Some Kind of Wonderful (11 page)

Chapter 18

THE BEST IDEA SHE EVER HAD

A
fter midnight, a big group of us moved the party down to the beach. Rob was wearing a Rasta wig and playing the guitar again.
A few people were racing each other down the sandbars. The bonfire was lit, and we were all passing around s'mores.

"We should do something to celebrate the fact that this party is drama-free," Camille said, grinning at me.

TZ laughed and speared another marshmallow. "Aren't we already?" he asked. "What's not celebratory about tonight?"

"I mean we should do something
crazy,"
Camille said, waving her hands in the air.

"Just say the word," TZ said. "I'm all about the crazy celebrations."

It was obvious that everyone was having an awesome time—even Mattie had taken off her loafers and dipped her feet in the water
for a few seconds—but I was still surprised that TZ didn't seem to mind that Kennedy and Meredith weren't hanging out with
everyone else.

"TZ, do you know what Kennedy's up to tonight?" I asked him.

"Oh, you girls and your drama," he said, patting my knee.

"I didn't mean it like that. I just, I thought you guys were friends. I thought you and Meredith were . . . friends, too."

"Look, Kennedy's one story. Part of me loves her. I mean, we go back to when we were in diapers. So I know we'll always be
cool. But sometimes she can just be too intense. I'm so not into all that exclusivity bullshit—especially not on vacation."

"Yeah," I said, "that makes sense." But I still had to know one more thing. "What about Meredith?"

"I like Meredith. I think she's really cute. Okay, not as cute as the present company." He nudged Camille's and my knees and
gave us his trillion dollar smile. "And she seemed cool, you know, really mellow. Then, once I started talking to her . .
. I don't know, sometimes it seemed like she didn't know who she was, like she was just agreeing with whoever was talking,
regardless of how she really felt. I like a girl who knows what she wants, even if I totally disagree with her."

I nodded and withdrew my marshmallow from the fire. It was burned to a crisp, just the way I liked it.

TZ pointed at my flaming 'mallow. "Like that right there. I wholeheartedly disagree with the way you have destroyed your s'more."

"Destroyed!"
I said, acting shocked. "You haven't lived until you've tasted my singed s'more specialty."

"Oh, really," he joked. "I assume you'll be serving those at your cookies-and-chocolate shop on West Fourth Street?"

"It'll be the daily special," I said.

We grinned at each other, and for a second neither one of us said anything. The heat of the fire on my face suddenly felt
super intense.

"Okay, you two, I'll settle this," Camille said. "Give me both of your s'mores, and I'll be the judge of whose is more delicious."

"That's clearly just a ploy to get more s'mores without having to do any of the work," TZ said. But in the end, both of us
handed them over.

Camille sampled the s'mores with the attention to detail of a judge on
Top Chef.
After a pensive moment, she deemed mine superior in chocolate meltiness and TZ's superior in marshmallow-to-graham cooperation.

"That's a cop-out," TZ said. "You're just afraid to pick your favorite."

"Not even," Camille said, feigning a diva and shaking her finger at us. "Unlike Meredith, I have never in my life been scared
to have an opinion."

"Oh, Meredith." I sighed. I wondered what she was doing right now. "She was a good friend. I just think she has some growing
up to do."

"Along with a little bit of jewelry-making training," TZ said, rubbing his neck. He was still wearing her necklace. I had
stopped wearing mine days ago. But then he said, "What'd she weave this thing out of, poison ivy? My neck is on fire. I have
to get rid of this."

At that moment, TZ's border collie trotted over to us and nuzzled up against Camille.

"Hey, Bruce," she said, giving him a scratch. "Bruce, do you need a new collar? TZ, give me that thing."

TZ tossed her the necklace, and she fastened it around the poor dog's neck. Bruce tried to get at his neck to give his new
collar a sniff, but he couldn't reach it, so he just gave us a few angry barks and trotted off.

"I think it suits him," Camille said thoughtfully.

"Well, that's because he's got terrible taste," TZ said. "Yesterday, I took him for a walk up on the cliff over there, and
he was getting all flirty with this poodle—"

"Um, I have a crazy beyond crazy idea," Camille suddenly butted in.

"Yay!" I said. There was something so genuine about Camille that it was hard not to get just as excited as she was, even before
I had a clue what she was talking about.

"What is it this time?"TZ joked. He looked at me. "Are you familiar with her
ideas}"

I laughed. "They're practically legendary around my house. My mother still can't get the garlic smell out of her Persian rug
from one of Camille's ideas back in third grade."

