Girlfriend Material (13 page)

I have no idea how long we’d been kissing when the fireworks started going off, but suddenly the world just exploded with light. Adam pulled his lips away from mine and held my face with his hands.

“You’re an amazing kisser,” he said. “It’s just like in the movies—I’m actually seeing fireworks.”

I laughed. “Me too.”

We both turned and looked out over the water, where the fireworks’ dazzle was reflected so it looked like there were two displays—one above the water and one below. Adam slipped his hand into the back pocket of my jeans, and I slipped mine into the back pocket of his. A group of girls who looked like they were about twelve or thirteen walked by, and as they passed, I saw a few of them looking at me and Adam in the light from the fireworks. I realized that they had no idea we’d just kissed for the first time—that to them, we looked like The Perfect Teenage Couple.

And even though
I
knew that we’d just had our first (and for all I knew,
only
) kiss, and we didn’t know each other very well, and we lived on opposite sides of the Rocky Mountains, and it was absolutely insane for me to even consider going there …

For just a minute, I let myself imagine that we were.

The fireworks finally ended in an explosion of red, white, and blue, which would have been a lot more dramatic and beautiful if they hadn’t also ended in a drizzle of rain. “It would be really awesome if you’d brought a sweater
and
an umbrella.”

“If only I were that cool,” said Adam.

“No one’s that cool,” I assured him.

We’d sat down halfway through the fireworks display, and now I stood up and dusted the sand off my butt. Adam stood up too, and we headed back toward the party.

The bonfire was still blazing despite the rain. Because of the drizzle, it seemed to be mostly the under-twenty set who’d remained on the beach, but Jenna, Sarah, and Lawrence weren’t among them. We headed up the path toward the golf course. Just as we stepped onto the lawn of the main house, Lawrence appeared.

“We’re heading over to Long Nook as soon as it stops raining,” he said, mentioning a nearby beach. If he thought it was weird that Adam and I were walking together and that I was wearing Adam’s sweater, he didn’t say anything.

A crowd was gathering on the porch, but Lawrence knew exactly where to find Jenna and Sarah, who were sitting on the sofa in the library with two guys I’d never seen before and that Victoria girl I’d seen Sarah talking to that first day I came to Larkspur.

“Hey,” said Jenna, waving us over.

I wondered if she or Sarah would notice that I was wearing Adam’s sweater. I kind of wanted them to notice, wanted them to be like,
What’s the deal? Why are you wearing his sweater?
It was like if they noticed the sweater, they were noticing
us
as an
us
. But then I got distracted by the fact that Sarah was wearing a sweater and that Lawrence was sweaterless. Did that mean something had happened with them tonight, too? I remembered what Jenna had said:
He’s still into Sarah
. How fun would the rest of the summer be if Sarah and Lawrence became a couple and Adam and I became a couple. (While we were at it, maybe Biff would even come up from wherever he was. It could be the summer of love for everyone!)

As I was imagining the six of us walking along a beach into the sunset, I realized Adam and I had gotten separated by the crowd. For a second I couldn’t see him anywhere. Was this a sign that my fantasies were totally insane? (Okay, I knew my fantasies were completely insane, but was this particular separation a sign of that?) Then I looked to my left, and there he was, and I felt my whole body grow warm when he smiled at me through all those people.

A minute later Sarah came over to me. “This is going to be one of those conversations about what to do next that never goes anywhere. Do you want to head home?”

It was really nice how she said it, like maybe if I said I wanted to stay a little while, she’d say okay. Then again, maybe if I said I wanted to stay a little while, she’d say,
Okay then, bye.
Asking Adam for a ride home (did he even have a car?) felt weird and needy. WWLBAD? (What Would Lady Brett Ashley Do?)

“Sure,” I said. “Let’s head out.”

We called good-bye to Adam, Lawrence, and Jenna. Walking away from the porch, I felt cool and fabulous. Maybe Adam would fall madly in love with me. Maybe even after the summer, whenever he hooked up with someone in New York, Jenna would say,
You know, he’s madly in love with this girl from Utah. He goes there to ski and see her whenever he can. He even turned down Princeton so he could go to the University of Utah just to be near her.

Okay, even though none of that was likely to happen, there was consolation in knowing I was guaranteed at least one more conversation with him.

This was waaaay too nice a sweater for him not to ask for it back.

WHEN I WOKE UP
and went outside the next morning, my mom was sitting on the deck of the guesthouse reading a mystery novel and drinking a cup of coffee, her cell phone in her lap. She asked me how the party had been, and I told her it was okay. Then I felt this really, really weird urge to tell her all about Adam. Mostly I think I just wanted to say his name out loud. Luckily, before I had the chance to say something I would have regretted for the rest of the morning (if not my life), she said, “Meg said you and she have been playing phone tag.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, once again regretting having called my sister.

“She said you sounded extremely distressed in a message you left her,” said my mom. “She felt bad that she hadn’t reached you.”

“No, I’m fine,” I said. This was so typical of Meg. Half the time she’s saying stuff like,
I wish we could be closer
, the other half she’s repeating everything I say to our mother. And I hadn’t sounded
extremely distressed
. A little concerned, maybe, but Meg made it sound like I’d been hysterical.

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you, honey, coming here for the summer. But it’s been important for me. I feel so much more centered than I did.” I felt bad about my mom thinking I was miserable, especially given the five-star evening I’d just had.

“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” I said. “Really.”

“Well thanks, honey. I know you miss your dad and Laura and everything.”

Dad, Laura. Right. It was as if I hadn’t thought of either of them in a hundred years.

