Some Kind of Wonderful (10 page)

Chapter 16

GUESS WHO?

T
welve hours later, I had dragged myself all the way up to the adult camp for the first time that week. It was a struggle to
get out of bed—after last night, all I wanted to do was hide in the steamer trunk. But my whole family was supposed to meet
for Thanksgiving brunch at one of the resort's restaurants. Before we all split up for our age groups' respective turkey dinners,
I really needed some quality time with the people who had no choice but to love me unconditionally.

When I arrived at my parents' place, my mom greeted me at the door and flung her arms around me. "Perfect timing; I just finished
watching the DVD of
Catch and Release.
Can
you
fit your whole fist in your mouth. Flan?"

"Huh?" I asked.

"Never mind. Of course my youngest, most responsible child is the first to arrive," she said. "Patch and Feb swore they were
on their way, but you know them. Anything could come up."

As my mother went on about her TV watching and tennis winnings and my father's crazy schedule that week, I stood still in
her arms. It felt like it had been a long time since I'd been hugged.

"Flan? Are you okay?"

I gave her one last squeeze before I pulled away. "Uh-huh," I said. "I'm fine."

"Didn't your friends want to come to brunch, honey?" she asked me as she reapplied her Chanel lipstick.

I'd completely forgotten that it might look suspicious that Meredith and Judith weren't by my side.

"Oh," I stammered, "no. They wanted to sleep in a little bit."

I stepped inside and took a look around my parents' pad. If my bungalow was souped-up, theirs was mogul-worthy. They must
have had ten thousand square feet of luxuriousness. There were personal side-by-side Jacuzzis on the deck and coconut trees
lining the grounds.

When my dad got off his conference call, my parents and I walked to a pretty little restaurant in the town square called Cafe
Anjou. We took our seats at a large table while we waited for Patch and Feb.

"Do these people even know how to run a business?" my dad shouted at no one. He kept putting down his Bloody Mary to manhandle
his BlackBerry. Apparently, he was looking into the logistics of buying a place here on the beach.

"Rick, put down that monstrosity," my mother said. "It's a holiday."

"Mom, he's probably playing Tetris," Patch said, suddenly standing over us. He took a seat, and I couldn't believe how happy
I was to see him. Even though he was technically staying at the kids' camp near me, I don't think he'd spent much time on
the actual island this week. He and his friends were doing more island-hopping than itinerary-following.

"How's it going, kiddo?" he said to me. "You remember Emerald, right?" I scooted over my chair to make room at the table for
Emerald Wilcox, who sometimes tagged along with Patch and Feb for low-key (relatively speaking) hangouts in between her recording
sessions in L.A.

"Hey, Emerald," I said. "What's up?"

"Cool," she said. It was the only word I'd ever heard her say.

Just then, Feb came rushing into the restaurant on the arm of the tallest, darkest, and handsomest guy I'd ever seen. This
had to be Davide.

"Hello, family," she said, swooping down to kiss us each on the top of the head like she was playing Duck, Duck, Goose. "Emerald,
you made it! How was the fund-raising concert?"

"Cool," Emerald said, nodding.

I put out my hand to introduce myself to Feb's new man.

"You must be—"

"Pierro,"
Feb said, cutting me off with a knowing look. "This is my little sister, Flan."

Pierro shook my hand. "Like you say," he said to Feb. "She is just as cute as button."

Feb laughed her fake boy-appeasing laugh and whispered to me, "At least this one speaks a
little
English. Cute, huh?"

"Very," I said.

"So last night was fun?" she asked, sitting down next to me. "I heard there were some kick-ass late-night fireworks off the
cay. Your pre-party was probably the perfect way to start the night."

I opened my mouth to start to tell Feb . . . I didn't even know what. That I'd been ditched by the whole island? That my party
was the laughingstock of Nevis? But luckily, I was saved by my mother's fork dinging against her mimosa flute.

"Hurry up and sit down, everyone. Pierro, there's a spot right next to me." She gave him her hostess mom smile. "So. Now that
everyone's together for at least five minutes, why don't we all go around the table and say what we are most thankful for?"

A chorus of groans from the rest of the family rang out around our table.

"I have a better idea," Feb said. "Let's talk about the sweet pad Dad's going to buy here. I'm totally going to have my wedding
here someday."

