Pool Boys

For Aimee Friedman, who knows just how to dive in and make a big splash

Cover Page

Title Page

Dedication

Map

The Silver Oaks Country Club

Chapter One The First Unspoken Rule

Chapter Two Mixing Things Up

Chapter Three Nice

Chapter Four A Dog’s Mouth Is Cleaner

Chapter Five Formal Attire

Chapter Six Meet the Pool Boys

Chapter Seven The Not-So-Secret History of Silver Oaks

Chapter Eight Double Betrayed

Chapter Nine Hang-Ups

Chapter Ten No Competition

Chapter Eleven Crashing Kenwood

Chapter Twelve Secrets within Secrets

Chapter Thirteen “Robe”

Chapter Fourteen The Bet

Chapter Fifteen Bizarro Universe

Chapter Sixteen Spying

Chapter Seventeen The Tennis Type

Chapter Eighteen A Kiss Is Just a Kiss

Chapter Nineteen The Uglifier

Chapter Twenty The New Routine

Chapter Twenty-One 13th-Hole Séance

Chapter Twenty-Two Freaking Out

Chapter Twenty-Three Country Club Material

Chapter Twenty-Four Old Times

Chapter Twenty-Five A Midsummer’s Night Nightmare

Chapter Twenty-Six Rescue

Epilogue: Summer Season Wrap-Up

Preview

Copyright

“You guys?” Brooke Farnsworth whispered to her two best friends. “I’ve seen the future, and his name is Marcus Craft. I told you this summer would be killer, didn’t I?”

Brooke huddled with Georgia Palmer and Charlotte von Klaus in the shadows of the cabana entrance, surveying the otherwise deserted pool patio in the bright June morning. There was still a chill in the air—in coastal Connecticut, summer never truly kicked in until July—and she shivered, partly from the breeze, and partly from delight.

Brooke glanced back inside at the terry-cloth robes hanging near the door, freshly washed and waiting, the silver S.O. monograms glinting on each lapel. (Every item of white cloth on the premises of the Silver Oaks Country Club bore the same stitched silver monogram, from the napkins in the dining room to the curtains in the parlor.) Maybe she and Georgia and Charlotte should have worn robes over their bikinis? Nah…

Brooke turned back toward the pool. It was all just as she remembered from last June: the piles of fluffy towels, the empty loungers, the water like a solid block of blue ice.
Everything that symbolized the start of another typical Silver Oaks season…everything that is, except for the shaggy blond boy in the lifeguard chair.

“I thought you said this summer would be more of the same old, same old,” Georgia teased.

“Did I?” Brooke whispered back. “Please stop listening to anything I say at school.”

“Let’s just hope he can swim,” Charlotte muttered.

The three girls broke into laughter, but Brooke quickly brought a hand to her glossy lips. She didn’t want Marcus Craft to notice her. Not quite yet. She wanted him to spy her as she strolled over and settled into her usual lounger at the far edge of the patio, the one under the big green umbrella, right next to the ivy-covered fence adjoining the tennis courts. Brooke had been settling into that lounger for as long as she’d been wearing a bikini, and she’d learned how to play it for its full effect.

Brooke was obsessed with entrances.

“Is he looking at me?” Brooke whispered. She brushed a lone strand of shiny black hair out of her hazel eyes, then pulled a tube of sunblock out of her fringed Botkia bag, squeezing a dollop of cream on her shoulders. Thankfully, Marcus was too far away to read the SPF
45
label.

Charlotte snickered.

“What?” Brooke said.

“Yes, he’s looking at you,” Georgia groaned. “Who else would he look at?”

“Sweetie, you’re the one who’s tall, blonde, and gorgeous.” Brooke raised her eyebrows at Georgia over her
new Marc Jacobs sunglasses. (Props to Mom for the shades: In spite of the woman’s fiendishness, Theresa Farnsworth always came through with the perfect end-of-school-year present.) “And, as far as males are concerned, tall, blonde, and gorgeous trumps short, black-haired, and pale every day of the week.”

“You’re
raven-haired,”
Charlotte chided. “You have to remember that, B. You’re not pale; you’re porcelain. You’re not short; you’re petite. Just like I’m
not
an Orphan Annie clone.” Charlotte flipped her long red curls over her shoulder and struck an exaggeratedly seductive pose. “I’m a fiery she-demon. Have I taught you nothing?”

“You did once, I think,” Brooke said dryly. She tucked the sunblock back in her bag. “You taught me how to pad my bra. In the cabana, the summer after seventh grade.”

“I think you taught me that, too,” Georgia told Charlotte.

“I think I taught me that, three,” Charlotte added.

They laughed again, and Brooke glanced toward the lifeguard chair. Remarkably, Marcus
was
looking at her. She felt a tingle of anticipation.

