Some Kind of Wonderful (9 page)

Chapter 14

HOW TO STEAL THE HONEY

H
ere's the thing about TZ.

As confident and aesthetically perfect and seemingly intimidating as he was, I'd practically been raised on boys like him.
It was one of the many advantages of having the type of older siblings that I had.

For as long as I could remember, Patch and Feb had been bringing their friends over to hang out at our place. At first, I
hardly noticed them. I was too busy building pillow castle forts in our living room to take note of the future models, DJs,
and socialites playing poker with Patch in my kitchen.

But I do remember the first time I did see one of the guys as something more than just an obstacle on my way to the refrigerator.
It was my first day of sixth grade, and when I came home, a whole crew was hanging out in our breakfast nook, tearing through
a pepperoni pie from John's Pizza.

Patch's friend Arno tugged on my ponytail and showed me his cards.

"What do you think, kid?" he asked. He nodded in Patch's direction. "Think he's got me?"

Most girls might have faltered, stuttered, or blushed. Arno was one of the best-looking freshman guys at Gissing, and his
father owned the most prestigious gallery in Chelsea. But I wasn't most girls. I just grabbed the last slice of the pie and
said, "Patch is bluffing. Hold 'em."

A slew of low whistles went around the table. Patch told me to get a life and leave his friends alone, but Arno just nodded
at me, kind of in awe, and said, "Wow, where did
you
come from?"

Playing it cool with these guys was never something I had to think too hard about. Okay, I admit I wasn't completely consistent—sometimes
I acted pretty goofy—but the point is that most of the time I didn't. And these guys really were older, cooler, and better-looking
than most of the guys in the Abercrombie catalogs that most girls—Meredith included—probably grew up drooling over.

If Meredith ducked into the janitor's closet over a guy like Jules, would she even know what to do with a guy like TZ?

I, on the other hand, had been groomed for this. As soon as I heard Meredith leave the bungalow, I knew what I had to do.
I pulled my hair up into a high ponytail (my ex-boyfriend Jonathan used to say that the height of a girl's ponytail was directly
proportional to how fun she was—the higher the ponytail, the more she could party). I raided SBB's steamer trunk again for
makeup options, and actually found a Stila cosmetic case called Beach Chic Chic. It was full of shimmery gold stuff that looked
super feminine and natural. I also grabbed a hot pink string bikini from SBB's trunk and pulled a short, white bubble skirt
over it. I slid on my white flip-flops and looked in the mirror.

It was so not my normal, casual, New York-sleek style. I looked like I was going out on the prowl . . . and in a way, I was.
Of course, I wasn't going to actually
do
anything—I'd never betray Adam. Catching TZ's attention—scratch that,
monopolizing
his attention— had nothing to do with wanting him for myself. It had everything to do with reminding Kennedy and Meredith
that they weren't the only girls on this island.

I trooped down to the beach. I wasn't totally sure what I was going to do when I found TZ, but I was confident that my improvisation
skills and flirtation prowess would come through for me in the clutch.

Soon, I found just the bronzed, shirtless guys I was looking for. TZ, Rob, Paul, and a really built redheaded guy named Danny
were playing beach volleyball on the court outside of TZ's bungalow. I recognized a few of the poncho girls, who had spread
out their towels along the sidelines. They were spraying tanning oil on each other, reading magazines, and trying to look
like they weren't totally staring down the boys.

For a second, I thought about joining them. I was sure we'd discover we had mutual friends, and it wouldn't be such a bad
idea to make a few more allies on this trip, now that my original crew had virtually dissolved. But making girlfriends wasn't
part of today's mission, and I figured there'd still be plenty of time to make friends throughout the week.

"Operation Steal the Honey" had only one conquest, and his name was Terrick Zumberg.

I noticed a conveniently placed lifeguard stand close to where the boys where playing, and I positioned myself there until
I could figure out an approach tactic. I pretended to unpack my beach bag while I caught the last few minutes of their game.
After TZ spiked the ball over the net for the winning point, the boys took a water break.