"These a-hole brokers don't know crap," my dad muttered and slammed down his BlackBerry. This made everyone laugh, including
my mom, who was probably still holding out for our roundtable Thanksgiving kumbaya.

It was such a relief to know that, no matter what crazy drama went down with my social life, I could always count on my family
to be fabulous, if slightly insane. There'd been times this week when I felt as though I didn't have much to be thankful for,
but now, surrounded by my family, I decided to clank my knife against my glass of sparkling OJ and say, "Well, I'm thankful
for a lot of things."

My family turned to look at me. My mom's face lit up expectantly.

"Like a sister who can always come through with an amazing party plan."

Feb nodded at me and raised her glass. "Obvi," she said.

"And a brother who taught me how to hang with all different sorts of people—even if he won't let me in on his poker games."

Patch laughed and said, "I don't want to lose
all
my money."

Finally, I turned to my parents. "And I'm thankful for you guys, for giving me the chance to do my own thing this fall."

I could have gone on about how much it meant to me to know that they were there now, when I really needed some support, but
I didn't want to get too sappy.

Still, it was just enough to make my mother burst into tears.

Feb turned to Pierro, who was looking a little started. "Don't worry," she said, refilling his mimosa with champagne. "She
gets choked up at almost every family gathering. You get used to it."

After my mom blew her nose daintily into her napkin, she said, "Well, that was just about the best thing that I've ever heard.
Now, who wants to share the Meyer lemon waffle with me?"

But Patch had a plane to catch, and Feb and Pierro had made an early reservation for a couples massage. My dad was still doing
the whole low-carb thing, so that left me at the table with my mom.

She eyed me as she cut into the waffle.

"You haven't gotten much color," she said.

I looked down at my arm, which seemed even paler than normal. "I guess I haven't been spending too much time outside."

She squinted at me. She could always see right through me.

"I don't know this Flan," my mother said, circling her fork in the direction of my face. "My Flan is a smiler; she's a sun
goddess; she's the life of the party. Now, you know I appreciated your Thanksgiving message very much. But I didn't see
you
inside of it."

My mouth went dry. I opened it, but nothing came out.

My mom put her hand over mine. "Is it Kennedy? I saw her mother at the tennis courts the other day. If Kennedy's anything
like I remember, she must be as nasty as ever."

I nodded miserably.

"Do you want to go home?" she asked me.

Until then, I hadn't really thought of that as an actual possibility.
Did
I want to leave? Wouldn't leaving the trip early be quitting?

"No," I said. "I don't want to leave. I just wish I didn't feel so out of place."

For a moment, we sat there chewing. I knew that my mom knew this was a bigger problem than just going home could solve. But
neither one of us seemed to have a solution.

Just then, I felt two hands cover my eyes like a blindfold.

"Guess who?"

I knew the voice, but I couldn't . . . I just couldn't place it yet.

I tugged at the hands and turned around. Without thinking, my whole face lit up.

It was my old best friend, Camille.

Camille of the Kennedy friend theft, sure . . . but she was also Camille of the great bicycle race of fifth grade, of the
annual Labor Day camping trip to Sag Harbor, and of the weekly Friday night sleepovers. She was Camille of the best-friends-forever
necklace, which I still had in my jewelry box at home.

Her dirty blond hair had grown way past her shoulders. It was so thick and long and shiny that it seemed almost to take over
her small frame. Her skin was still flawless, and her icy blue eyes were smiling at me as if we hadn't missed a beat in our
friendship. But it was crazy for me to feel that way—it'd been over a year since we'd really hung out.

"Hey, Flan," she said.

"Hey, Camille."

My mother gave me a nudging smile, and the two of us stepped out to the restaurant's courtyard to catch up.

"I didn't even know you were coming," I said.

"We weren't going to. My grandmother came to the city for the holiday, but when she found out we were skipping this trip for
her, she insisted that we all fly down together." Camille pointed to an elderly lady through the window. She was sitting on
a lounge chair surrounded by three old men. Each of them seemed to be vying for her attention.

"She's in heaven," Camille said, laughing.

"I'm
so
glad to see you," I found myself saying.

Camille nodded and looked down at her feet. "Me, too. It's been forever. I know things were weird last year, but I have to
say they're definitely much weirder now that you're not around at all." She bit her lip. "So, how are you? I hear you're liking
Stuyvesant a lot."