"No, you guys'll like this one. TZ, which cliff did you take Bruce for a walk to yesterday?"

TZ pointed out in front of him. "That one right there. Star Cliff. The one where Flan . . ."

He trailed off, but I could have finished his sentence in a number of ways.

The cliff where Flan was mortally mortified.

The site of Flan's botched party.

The place no friend of Flan's would bring up if he
wanted to avoid her extreme embarrassment.

Camille jumped in to my rescue. "You mean the one where Flan, and you, and me are going to
go
right now to go cliff-diving until sunrise?"

"Whoa,"TZ said, "where did that come from?"

"Come on. Haven't you always wanted to do that?"

The truth was, I
had
always wanted to do that. Ever since I read an article in my dad's
Extreme Adventure
magazine four years ago. It was one of my major lifetime fantasy goals, and the only person who knew that was . . . Camille!

I grinned at her. "Seriously," I said.

"Seriously."

TZ shrugged. "I guess we can sleep when we're dead."

Pretty soon after that, the party started to break up. Everyone's eyes were bloodshot from staring at the fire for so long,
and people were yawning, clearly crashing from their sugar highs.

On the other side of the bonfire, Rena shouted, "Can we please stop listening to Amy Winehouse? I think I'm about to shoot
myself."

"What are you talking about?" Paul called back. "It's been Rob playing guitar the whole time."

Camille and I giggled.

"Ouch,"TZ whispered to me. "I know my cousin has kind of a high voice, but man. I hope he didn't hear that."

"Whatever, you guys," Rob said, slinging his guitar over his back. "I'm going to turn in. Don't be asking me for autographs
when I have a platinum album."

Danny raised his voice an octave and squealed, "Can you make this one out to Danny, from Amy with love?"

Everyone was laughing and in good spirits as they packed up their stuff and got ready to head home. The boys snuffed out the
bonfire using their very macho method of peeing on it and then dousing it with seawater when that didn't work.

Camille, TZ, and I hung back after we said good night to the rest of the crew.

"So, are we really going to do this?"TZ asked.

"Yeah," I said, taking control. "We are."

"Okay." He put his arm around me. "Whatever Flan says goes."

It was just about five in the morning when the three of us got to the summit of the cliff. We'd been having so much fun on
the walk up that I forgot what kind of spectacular view was awaiting us at the top. When we'd started walking, there'd been
the faintest tinge of yellow in the sky. The cliff faced east, and by now the eastern sky was streaked a brilliant orange-red.
A few clouds gathered along the horizon and glowed hot pink in front of the sun.

"When was the last time you were up to see the sunrise?" TZ asked us.

"Fishing trip with the dads, sixth grade," Camille and I both said at the exact same time. Then we burst out laughing.

"Jinx!" she shouted.

"That trip was amazing," I said to Camille.

"Remember when you caught that massive flounder, and your dad made us eat it for dinner?" Camille said.

"Gross!" I said, remembering.

"Flounder's awesome," TZ said. "The three of us should go fishing sometime. I could show you guys a thing or two."

"Okay," I said. "But first things first. We came here to cliff-dive. Who's ready?"

I looked at the two of them, and all three of us nodded. We were nervous. We were excited. We were right in the middle of
one of the wildest nights of our lives.

We walked to the edge of the cliff together and looked down at the water below. It looked so far away, so black and cold,
but I knew it would be eighty degrees and perfectly clear once we got in.

TZ took off his shirt and his shoes and looked at us. "Okay, time for you two to strip down."

"As if," Camille said, laughing. "Flan, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Thank God Diane von Furstenberg's couture comes with slip dresses underneath?"

"Exactly!"

We took off our flip-flips and the silky top layers of our dresses. Both of us joined TZ in our little white slips, which
covered just enough not to feel totally exposed and embarrassed.

"Okay,"TZ said, "you have to make a wish on the way down."

"Says who?" Camille asked.

"Just do it," I said.

"Okay," Camille said. "Here we go!"

We held hands for a second before we jumped, but once we were in the air, we all raised our arms up toward the sky.

It felt like an eternity that I was floating downward toward the water, watching the sun come up. And then, just before I
hit the sea, I made my wish.

Please let the rest of this school year be as much fun as
tonight, no matter where I end up.

I hit the water.

It was warm and crystal clear, just like I knew it was going to be. Just the way I liked it. I bobbed to the surface and spotted
Camille and TZ's heads pop up at the same time. All three of us were laughing and gasping for air.

We couldn't get enough.