"So, what's up with you and Kennedy?" Danny asked him. Danny was doing the move that really muscular guys do when they're
trying to look down at their muscles all the time without looking like they're actually checking themselves out.

I froze. I was just within earshot, but from my spot behind the lifeguard stand, none of the guys had spotted me yet.

TZ shrugged his shoulders and grinned. His dark hair hung over his face, and he flung his head back to get it out of his eyes.
I felt the tiniest flutter of butterflies in my stomach. Whoa. That wasn't supposed to happen. I shook it off. I needed my
wits about me. I couldn't fall for his charm.

"Wait, is it Kennedy you're into?" Rob asked, putting some sunscreen on his neck. "Or is it Meredith?"

Exactly what I'd been wondering myself.
Which one
is it, TZ?

He laughed and said, "I'm weighing my options. You know, I don't want to jump into anything too quickly. Kennedy's cool, but
she's the known quantity. Meredith's more of a wild card."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Paul drawled, surfer slow. "I can never tell with this dude."

TZ shook his head. "We'll see," he said. "We'll just have to see."

Hmm. So it didn't seem like he'd committed to either one of the girls yet—even though I wouldn't be surprised if both Meredith
and Kennedy thought they already had TZ in their respective bags.

It looked like the boys were getting ready to play another game, so I figured it was now or never. I walked right up to them
and flashed my biggest smile.

"Hey, guys," I said. "Can I play?"

"Hey, Flan!" Rob called.

TZ looked me up and down and gave me a sideways grin. "You sure you can play in that outfit?"

Whoops. I'd forgotten about that. Maybe this wasn't the best day to debut the string bikini. But letting on that I wasn't
properly attired wasn't part of the plan. I just shrugged and said, "Sure, why not?"

Danny put his hand on my shoulder. "Perfect timing. I was gonna take a breather for this game anyway and chat up the hot girls
on the beach towels over there."

"Dude, good luck with that one," Paul joked.

TZ turned to me. "Cool, you can be on my team."

"Cool," I said, feeling anything but.
Get a grip,
Flan, get a grip.

"Game on," TZ called.

Rob was on the other team, serving first. The ball came right to me, and I spiked it easily over to the other side.

"Nice," TZ called to me.

It was an intense game. There were more than a couple of times that TZ and I ended up diving for the same ball and getting
just tangled enough for both of us to blush and apologize. In the end, we won by a point. Afterward, when we broke, he tossed
me a bottle of water from the cooler.

"You looked good out there," he said.

"Thanks," I said, taking a long swig. "It felt good to play. A nice change from the estrogen overload alternative."

"Oh yeah," he said. "What's your crew up to today?"

"Nothing too exciting. I just wasn't up for getting my hair braided. I'd much rather hang out here and do something active."

"Yeah, you don't strike me as a total girly girl," he said. And for a second, I felt paranoid that what he meant was, /
can tell you have no friends.
But then he said, "I like that. So, what are you up to tonight?"

Crap. I needed cool plans, and fast. The only thing running through my head was the Zumbergs' itinerary tonight, which included
watching the latest
Harry
Potter
movie on a blown-up screen on the beach—and you didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know that TZ wouldn't want anything
to do with that.

I bit my lip and racked my brain. And then, it hit me—a stroke of brilliance. I looked just past TZ, along the beach horizon,
and noticed a spectacular cliff overlooking the ocean. It was the prime spot for a really killer party, and it couldn't be
more than half a mile down the beach.

Improvisational skills—check.

"Actually, I'm throwing a Hump Day party on that cliff," I said, gesturing behind him. "Right over there." Then I touched
his chest with my pointer finger. "You'd better be there."

Flirtation prowess—check!

"Excuse me?"TZ laughed. "Hump Day?"

"You know," I said. "Wednesday—it's the hump of the week. A Hump Day party. My friends and I do it all the time at home."
This was true—or at least, it used to be. Camille and I used to have Hump Day parties every Wednesday afternoon, complete
with manicures, movies, and Moroccan food. But it'd been two years since our last one . . . ever since Kennedy moved to town.
My venom for her surged again, and it got me through the rest of my made-up party story to TZ.