As I started to catch Camille up on my past few months at school, I couldn't help but feel like she laughed in all the right
places, groaned in all the right places, and grabbed my hand impulsively in all the right places—usually when I was telling
her about my boy escapades. I mean, I hadn't even remembered that there
were
right places until Camille and I started talking. She told me all the dirt on our old teachers and filled me in on whose party
had been the most fun and the most lame so far this year.

And when she leaned in to whisper that she'd had her first real kiss the month before, I realized that she was the only girl
I knew who didn't have to stand on her tiptoes to reach my ear. We were both an awkward five-foot ten!

"How come you make your growth spurt look so much less gawky than I do?" I asked her.

"Not even! You practically made the restaurant look like a runway when I followed you outside," Camille insisted.

And that was when I remembered:
this
was what it was like to have a best friend.

"Okay," she finally said when we'd gone through all the basic catch-up details. "Truth?"

"Truth," I said.

"I really miss you," she said. "I've thought about calling you a million times to make up, but seeing you now, I know that
I should have done it so much sooner. Kennedy and I are barely even friends anymore. She thinks she rules the school. But
everyone is totally fed up with her, and the problem is that none of us have figured out how to let her know."

I sighed.
"I'm
totally fed up with her," I said. "And I've only been around her for a few days. This vacation's been a disaster—well, until
right about now."

Camille leaned in and gave me a giant hug. We stood there on the bustling patio, just laughing and hugging and laughing some
more, not caring at all that we must have looked like professional dorks.

As we started strolling out of town to clock some beach sun time, Camille said, "So has it really been that bad this week?
Don't tell me Kennedy's been trying to control this entire island."

"It's a reign of terror, island style."

"Well," she said, "what do you say we put a stop to that today?"

Camille gave me her megawatt wink, and I knew somehow that this week was about to get back on track.

Chapter 17

DOWN WITH THE QUEEN

C
amille and I decided that we would head down to the kids'Thanksgiving dinner together that night. The plan was to arrive at
the restaurant overlooking the water at sunset. We'd heard that Bobby Flay's staff had flown down to cook deep-fried turkey
and a huge buffet full of other Thanksgiving fare. The invitation said "dress to impress."

The two of us had spent the afternoon hanging out at my bungalow and picking out our outfits—both of us decided to wear complementary
dresses from Diane von Furstenberg. We drank pomegranate spritzers, took a dip in the hot tub on the deck, and explored even
more of the hidden compartments within SBB's steamer trunk.

"Oh my God," Camille said, keeling over with laughter when she opened a drawer to find it filled with three different-colored
Magic 8 Balls, a Ouija board, and a fortune-telling book called
The Book of
Answers.

"What
is
all this stuff?" she asked.

"This
is SBB," I laughed, peering over Camille's shoulder. "She's the only person on earth who trusts this kind of junk. She should
totally buy stock in Ricky's NYC."

"I need to meet this girl," Camille said. "I think I'm going to love her."

Suddenly, I wished I could swap out Meredith for Camille as my roommate, but since Camille was only here for a few days, she
had a smaller cabin attached to her parents' place up the hill.

"Where is Meredith anyway?" Camille asked when I showed her what could have been her room. "She didn't leave you a note? That's
lame. What kind of a replacement best friend is she?"

I handed Camille a confirmation printout of a snorkeling trip I'd found. Meredith must have left it on the kitchen table.

"Do you think this is her way of letting me know that she wouldn't be around today, but that I didn't deserve a friendly note
after the way I acted last night?"

"Oh, Flan," Camille said. "It couldn't have been that bad. It sounds like they got what they deserved. Why should you have
invited them if they were being so catty?"

"I know," I said. "I just wish it didn't have to be so juvenile—me pointing the finger and saying
'They
started it!
Regardless of who started it, I'm the one who came off looking like a total tool last night when everybody jumped on Kennedy's
yacht."

Camille's eyes got wide. "I have an idea!"

I laughed. "You always have an idea. Remember the water balloon barrage in Mr. Topple's class?"

"Whatever! That was one of my best ideas in fourth grade! And this one's really good, too." She reached into her bag and pulled
out two small silver objects shaped like turkeys.