Chapter 19

CHOCOLATE SAYS I'M SORRY

A
n hour later, after a rigorous backflip contest and attempted relay race between the coves (in which Camille and I beat TZ twice),
the three of us parted ways. I dragged my damp, dehydrated self home for some much needed R&R.

Every part of my body felt sore from exertion and exhaustion—but I also felt strangely invigorated. I could feel the endorphins
flowing through me, and I remembered that this was what I used to feel like after a really good night out in the city. When
you came home too exhausted to stay awake another minute, but too keyed up to actually fall asleep.

I felt like . . . myself again.

I was smiling as I walked up the path to my bungalow, my shoes tucked under my arm.

"Somebody looks like she had a good night last night," a voice said from behind me.

"Aaah!"
I screamed, dropping my shoes and causing a family of sleeping toucans to take flight from the palm tree next to me.

I turned around to find Guy, the pool boy and dessert deliverer, who was now dressed in a waiter's suit, standing next to
a van and a wheeled cart of trays. He'd thrown up both of his hands in a
Don't
shoot
pose when I started yelling.

"You scared me," I said, catching my breath.

"You scared the whole island," he said, laughing a little. "I am sorry for being scary so early this morning."

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"You didn't order room service?" he said.

"Um, no . . . " I paused. Unless Meredith ordered something. God, I really hoped she wasn't planning on having some breakfast
party powwow with Kennedy in my bungalow. All I wanted to do was sleep. Then again, I doubted Meredith would have slept at
home last night. According to Kennedy, she couldn't stand to be near me.

I looked at Guy and shrugged. "Sorry," I said. "Maybe the bungalow next door?"

He glanced at a receipt and seemed confused. He looked at the address on our mailbox and then back to the paper in his hand.

"You are Flan?" he asked. "Meredith? You get chocolate chip pancakes and fruit salad for two?"

"Wow," I said, before I even realized I was speaking out loud. "That sounds
good."

He winked at me. "I think this is for you. Come on, I'll take it inside."

I wasn't going to argue with a man bearing chocolate chip pancakes, so I showed him into the house. He wheeled the cart into
the kitchen and unloaded a whole table-scape worth of things more quickly than I would have guessed was humanly possible.
Suddenly, there was a brilliant white tablecloth, china service, candlesticks (which he lit), a small bouquet of hyacinths,
a small pitcher of OJ, and two covered silver platters at each of the place settings. Guy took a tiny bow, winked at me again,
and said,
"Bon
appetit."

And before I could even say thanks, he was gone. He was pretty good at that whole disappearing act thing.

I stared at the banquet before me, wondering where in the world it had come from. Cautiously, I lifted up the lid of the place
setting closest to the window. A waft of chocolaty deliciousness came at me, and my mouth watered when I saw the piping hot
stack of pancakes. But when I looked more closely at the pancake on the top of the stack, my hand went to my heart.

Someone had spelled out I'M SORRY, FLAN in tiny chocolate chips.

"I really am," a voice said from behind me. "Sorry."

I turned from the table to see Meredith standing in the doorway in her Paul Frank pajamas. She'd taken the braids out of her
hair and had tried to tame the kinky mass in a large bun, but strands of crimped brown hair were sticking out all over the
place. She looked the way I'd felt for the better part of the trip.

"Did you order this?" I asked her.

She nodded and walked over toward me.

"What happened last night was not something I would have ever wanted to see happen," she said. "Things have just spun so wildly
out of control. I feel really badly about the way I acted this week. Do you hate me?"

For a second, I had to think about it. Meredith had been a pretty bad friend this week. But when I tried to see it from her
point of view, I realized I hadn't been at my best either. I knew she hadn't joined forces with Kennedy to make me miserable
on purpose. She'd been feeling her way through this vacation as much as I had.

"Meredith, I don't hate you. I don't think we'd be up for
Best Week Ever
right now, but I don't hate you."

We sat down at the table. Seeing the food made me forget how tired I was. Suddenly, starvation overtook me, and I couldn't
stop staring at the pancakes. But it felt weird to dig in while we were in the middle of an intense conversation.

Luckily, Meredith must have been feeling the same way.

"I'm famished. I haven't eaten since Kennedy and I found these—wait, what am I doing? I'm sorry for bringing that up. I just
. . . I don't know when I got so caught up in all this stuff."

Meredith gave me a half smile. I could tell she was still feeling uptight about how rocky things had been.

"So," I said.

"So," she said.

"I guess we should start at the beginning," I said, biting into my first syrupy bite. "What happened to us this week?"

Meredith took her time chewing and swallowing. She took a sip of juice and looked out the window for a moment.

Finally, she said, "You know how Judith and I promised to get over all of our Adam issues before we came on this trip?"

