How My Summer Went Up in Flames (11 page)

“What about SATs?” Matty pipes in from the back. What can I say about a guy who wakes up at the sound of “SAT scores”?

“Logan asked me my scores.”

“Logan. You should know better than to ask a lady her SAT scores.”

“I didn’t ask a lady, I asked Rosie,” Logan fires back.

“Ha, ha. How original,” I say. “Did you pull that one out of your third-grade joke collection? What’s next? A pickle joke?”

“Tell him your scores, Rosie,” Matty says. He’s chuckling, and we both know why. I kicked butt. Well, not in the traditional Ivy-league-bound kind of way, but in the “Oh, this is Rosie and we’re surprised she even took the SATs” kind of way. Low expectations give me the gift of surprise sometimes.

I change the subject. “So, Avery is okay with us getting in tonight? It’s pretty late.”

“She said it’s fine. We’ll be staying in the pool house, so it’s not like we’ll be disturbing anyone.”

“Pool house? Who has a pool house?” Country club snobs, that’s who, I want to say.

“Your parents?” Matty offers.

“Yeah, it’s called ‘where I live’! And it’s an aboveground pool.” This time, my booming voice wakes Spencer. In the rearview mirror, I catch him running his fingers through his hair as he squints out the window. The messy look works for him. I should mention it.

“Where are we?” Spencer says through a yawn.

“Almost to the Texas border,” Logan says.

Texas. This will be my sixth state in three days. Seven if you count the drive through West Virginia. I didn’t actually set foot in that state so I’m not sure.

We ride on into Texas without speaking until it’s time to exit the highway. Then Logan gives me step-by-excruciating-step directions to our destination. Two illegal U-turns later, we arrive.

“Holy shit!” Matty shouts when we finally pull into the driveway of Avery’s house, or perhaps the correct word would be “compound.”

The half-mile driveway ends in a circle with a fountain in the middle. Graceland has nothing on Avery’s digs. The house looks like it belongs in the French countryside, not outside Dallas. I don’t know what I was expecting after Logan mentioned a pool house. I guess I was envisioning a big ranch, not a palatial French manor.

“I wonder where the heliport is,” Spencer whispers.

“You read my mind,” I say as I stare at the imposing mansion. Yet again, I’m totally out of my league.

I put the car in park, not sure if it’s okay for us
to leave it here beside the fountain. Then one of the blue double doors opens, and a petite blond girl with glasses peeks her head out. She gives us the one-minute hand signal and then re-emerges in shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. Adorable. Logan steps out of the car and they give each other a friendly but not too, too friendly hug. Still, I realize I’m holding my breath and frowning a little. Logan holds the passenger door open for Avery, then climbs into the back with Matty and Spencer.

“Hey, y’all. I’m Avery,” she says, and she turns around and points. “Let me guess, Spencer, Matty.”

“Right!” they say in unison like double dorks.

“Rosie,” I say.

“Nice to meet you, Rosie. You too, boys.” Her smile is genuine, and I think I may like her even though I’m not sure why or if I even want to. “Why don’t I show you where to park while you’re here?”

We pull around the side of Buckingham Palace, and Avery points to a spot alongside the five-car garage.

“This is good,” Avery says. “Grab your things. You can meet my dad and then I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

We walk into a kitchen that looks like it belongs on a cable home design show. Tile floors, granite countertops, cherrywood cabinets, and—holy crap, look at that restaurant-size stainless steel refrigerator.

“Daddy? Logan and his friends are here.”

An attractive man with salt-and-pepper hair emerges from the family room off the kitchen. He’s barefoot and wearing chino shorts with a pull-over green polo.

“Welcome,” he says, and shakes all of our hands. “Help yourselves to whatever you need while you’re here. My wife is working late, but you’ll probably meet her tomorrow.”

“Come on, Rosie,” Avery says. “I’ll take you upstairs to your room and then I’ll show the boys to the pool house.”

“Why don’t I get them set up out there, sweetheart?” Avery’s dad offers.

I know I didn’t want to come here, but these people are so stinkin’ nice, I can’t help but like them. Avery and her dad are so warm and down-to-earth. My reservations about feeling uncomfortable melt away.

Avery leads me up this winding staircase in the main entrance hall.

“We have a guest room,” she says, looking back over her shoulder, “but I thought it might be fun for you to bunk with me.”

