custard Cup a few days before we left on this trip. We had just finished printing out the itinerary and weren’t able to wait for Grandma Tess to get back from her yoga class to celebrate. While we rode, savoring the sunshine and our sense of satisfaction, Grandpa Howe smiled at me and said, “It’s a good thing, this honeymoon, isn’t it?”

I told him it was going to be fantastic. And I didn’t think very much about it when he’d said next, “I think the timing is just right for you.”

Now, after the story of Grandpa Howe’s mother sending him away on “adventures” so that he and his brothers wouldn’t know how badly the new porch was going, his talk about timing echoes in my head. All my parents could focus on in the days before I left was what an adventure this was going to be. They were so eager to see what I’d come back with and said they couldn’t imagine a better way for me to get a little more independence. Grandpa Howe went
on and on about what a great time we were going to have, and even Grandma Tess told me one afternoon, when I was over there during one of Mom’s headaches, that she understood how I might want to get away and have some fun.

I know for certain now that just like when Grandpa Howe’s dad was building the porch, my parents need me out of the house. All that stuff about adventure and fun was just to get me out the door. Really Mom and Dad sent me away—and Grandpa Howe and Grandma Tess agreed to take me—so I won’t have to see how sick Mom is. How everything is falling apart.