“Hey, Marcus!” Charlotte called suddenly, stepping into the sunshine and waving up to him, high on his lonely perch over the pool. “It’s Marcus, isn’t it? I’m Charlotte, and this is Brooke and Georgia. We know everything there is to know about Silver Oaks—especially the bad stuff. So if you have any questions—you know, questions about things you don’t want to ask anyone else—feel free to ask us.”

And thank you, C, for stealing my entrance
, Brooke thought with a smirk.

“Uh…okay,” Marcus called back. He flashed a puzzled grin, his blue eyes roving over the three of them. Clearly, he had no idea what Charlotte was talking about. But then, few people other than Georgia or Brooke
ever
knew what Charlotte von Klaus was talking about. “Thanks. Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all ours,” Charlotte replied under her breath.

Brooke suppressed a smile as she trailed Charlotte and Georgia across the flagstones toward the opposite side of the pool, their flip-flops slapping in an uneven rhythm. She couldn’t help but steal another peek at the lifeguard. Marcus’s presence was a sign. Definitely. How could it not be? It wasn’t just that she and Charlotte and Georgia were the first to arrive at the pool—per tradition, of course—on the first day of the new season, and therefore the first to spot this new boy. It wasn’t even that he was ridiculously hot, with the square jaw, the blond mane, and the cocoa tan…

It was that he was new.

The last handsome new employee at Silver Oaks had been Ethan Brennan, the twenty-year-old tennis instructor. And that had been two years ago. Plus, Ethan wasn’t hot; he was cute (there
is
a difference) in a sort of crunchy slacker way. And, as a junior at the local community college, he also seemed content to spend the rest of his life at Silver Oaks. Which was fine. But it meant that thirty years
from now, he’d still be giving tennis lessons and roaming the grounds making wisecracks, while Brooke, Georgia, and Charlotte discussed their kids’ outrageous college tuition.

Not that Brooke would ever have said any of this out loud. Georgia had briefly dated Ethan last summer, in a rare and direct violation of the Spoken Rules. Worse, Brooke knew Georgia was still wrestling with some lingering feelings for him. But that was a whole other can of worms not worth opening. Ethan Brennan was old news. Brooke could already tell that Marcus was different. How perfect was it that he was a lifeguard? With white sunscreen on his nose, no less! They used to make cheesy
movies
about lifeguards with white sunscreen. One rainy afternoon last summer, after a few G&Ts, Mrs. Farnsworth had forced Brooke and Georgia and Charlotte to watch a “Beach Blanket” movie marathon, starring some horriblehaired guy named Frankie Avalon. (The pastel bathing suits were classic, though. Why were older generations so afraid of showing skin?) A romance with a new lifeguard was a tradition. Or, rather, it
should
have been at a country club like Silver Oaks. Brooke practically owed it to herself to try it out.

“I can’t
believe
I said this summer was going to be more of the same old, same old,” she murmured. She kicked off her flip-flops and stretched out her legs, sinking into the lounger’s familiar white cushions—all the while pretending to be oblivious to the possibility that Marcus was still staring at her. “I am an idiot.”

“Brooke, you shouldn’t confess so much out in the open,” a gravelly male voice announced.

She sat up and turned around.
Speak of the devil.
Ethan Brennan stood on the other side of the fence, his curly brown hair tousled. He clutched his racket in one hand, trying to clear away the ivy with the other. Not surprisingly, his Silver Oaks-issued tennis whites were a little rumpled and less than white.

“Hey there, Mr. Tennis Pro,” Brooke said. “I was just thinking about you.”

“That’s funny, I was just thinking about me, too,” he replied with a lazy smile.

By the looks of his jawline, he hadn’t shaved in several days. But that was Ethan. He wasn’t trying to cultivate a scruffy image; he’d probably just forgotten. Fortunately for him, he was just sexy enough to get away with scruff.

“Don’t you know better than to listen in on ladies’ conversations, Ethan?” Charlotte quipped, settling into the lounger beside Brooke.

Grinning, Ethan swatted a stray vine out of his face and hung on to the chain-link fence with his other hand. “I can’t help it. I get high on eavesdropping. And on trying to scrounge a decent tennis game before the dinosaurs arrive—oops! I mean your parents. G, what do you say to a quick set?”

“I…well, I’m in my bikini,” Georgia stammered. She stood awkwardly, fiddling with her towel. “I’d have to change.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun. We haven’t played in so long. Seriously. I’m desperate for a good game.”

Georgia glanced at Brooke and Charlotte. The message in her anxious, dark-blue eyes was plain:
Please help make up an excuse for me, you guys. He still calls me “G.” He still jokes around with me. It’s still too weird, even after all this time.