"Usually," I continued, "you're celebrating getting through the longest part of the week and looking forward to the weekend.
But since it's not
too
much of a struggle getting through the days here in Nevis"—okay, white lie—"we'll just celebrate the fact that we still have
half the vacation left to party."

"Like a glass-is-half-full kind of Hump Day," TZ said, grabbing a towel and wiping his sweaty brow.

"Yeah," I said. "You got it."

"I like that," he said. "I'll be there. Who else are you inviting?"

"It'll probably be sort of small," I said. "But don't worry; it'll be exactly the group of people you'd want at a party like
that."

"Sounds great," he said. "Because the alternative— getting stuck watching Harry Potter prance around with his wand—was looking
grim." He gave me a high five.

I smiled at him. "I'll see you tonight."

"Hey, you don't want to hang out some more? Take a swim in the ocean or something?"

"I'd love to," I said. "But maybe another time? I have some last-minute things to take care of for tonight."

That was the understatement of the century. It was almost noon, and I had an entire event to plan from scratch in less than
eight hours.

What had I gotten myself into?

Chapter 15

RSV-PEEVEB

I
f I had a dollar for every time my sister said the
&
words. "I once had a career as a . . . " I could probably buy the whole island of Nevis. In her twenty-two years, Feb's had
stints as a personal shopper, a restaurateur, an MTV VJ, an investigative journalist (Page Six used to pay her to get them
the dirt on where to find her celeb friends), a paralegal, and most recently, a party planner for the hip PR firm Harrison
&Shriftman. She may have lasted only three days—she quit after a little spat with the boss over who was supposed to toast
whose English muffin—but she did walk away with some very handy tips for how to plan an insta-party.

This week, Feb was staying on a different stretch of the beach a few miles away with a crew of the twenty something kids.
It was a long shot to think she'd be available this afternoon to help me navigate the planning of my own party, but I decided
to give her a call. I flopped down on the living room couch in my bungalow and dialed her.

"You're blocking my sun," she said when she answered the phone.

"Hello?" I said, "Feb?"

"Oh, is that you, Flan? Sorry, I was talking to Davide. Honey,
move.
What can I do for you, Flan?"

"Who's Davide?" I asked. She pronounced the name Dah-vi-day.

"My boy du jour. He speaks no English. We met last night at Kirk's barbecue. You have to see the Roderickson place, Flan—it's
fantastic. How are things at the kiddie camp?"

"Oh, you know," I said, looking around my lonely bungalow and taking a seat in the happy place. "Pretty good."

"Just pretty good?"

"I want to ask you a favor," I said, flipping on the small disco ball in the steamer trunk.

"You want to borrow my camel Manolo peep toe flats?" Feb asked.

"Actually, that too. But also, I'm trying to plan a really awesome party . . . in a really short amount of time. As in . .
. tonight."

Feb sighed. "I swear, if you weren't my little sister . . . Okay." I could hear her sit up and start rummaging through her
beach bag. I pictured her under a giant straw hat, behind huge sunglasses. She had the fairest skin in our fair-skinned family.

"Good thing I work best under pressure," she said. "Now what type of party are you thinking? I did a really great masquerade
a few weeks ago, but I don't know if we could import the masks on such short notice. And everyone's pretty much over toga.
Did you have a theme in mind?"

"Um," I said. This was not something I'd considered. And I had no idea that everyone was over toga. I didn't want to use the
words Hump Day in this conversation for fear that Feb would misinterpret, and that'd only waste time. "I was just thinking
. . . something fun? I don't know; what do you think?"

"Look, Davide's getting anxious to test out his new wet suit. I'm going to give you some phone numbers. You can get hors d'oeuvres
and servers delivered in under three hours. The Zumbergs have their own DJ here this week, but you'll have to see if he's
booked for one of their other parties tonight. And I know a man who does amazing things with lights on strings. What else?
Let me think . . ."

"This is already really helpful, Feb. Thanks," I said. I jotted down the numbers as she read them over the phone.