"What are these," I asked, "earrings?"

"Oh my God, no! They're cookie cutters! But I'd love to see you try and wear them as earrings. My grandma gave them to me.
You know how she lives for that stuff—anything shaped like a holiday, she buys it."

"You want to bake?" I said, still confused.

"You
want to bake," she corrected. "We'll make turkey cookies for the whole crew tonight. Nothing makes amends like butter and
sugar, right? We'll bring trays of them down to the restaurant. I have this recipe saved online for sugar cookies; they are
sooo awesome when you dip them in cinnamon-chocolate fondue."

"Okay—but where are we supposed to get all the chocolate?"

"I think the pool boy at my parents' bungalow has a crush on me. I'll just give him a ring and see what he can do."

A few hours later, the two of us were seated next to each other at the long banquet table, watching the sunset. The cookies
had come out super cute, and Camille was right—the one I sampled dipped in melted cinnamon-chocolate did have a certain
je ne
sais quoi.

We'd gotten a whole basketful of chocolate and a fondue pot from the pool boy, who turned out to be the same Guy who'd taken
me on my whirlwind tour of desserts. Did that guy ever take a break?

"Be careful, girls," he said when he came by to deliver the chocolate bars. "Too much sugar can make a girl run wild." He
winked, then disappeared.

Now we were safeguarding the chocolate in Camille's giant Whole Foods tote to unveil at the end of the meal.

It was just a fun dessert, but knowing that we had a big plate of cookies and yummy chocolate for everyone made me feel sort
of on top of things, for a change.

I'd already prepped Camille on how to avoid Kennedy and Meredith when we got to the restaurant. I just wasn't ready to deal
with them. But when we got there, the evil duo hadn't arrived yet. And without them, everybody just looked cool and laid-back.

Really, everyone was being incredibly nice—from one of the poncho girls who loved the Salt Works jeans I was wearing, to Rob,
who didn't understand why I hadn't been at the fireworks last night.

For a second, I was stunned. Didn't they see how embarrassing last night had been for me? Was no one else aware of the drama
that had gone down among Kennedy, Meredith, and me?

But no one even seemed to be fazed by it. As we hung out over appetizers of oyster stuffed bites and cranberry gorgonzola
tarts, I came to a startling realization.

Everyone else was just as caught up in their own issues. No one even realized what a disaster of a trip this week had been
for Flan Flood. Here I'd been, feeling so much in the spotlight, and suddenly, I discovered that the opposite was true. It
was both a relief and a huge wake-up call.

But just before the sit-down dinner began, Meredith and Kennedy arrived—two people who definitely
did
know, and care, all about my drama. Kennedy blew past me, and Meredith gave me a sort of confused, guilty half-smile, but
we stayed a comfortable distance away from each other.

The buzz was that TZ was hanging out with his family until dessert—which was just fine with me. I wasn't in any rush to face
him after the way I'd acted last night.

When Meredith took her seat next to Kennedy at the other end of the table, Camille leaned in to me and said, "That's her,
isn't it? I just don't know about her bone structure with those braids."

In that instant, I loved her even more completely. She wasn't saying it in an empty, bitchy way—she just shared my feelings
about Meredith and wanted hair success stories for everyone she saw.

Dinner was delicious, and I only snagged Meredith's eye once. Both of us blushed and looked back down at our plates. Clearly,
we had a conversation coming our way. But mostly, I tried not to think about it. Camille was making all of us laugh with her
imitation of her grandmother flirting with all the old men at the pool.

On my right was Mattie Hendricks. She nudged me at one point when we were all laughing at one of Camille's impressions and
said, "Isn't this the most fun you've ever had?"

If I were to be honest with Mattie, I could give her a whole slew of reasons why this paled in comparison to the fun I had
most of the time in the city. But she seemed so earnest and excited to be hanging out with us at this table that I just smiled
at her and said, "Yeah, it's pretty awesome."

"Pretty awesome?" she said, adjusting her indigo headband. "It's
amazing. You
know how we were talking about TZ that first night at the bonfire?"

"Yeah," I said, wondering where this conversation was going. "I remember. Why do you ask?"

"I just about
died
when I realized he was going to be on this trip. My friends and I are all obsessed with him. When I texted them to say that
he was staying two doors down from me this week, they all bet me that I couldn't get him to talk to me. I've been trying to
get his attention all week."