“Mom, I swear,” I said, taking in the sunny day and feeling in it the warmth of Adam’s sweater and his arms around me. “I am not mad that we came to Cape Cod, okay?”

She looked at me for a second. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll take you at your word.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m going to get some breakfast. I have to teach a lesson this morning.”

“Are you feeling more optimistic about it than you were the other night?” she asked.

“Mostly I’m feeling like instead of giving Natasha a lesson, I should just take a hit out on her dad.” I slipped a ponytail holder around my hair.

“You and your dad are so close,” said my mom. “Maybe you could help her be closer to her dad.” Was it my imagination, or did my mom seem sad when she said my dad and I were close? It made me feel a tiny bit guilty, like I should say something to make her feel better. But what?
We’re not
that
close
?
You and I are close too
? But neither of those things was true. I could have said,
Well, you and Meg are really close
, but that seemed nasty, as if I were implying she could only be close to one of her daughters and she’d made her choice.

I ended up just saying, “Yeah, maybe,” which sounded really lame.

My mom’s phone rang, and she looked to see who was calling. “I should take this,” she said. Then she added, “Remember, reach out to Natasha. Get to know her,” before saying, “Hello!” in this really cheerful voice.

I wondered if it was my dad who’d called, and as I walked up to the house I realized that if they reconciled, it might mean I’d have to leave Cape Cod sooner rather than later. If we went back to Salt Lake, would I be able to go back to Ms. Baker’s class? It would be cool to keep working on my story about the little boy, if I could show it to her. Then again, if we left now, what would happen with me and Adam? Thinking about kissing him made it hard to get excited about having my work critiqued by even the most insightful reader … .

I would have said I was feeling so benevolent toward the universe that nothing could upset my perfect equilibrium, but apparently this was not the case. Mr. Davis’s behavior, it seemed, had the power to disturb even the world’s most balanced soul. Each time he critiqued Natasha’s stroke (that is to say, each time she lifted her racket), I could practically hear my blood pressure rising. It didn’t help that I was pretty sure he was holding himself back from commenting on
my
playing. Here I was, sixteen years old, about to be a junior in high school, a reasonably accomplished tennis player (if I do say so myself), with more than a few trophies on my bedroom shelf, and this guy made me worried about my ability to make contact with the ball. It was enough to make
me
want to quit playing, and I wasn’t even his daughter.

Why did it not surprise me when his cell phone ringer played “Hail to the Chief ”?

“Jim Davis,” he shouted into it. (Did the man ever not shout?) “What? What? I’m having trouble hearing you.” As if to overcompensate for the difficulty he was having hearing his caller, Mr. Davis raised his voice until it seemed he could have communicated with anyone anywhere in the world even without the help of the cell phone in his hand.

Just as I was sure a player on one of the adjoining courts was going to start complaining, Mr. Davis snapped his phone shut in disgust.

“Honey, I have to go see what the hell’s going on at the office,” he said. “Will you be okay if I leave?” It was all I could do to keep a straight face. Luckily, he was looking at his daughter, not me. “I think I can handle it,” she said.

“Meet me at the clubhouse when you’re done, okay?”

“Yup,” she said. Natasha watched her dad as he made his way up the steps to the wide lawn separating the tennis courts from the clubhouse. Then she turned back to face me. I was about to hit a ball to her when I thought about what my mom had said.

“Want to take a little break?” I asked.

“What?” she asked, but I had the feeling she’d heard me.

“I said, do you want to take a little break? Talk for a minute?” It occurred to me that she might think I was trying to get out of teaching her now that her dad wasn’t around to keep an eye on me; but since the question was out of my mouth (and not once, but twice), I couldn’t exactly say,
Just kidding, let’s play some tennis.

She looked at me for a long beat. “Okay,” she said.

We headed over to the bench where her dad had been sitting. Then we just sat there, neither of us saying anything.

“So, um … your dad seems to be really into your playing tennis.”

Natasha snorted. “You think?”

“My dad was the same way,” I said, relieved to have such an easy opening. Again, I remembered my mom’s advice. “He was sort of like my coach for a while. Before I started playing on the team in high school.”

“Yes,” said Natasha, “but you like tennis.”

She had a point. “And I’m guessing you don’t?”

“Bingo!”

Maybe this was stating the obvious, but I couldn’t resist. “So, um, do you ever think about not playing?”

“Let’s just say that isn’t really an option where my dad is concerned.”

But you don’t have to play if you don’t want to.
I almost uttered the sentence, but then I considered my mom dragging me to Cape Cod. Who was I to not understand that sometimes we are powerless in the face of parental demands?

“Okay,” I said. We appeared to have hit a dead end, since the only thing I could think of to say was,
I’m really sorry that your dad is such a total ass
, which maybe wasn’t the kind of thing you’re supposed to say to a minor you’re supposedly educating. I decided to make a U-turn and try to find another route to closeness. “Do you come up to Cape Cod every summer?”

“Pretty much,” she said. Then she didn’t say anything else.

“And do you like it?” I remembered Adam asking me the same question last night. Thinking of him made me feel so jittery I almost suggested to Natasha that we run a few laps.

“It’s okay,” said Natasha without enthusiasm. Clearly she had not read the advice of the creators of the “Are You a Good-Time Girl?” quiz.

“Tina said you’re from New York. Do you have friends up here?”

“I guess,” she said. “Some.”

When my mother recommended talking to your students about something other than the subject you were teaching, had she, in fact, been able to
reach
her students, or was she just speaking theoretically? Because if she’d had success with kids like Natasha, she shouldn’t go back to teaching … .

She should negotiate a peace settlement in the Middle East.