"Make some headway, and call me in a few hours." She paused. "I could be free tonight from midnight to one o'clock if you
want me to make a cameo with friends and up your cool factor."

Feb was the only person I knew who could say that in all seriousness without sounding conceited. It was just, well, true.
She practically oozed cool.

"Definitely," I said. "And bring Davide, so I can meet him."

"We'll see," she laughed. "You know how it is. Call me if you need any more help."

The afternoon flew by in a flurry of planning phone calls. I even arranged for a quick tasting to be delivered to the bungalow.

"Miss Flan?" a handsome, white-suited bungalow employee said when I opened the door.

"That's me," I said, eyeing the large white box he held.

"I hear you wanted to sample our selection of tropical tortes. I'm Guy, and I will be your guide." He pronounced his name
Ghee
and, when he took the lid off of the box, I gasped at all the brightly colored desserts inside.

"Begin with hibiscus," he said, pointing at the first in a line of desserts. They were so beautiful that they were (almost)
too pretty to eat.

"Mmm," I said, swallowing my first bite.
"So
good."

The more desserts I tried, the more confused I got about which would go best with the jerk chicken kabobs we were having for
dinner.

"You are having fun?" he asked me when my mouth was full of chocolate mousse.

"Oh yes," I said, swallowing. "This is great!"

"No, I mean, whole vacation? You are having fun?"

"Oh . . ." That took a little more thought to answer. "Yeah," I said finally, because, at the moment, things seemed to be
looking up. "I'm having a really good time."

"Good," he said. "That's what I like to hear. Why don't I just tell the main kitchen to send all the desserts on a tray?"

I grinned and thanked him. "That's the best idea you could have had."

Next, I picked out a really cool lineup of music and dictated the wording for the invitations. I was having them sent out
to the doorsteps of a select group of fifteen kids via a message in a bottle. Kennedy Pearson did
not
make the list.

Meredith came back to our place around five o'clock, and when I heard her walking down our hallway, I found myself shutting
the door to my bedroom. It was a motion that surprised me, because I was curious to see how her head o'braids had turned out.

But in that instant, I suddenly realized something important.

I knew I didn't want Kennedy at my party . . . but I kind of didn't want Meredith there either.

I couldn't believe I was making such a bold decision. I wasn't one to blatantly exclude my friends— even if I was pissed off
at them. But this week had been such a nightmare, and I finally felt like I was gaining some control over my vacation destiny.
I needed this party to
go
well. And I wasn't about to let either one of them ruin it.

I stayed in my room and lowered my voice as I made some last-minute phone calls. Meredith probably thought I was in there
pouting, but really, I was trying on dress after dress (I sent a mental kiss to SBB for making me pack six dress options)
to see which one matched the Manolo flats that Feb had sent over this afternoon. And at seven-thirty, / was the one sneaking
out the window to avoid being seen by Meredith.

Half an hour later, the party was in full swing. Feb's connections totally delivered, and everyone was dancing to Jake Riverdale's
new album under a colorful palm tree landscape strung with tiny shimmering white lights. Even though the music was awesome,
I kept laughing when I remembered how annoyed SBB had been with JR when she'd visited. I could imagine her doing something
crazy like throwing a coconut at my iPod to sabotage the music selection if she had been there right then.

But the music seemed to agree with everyone else, and within an hour, there was a huge pile of flip-flops in the corner. I
took it as a good sign that everyone had to kick off their shoes so they could really get down on the sandy dance floor.

I stood back for a moment to survey the scene— and to nibble on some wasabi hummus-stuffed cucumbers and a lamb chop lollipop.
I'd been right about the cliff—it was the perfect setting for a party.

"Oh my God, Flan, I love the star shaped fruit," Rena said, coming up and giving me a hug. She'd gotten a whole new slew of
freckles since the first night I'd met her, and she looked really cute in her vintage Hawaiian print dress. "How did you cut
them like this?"

"Babe, I really doubt Flan was spending all day with a paring knife and a pineapple." Paul laughed. He had his arm around
Rena. Rumor had it that they'd hit it off late last night. For a second, I felt a little bummed about it—I guessed that Judith
had missed her chance.