I was about to open my mouth to tell Mattie that yeah, TZ was hot, but that I was sure she could find an equally awesome guy,
and not to sweat it if things didn't pan out this week, when Kennedy came up behind us on her way back from a trip to the
buffet.

"Did I hear that someone has a little crush on TZ?" she asked, her voice all high and saccharine.

Mattie blushed, but she couldn't contain herself. She grinned shyly at Kennedy. "No . . . I mean . . . I don't know."

"How much do you like him?" Kennedy asked. Her voice was louder than Mattie probably realized, and people at the table were
looking at us. "Like, what would you do for the chance to go out with him?"

"I don't know," Mattie said again, squirming in her seat.

"Would you eat dog food if it meant you could kiss TZ?"

"Um," Mattie said. She was starting to look uncomfortable. Kennedy was getting really loud.

Now the whole table of twenty-five people was looking at us. Kennedy was being stupid and inappropriate, and I could tell
Mattie had no idea what to do. I don't know why, but it was so much easier for me to stand up for her than it'd been for me
to stand up for myself all week.

"Kennedy, why don't you leave her alone?" I said, twisting around to face her.

"She'd probably kiss Terrick's dog just to get close to him." Now Kennedy was practically shouting. "Wouldn't you, Mattie?
Admit it."

"Kennedy," I said, matching her voice. "Shut up, okay? What are you trying to do?"

She turned to me, and I could see her eyes flashing. "What do you care, Flan? Now you're Mattie's babysitter?"

Before I realized it, I was standing up, facing the enemy, making a whole spectacle in front of the entire dinner party.

"You know what? You treat people like crap. I don't know why you do it, but I'm sick of just standing by and watching you.
You can't act like this. It's not right."

Kennedy put her hands on her hips. "Oh yeah, well what's
right
by Flan Flood standards? If you're such an expert on friendship, then why don't you tell everyone here why one of your best
friends jumped ship on day two of this vacation, and your other best friend can't even stand to be near you? She hasn't slept
at your bungalow in days."

I sucked in my breath and found myself looking at Meredith across the table, but she wouldn't return my gaze. Then I realized
that this wasn't about Meredith. This was only about Kennedy's struggle for power.

Just then, the door to the restaurant opened up and TZ sauntered in with an apple pie and a jug of sparkling cider. "Courtesy
of Mom and Pop Zumberg," he said. "Who's ready to get this party started?"

Kennedy rushed to him and whispered something in his ear. "Let's get out of here," she said aloud. "This dinner blows. It's
time for the non-losers to get out and have some fun."

I braced myself for the mass exodus a la last night to occur. But I'd forgotten how much it meant to have a real friend waiting
in the wings. While I'd been duking it out with Kennedy, Camille had been knowingly distracting everyone with our secret weapon:
the cookies and cinnamon-chocolate.

By the time I'd turned around, fully expecting the rest of the table to have thrown down their napkins to duck out with Kennedy,
Camille had the whole room dipping cookies in chocolate and saying cheers to each other before they swallowed them down.

TZ walked right over and gave Camille a hug. As it turned out, they were old family friends and were totally psyched to see
each other.

He picked up a cookie and dunked it in the chocolate. "Damn," he said after he had taken a bite. "You two made these? You
should open a store in the city. These cookies are amazing!"

I was so stunned that TZ didn't hate me that I almost didn't notice Kennedy fuming.

"Okaaay,
who wants to go down to the beach? I think I can get us the yacht again." But she sounded hesitant and nervous. I tried not
to take too much satisfaction in the shakiness of her voice.

"Danny, Rob, come on. I know you guys are in," she said.

And at that moment, both Danny and Rob grabbed cookies from our pile and dipped them in our chocolate.

"Dude," Rob said, "I think we're cool to hang out here."

"Whatever," Kennedy said, clearly pissed. "Meredith, let's go."

Meredith stood up from her seat at the table. I watched her lay down her turkey cookie without taking a bite and follow Kennedy
out of the room. The braids looked terrible on her. I should have been there to stop her from getting them in the first place.

Even though the turn of events tonight had been awesome, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness as the clinking sound
of Mer's beaded braids disappeared down to the beach.