For reasons Brooke couldn’t fathom, Ethan had insisted on remaining friends with Georgia after their breakup. Brooke knew that Georgia wanted to get over him and get on with her life. But there was one problem: She was too nice to blow him off. Brooke had known Georgia her whole life, and couldn’t remember her friend saying a mean thing about anyone,
ever.
She’d been displeased with people, sure: her parents, Ethan, even Brooke and Charlotte every now and then…but she always kept her angst to herself. One day that girl was going to burst.

“We just got here, Ethan,” Brooke piped up. “Besides, you won’t have to wait long for a game. My mom is changing into her new tennis whites as we speak. She spent all of May shopping for the perfect outfit: a conservative version of Venus Williams’s minidresses. You’ll be proud. But the three of us have to catch up. You know, girl stuff.”

He chuckled. “Girl stuff? You guys talk to each other every single day. You go to the same school, don’t you?” His eyes drifted over to the pool. “Hey, have you met the new girl yet? She seems really cool.”

“What new girl?” all three girls asked at the same time.

Brooke turned. “Where…?” Her voice trailed off.

A tall, cheap-looking blonde had appeared out of nowhere—in a black Versace bikini.
The exact same one Brooke was wearing.
And now she was standing in front of the lifeguard chair, shaking hands with Marcus Craft. And he was trying not to stare at her chest. And…okay, she wasn’t so cheap-looking. Far from it. She was Georgia’s height, but skinnier—with flawless skin and a cascade of curls that rivaled Charlotte’s. Except
her
curls were golden, like Cinderella’s.

This was not good. Miss Thing had not only stolen Brooke’s bathing suit (unintentionally, but still), she’d made contact with the guy Brooke had spotted first. How had
that
happened? She didn’t belong here. Not this early, on the first day of the season. This was Brooke and Georgia and Charlotte’s time.
And look at how she’s flirting
, Brooke fumed. She and Marcus Craft were already making chitchat, like a couple of newly partnered models preparing for a
Vogue
spread. Obviously, the new girl, whoever she was, had figured out the First Unspoken Rule. And she’d made her entrance right under Brooke’s nose.

“…name is Valerie,” Ethan was saying. “She just moved here from New York. Her parents are friends with the Millers. I wonder if
she
plays tennis.”

“Valerie, huh?” Charlotte mumbled. “She’s pretty.”

“She’s really pretty,” Georgia agreed, sounding depressed.

“Please,” Brooke said dismissively, readjusting her
shades. She settled back into the lounger with a sigh. “You’re both a thousand times hotter.”

“Ha!” Ethan laughed.

Brooke frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I just love how you three always stick up for each other. You’re like a street gang.” He gestured toward Brooke’s left arm, then Charlotte’s, then Georgia’s. “That’s why you still wear those ratty friendship bracelets, right? It’s like your gang tattoo.”

Brooke glanced down at the bracelet on her wrist. It was pretty ratty, the plaid pattern long faded. Maybe it
was
time to take the damn thing off. But she wasn’t going to be the first to do it. In eighth grade, at a county fair, she, Charlotte, and Georgia had bought matching patterns on a goofy whim, mostly to poke fun at their own obsession with fashion.

“I thought you said we’re like a trio of backup singers,” Georgia muttered, blushing as she avoided Ethan’s gaze.

“He came up with that line when he was in his ‘special place.’” Charlotte brought her thumb and forefinger to her lips and puffed on an imaginary joint.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ethan protested. “I don’t—”

“Smoke pot,” Brooke cut in. She removed her sunglasses and lowered her voice. “But you don’t
really
think the new girl is all that hot, do you, Brennan?”

“Well, I mean, she—” Ethan bit his full lower lip, his
cheeks flushing slightly. “She actually said something about you, Brooke.”

Brooke’s eyes narrowed. “Why? She doesn’t even know me.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” A mischievous smile crept across his stubbly face.

“What?” Brooke pressed.

“She thinks
you’re
hot,” he said. “I mean, not like she’s attracted to you or anything. And I know you hate when people say this…”

“What?”

“She said you look like Snow White,” Ethan finished.

Georgia and Charlotte burst out laughing. Even Brooke had to smile. It was a classic, a perennial—all part of the never-ending, attempted Disneyfication of her life. Every single Silver Oaks member had tried to force the label on Brooke at one time or another.
How pretty you are! You look just like Snow White!
Maybe they figured if they said it enough, Brooke’s life
would
become a G-rated fairy tale. Maybe that was what they expected from a girl whose father was president of the board of Silver Oaks.

Perfection.

Yeah, right.

“And when did Valerie have this amazing epiphany?” Brooke asked, flicking her hair over one shoulder.

Ethan shrugged. “She was looking at the photo gallery in the dining room this morning. I think she felt a little lost and out of place, so she just struck up a conversation with
me, asking if I knew the people in the photos. You know, the people her age.”