I started to nod my head, when suddenly it hit me that I hadn't thought about Adam in . . . many, many days. Sure, there'd
been a lot going on in my head, but how could I have
forgotten
all about him?
That
couldn't be a good sign.

"Flan," Meredith said, looking like she'd been waiting for me to answer. "Remember that?"

"Yeah," I said. "That I do remember."

Remembering my friends' issues with my boyfriend was one thing. Remembering my boyfriend in general . . . hmm.

"Well, I guess it was easier said than done," Meredith said. "But it wasn't just about Adam, you know. It was everything with
you. How Judith and I always felt excluded from your life. Like we weren't good enough, or fancy enough, or cool enough to
be in the loop about what was going on."

I sighed, because I thought I'd been over this with Meredith a million times before. How many times were she and Judith going
to punish me for having a life outside of them?

Meredith was stammering. "I know I should be able to put it behind me, because it seemed like after Adam, you were really
trying to be honest, but I just . . . it's taking longer than I'd thought for me to get over it."

"But I don't get it," I said. "You're trying to get over Adam . . . but it feels like you were trying to get back at me by
becoming friends with my worst enemy. What kind of friend is that?"

Meredith looked down. "A bad one," she said. "I swear I didn't do it to hurt you—at least not consciously. Kennedy just seemed
so cool at first. I thought maybe she'd changed. I mean, how great would it have been if I could help you guys move past your
problems with each other?" She fiddled with her napkin and twirled her fork around in her hand. "But then, when it became
obvious that you two were never going to be BFF . . . I guess I was already sucked into her web. There's something about Kennedy;
she's just so inclusive, and she was always bringing me everywhere with her. We're having so much fun," she said.

We were quiet for a minute, and I tried to get over the fact that Meredith had used the words "inclusive" and "Kennedy" in
the same sentence.

"I didn't stop to realize what it was doing to you," she continued. "I always thought you were so self-possessed, that you
didn't even need me around. You always seem so in control."

"Meredith," I said, feeling hurt. "Just because someone may
seem
self-possessed doesn't mean she doesn't need her friends to stick by her. It doesn't mean she's okay with being treated like
crap."

Meredith nodded. "I know, I know, I can see that now. I was so shocked to see you, you know, all bummed out this week."

"I was pretty shocked to
be
all bummed out this week."

"Kennedy is my friend, too, and I want to keep hanging out with her, but I don't ever want to be the reason that you're upset,"
she said. "I promise to be more considerate."

I hesitated. Was that good enough?

"Flan?"

"Yeah?"

"What now? Is this going to be another one of those things we say we're going to get over but can't?" Meredith twisted a kinky
lock of brown hair around her forefinger, waiting for my response.

"We've only been friends for three months," I said. "I'm just not sure we should have this much baggage yet. It feels like
we've spent more time misunderstanding each other and hurting each other's feelings than we've spent having fun."

"That's not good."

"No, it's not," I said, tapping my plate with my fork as I sorted through my thoughts. And then, as things became clearer
in my head, I knew that I needed to be really honest with Meredith.

"I'm really glad we're talking all this through," I said. "But I just wonder about us. I've been doing a lot of thinking—about
where I fit in, about what will make me the happiest right now—and I know I need to figure out a few more things. But I also
know that I don't want to fight with my best friends all the time. It shouldn't be this much of a struggle."

"I think I feel the same way," Meredith said slowly. "I'm so glad that I met you this year, and I'm so glad we got to know
each other, but I think we're both starting to feel like we were just—"

"Trying each other on for size?" I finished.

"Exactly," Meredith said. She laughed, but she sounded sad. "And you're this really beautiful Marc Jacobs sweater that I desperately
want but that is totally out of my price range."

"And you're the vintage cable-knit cardigan that I'll always admire but could really never pull off."

"This is sad," Meredith said. "I feel like we're breaking up."

"We're not breaking up. We're just starting to understand our friendship for what it is. I still want us to be friends. I
hope you do, too."

"I do," Meredith said. She was pushing her fruit salad around on her plate.

"It's better that we recognize this kind of stuff now before we force ourselves back into BFF territory and end up having
a huge fight about it."

"You're right," Meredith said. She refilled my OJ glass. "You're always right, Flan. That's another thing about you that totally
drives me crazy."

We laughed.

"How about we toast," I said, "to sweaters that we'd love to buy but that really don't match anything else in our closets."

We raised our glasses.

"Cheers," we said at the same time. We smiled at each other, but it was a bittersweet feeling that I couldn't really explain.