"Oh, right," Danny said, joining the convo. Of course, he was wearing another muscle shirt. "I'm sure Flan had a whole tribe
of people working for her on this party."

I laughed when I thought of Guy's drive-by dessert delivery. "Just one very hard worker," I said. "Has anyone tried the smoothies?"

"Love the smoothies," I heard a voice behind me say. It was Mattie Hendricks, wearing jean shorts and a simple white T-shirt
from the Gap. I was glad to see she'd made it out. "Thanks so much for inviting me, Han. Your party is the best."

"Oh, I just threw it together," I said, feeling slightly guilty about how much I was enjoying being the center of attention.

One thing I wasn't feeling guilty about was Meredith. If it hadn't been for TZ, I might not have thought about her at all.
It was the first time all week that I had felt worry free, and I was loving it.

"Where do you think they are?"TZ asked me after we had devoured some scallop seviche.

"Who?" I asked innocently, feeling the weight of their names in the pit of my stomach.

For a second, he looked at me like the answer was totally obvious. "Meredith," he said. "And Kennedy. Your friends? I thought
you guys would have all come together."

"Yeah," Danny said. "Where are those two?"

I didn't know why I hadn't thought to prepare an answer to that question. Obviously everyone was going to want to know where
they were. Kennedy had basically been the social director for the group since we arrived. No one would think the party was
complete without them. Unless I could convince them to . . . .

"I don't know. I thought they'd be here, too," I found myself saying. "Maybe they're too cool to hang out with us. I'm not
sure this party is exclusive enough for them."

I was waiting for someone to agree with me, for anyone to speak up and say that Kennedy was a tyrant and Meredith was a follower.
But instead of jumping in and expressing how lame the two of them were for not showing up at this raging party, the crowd
seemed to dissipate. I hadn't given them the answer they were looking for. And now everyone was looking toward the path that
lead to the cliff.

Two figures were approaching the party. In the dusk, all I could make out were the silhouettes of two heads of braided hair.

I almost dropped my virgin daiquiri with its cute little pink umbrella.

Kennedy and Meredith were totally crashing my party.

TZ, Rob, and Danny all left my side and began jogging down the path toward the enemy.

"Meredith," TZ called out. "You made it."

It was pretty obvious at that point that she was the object of Terrick's affection. He was fingering her braids, and she was
beaming up at him shyly. There was a time when I would have been ecstatic that Meredith was playing it cool with a really
great guy, but now I just felt like crying.

"Hey, everybody," Kennedy called, confident as ever. "Guess what I scored for us?"

Suddenly the whole party was buzzing with the news that a forty-foot yacht with a sweet sound system was going to be picking
us up in fifteen minutes for fireworks down by the cay.

The girls grabbed their bags and put their shoes back on. The guys polished off their drinks. I had never seen a party empty
out so fast. Even the servers looked stunned. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't just going to stick around and let my party
end with me standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.

So I followed them. Only minutes before, I'd been calling Meredith a follower in my head, and now I was running after her,
trying to keep up.

"Meredith," I called. "Wait up!" And then I felt so awful and awkward that I'd said that, and I knew for sure I was turning
purple. But it didn't matter, because she didn't even turn around.

When we got to the water, Kennedy ushered everyone onboard. She stood at the entrance with Meredith, like a couple of bouncers,
and I waited in the line, knowing exactly what was coming my way.

When I got to the front, Kennedy turned to me sweetly and said, "Hey, Flan, heard it was a
great
party. What are you up to now?"

I couldn't think of a single thing to say. I looked at Meredith, but she was looking down. Did they want me to ask permission
to get on the yacht?

"I wish we could invite you to come with us now," Kennedy finally said with a smug grin. "But we're at capacity. Sorry!" She
gave me a little shove, and I stumbled back onto the dock. With that parting signal, my party began to sail away.

My feet felt stuck to the dock. I stood there, feeling like a loser and a liar and a hypocrite, as I watched everyone else
continue to have an awesome time on the boat.

And the worst part was, I knew I deserved it.