Why? I wouldn’t think it would be fun to have a sleepover with a complete stranger, especially if that girl is under a TRO and has an impending court date, but what do I know. Maybe this is the way they do things in Texas.

Avery’s room is gorgeous—and huge. She has her own bathroom with a vanity and sunken tub, a walk-in closet that’s almost as big as my bedroom at home, and a giant flat-screen TV on the wall in front of her bed. “The couch pulls out,” she says. “My room is sleepover friendly. It’s how my mom compensates for never being around. She lets me have friends stay whenever I want.”

“She works a lot?”

“Only all the time. Take my bed. You’re the guest.”

“No, no. That’s okay. I can’t take your bed,” I say.

“You sure?” she asks. “I want you to be comfortable.”

“Believe me, after the motel beds I’ve been sleeping in, I’ll be comfortable. Thank you for letting us all stay here. It’s really nice of you,” I say. “Are you sure two nights is okay?”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she says. “It’ll be fun.”

We stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, not in a bad way or anything, before I begin fumbling with my suitcase. I’m not sure what to say, but Avery is all over the elephant (i.e., me) in the room.

“So,” Avery begins. “I know we just met and all, but when Logan called me, he mentioned that you’d gotten into a minor mess and that your parents were making you come along.”

“Minor? Did he say I blew up my ex-boyfriend’s car?”

Avery is trying to suppress a smile. She’s struggling so hard to be polite to this psycho in her bedroom that it makes me laugh.

“I’m not carrying matches or a lighter. Swear. But if you want to change your mind and put me in the guest room, I completely understand.”

Avery starts laughing too. “Did he deserve it?”

“He was cheating on me.”

“Poop head.”

“I know!” I’m so grateful she’s on my side, I forgive the fact that she said “poop head.” She is just too cute in a nonslutty Barbie kind of way.

“You should have blown up her car too.”

I smile. It’s funny how a person can go from being a stranger to a friend with just one sentence. “She’s not old enough to drive.”

Her eyes widen. “Get out. Skank.”

“Total skank.”

“My boyfriend and I were together for four years when he cheated on me.”

“Four years!” I shout, louder than I intended. But I can’t imagine what I would have done to Joey if he’d screwed around on me after we’d been together that long. It would have cost him a testicle, I think.

“I wasted my high school years on him. I’m determined not to let it happen again in college,” Avery says.

Hmm. Maybe Logan is barking up the wrong tree, then.

“Got a picture?” Avery asks.

“Huh?”

“A picture of the ex? Got one?”

I remember I’m still in possession of both my phone and a few lingering Joey photos that I haven’t been able to delete,
not yet. I pull up a close-up of him. I remember when I took this. It was October, my favorite time of year next to summer, and we were on our way to the homecoming game. My stomach wrenches when I look at it. I wonder when and if I’m ever going to have these kinds of memories of a guy again. Will taking pictures feel like I’m trying to capture the good stuff before it all goes bad? Right now, it’s hard to imagine the exciting part of falling in love. The hurt of the crash landing is still too fresh. I hold up my phone for Avery.

“Hello, blue eyes. I don’t blame you for losing it,” Avery says.

I can’t speak, but the tension goes out of my shoulders. It’s nice to have someone understand.

“Feel like going for a swim?” Avery asks.

“Sure.”

“Come on, then. The pool is awesome at night. You can kick back in the hot tub, too. Traveling with three guys must be getting old.”

“Totally!” I say. Finally. After three days and fifteen hundred miles of nonstop testosterone, a sympathetic face.

 • • •

The night air is balmy, but the water feels even warmer as I sit on the side of the pool and dangle my feet in the deep end.
The boys emerge from the pool house all suited up. Logan has abs and pecs to match his biceps and a sexy trail of hair that begins just above his belly button. But who’s looking? Joey had boyish good looks, but Logan is more man, inside and out. I’m relieved when he jumps in the pool and I can wipe the drool off my chin without anyone noticing.

Avery takes off her terry-cloth poolside dress to reveal an adorable halter-style bikini. She has a lean, muscular runner’s body. If she’s a cheerleader, she’s definitely the one who gets put on top of the pyramid. She steps onto the diving board and dives in. Spencer and Matty cannonball after her, but I suddenly feel self-conscious about my ample boobage and don’t want to take off my T-shirt just yet. I’ve been on the road with these guys since Saturday and I thought I was starting to feel like one of them. But right now, the idea of being half naked around them would be too weird. It’s stupid, I know. Matty has seen me in my bathing suit hundreds of times. When he’s not living in our house, he’s living in our aboveground pool.

Matty pops his head up near my toes.

“Why aren’t you coming in? You love night swimming.”

“Don’t rush me.”

Matty lightly splashes my legs. He knows I hate that. I
retaliate by smacking the water’s surface with the bottom of my feet. I anticipate his next move and snatch my legs out of the pool before he can pull me in. But I’m too late. Hands grab my shoulders from behind and push me into the deep end. At least now I have an excuse for keeping my shirt on. I let myself slip underwater and pull the twist out of my hair before I break the surface. It feels good, like I’m cleansing myself of road grime—cheap motel soap, the car’s lingering french fry smell, random germs from rest stop bathrooms. I’m so relaxed I forget about being pushed in.

“I can’t believe you’re not even pissed at Logan,” Spencer says.

“It was Logan?” I’m still not angry but play along anyway. “You know what they say about payback. And I’ve got a strong track record.”

Avery starts laughing. “Sleep with one eye open, Logan. One eye open.”

This pool is amazing. Its low end has built-in seating, like an underwater shelf, and the heat rising from the hot tub makes me think of witches’ brew. I love the lulling sounds of summer bugs chirping and the hum of the pool filter. I float toward the deep end as I watch Logan and Avery in the shallow. He grabs her around the waist
and throws her a good three feet into the air. She swims underwater and body checks his feet out from under him. I’m grabbing hold of the side, trying to suppress my jealousy and determine what, if anything, is going on between them when Matty swims up beside me.

“Race ya,” he says. “To the low end and back.” And just like that, we’re kids again.

“One, two—” I don’t wait, I push off. But so does Matty; he knows I never wait for three.

I slice through the water as fast as I can, doing my best freestyle. I make a swimmer’s turn and kick off from the side of the pool, but despite giving it my all (I’m quite competitive when I want to be), I lose to Matty by a whole body length.

“You beat me bad that time.”

“That shirt is weighing you down. Take it off for the second heat.”

“Nah, that’s okay. I’m ready to get out anyway.”

I swim over to the ladder and step out.

“There’re towels by the pool house,” Avery calls. “Help yourself.”

I find a stack of plush, sheet-size towels on a rack outside the pool house door. It’s like being at a hotel. I peer
in the French doors and am completely blown away by the boys’ digs. There’s a pool table, several old-school arcade games like Ms. Pac-Man and Donkey Kong, and two sets of sectional leather sofas, which I’m guessing pull out into beds. Even if they don’t, they look plenty comfy as is. Holy shit. What does Avery’s dad do for a living?

I wrap myself in a plush, blue towel and sit on a stool at the resortlike wet bar, where I left my phone before I got in the pool. I do a quick check for messages. Nothing. I fire off a text to my mom.
MADE IT TO TEXAS. ALL GOOD. XOXO. LUV U.
It’s late, but I know she won’t sleep until she hears from me.

A few minutes later, Matty, Logan, and Spencer grab towels and join me. Avery scoots behind the bar and opens the mini-fridge. Matty sits on the stool beside me and puts out a hand. Without exchanging a word, I give him my phone for the night. It’s just as well. After showing Joey’s picture to Avery, I’m feeling vulnerable.

“This thing is stocked, ya know,” Avery says. “We’ve got beer, fruity drinks, wine, soda, water. Who wants a beer?”

“I’ll just have a water,” I say. Honestly, I don’t like the taste of alcohol that much.

“Guys? Beer?”

I can sense Matty hesitating to see what the guys will do. I don’t know why, but I’m surprised when Logan says: “I don’t drink.”

“Not ever?” Avery says. Guess she’s surprised too.

“Hardly ever,” he says. “Growing up—”

Avery, who is looking at Logan, seems to recall something. She holds up her hand. “Say no more. I remember.”

I’m confused. I look back and forth between Logan and Avery as some shared piece of knowledge passes between them. I don’t like not knowing what they’re talking about. It stings to be left out.

Spencer brings me out of the dark. “I guess you told her we’re the spawn of a mean drunk?” He says it matter-of-factly, like it’s no big secret, which makes me feel even worse.