The Real Real (29 page)
We continue our sips as we meander a little closer toward the white columns.
“So what’s the plan?” I wipe my chin. “Are we slow-dancing?”
She takes another mouthful and points the bottle to the windows, where purple light slants out to the terrace, the sound of laughter and music growing louder. Suddenly Nico stops at the periphery of the pool’s flagstone deck and fills her chest with breath. “I’m not going in,” she says with certainty. “I’m done.”
“We faced down a multimedia corporation; we can face these losers. They barely remember us—when’s the last time you got a call?”
“Monday. You?”
“Two days ago. So we’re making progress. I hear one of the Olsen twins might get a place out here for the season. Maybe she’ll bring a Jonas brother. Then everyone can give them shit and we can go to the beach. Nico, we can just walk in there and dance. We can.”
“I know we can. I just”—she smiles serenely, flopping down on a wicker deck chair—“realized I don’t care.”
I turn and look back, across the length of the glistening pool and the covered veranda, through the big picture window at the crowd of silks and satins, the jewel-tone hues moving under the circles of electric color. It’s dizzying. And beautiful. I step up on an adjacent wicker chair.
“Okay, I just want to say hey to Caitlyn, take a quick picture for my folks, and then I guess I don’t really care, either—” My voice catches as I see Drew in a tux milling around with his teammates as they talk to one another and their dates but not to him.
“He looks miserable,” Nico confirms, standing up beside me. He does. His shoulders slumped, he fidgets with his cell.
“He went stag?” I ask. “Caitlyn heard he asked some sophomore. What happened to the sophomore?”
“Food poisoning,” we hear from behind us.
We both pivot to Caitlyn.
“Oh my gosh, you look
so
beautiful!” I hug her.
“Thanks! You two are pretty decked out for reconnaissance.”
“Well,” I demure, “not having dates—”
“Or friends,” Nico adds. “Present company excluded.”
“We didn’t get our hair done or anything,” I explain.
“But we did doll up.”
“Is this XTV standard issue?” Caitlyn asks, fingering the shimmering fabric of my dress.
“No, it’s mine, actually.” Nico lifts the bottle out to her. “Champagne?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“So how’s it going in there?” I ask as she passes back the bottle.
“Oh, it’s like gym class with a sound track. But, looks like Melanie’s going to snag Prom Queen. Everyone I’ve talked to voted for her.”
“That’s awesome.” Nico nods. “Good for her. I’ll send flowers tomorrow and her mom can flush ’em, but this should be celebrated.”
“Mrs. Dubviek won’t flush ’em.” I shake my head at her.
“Maybe grind them up for a body treatment . . . And how’s the hot date?” I push Caitlyn lightly with my elbow.
“Not so hot without the three Coors. I think I’m saving myself for the men of NYU.”
“Here, here!” Nico lifts a fake glass, as do I, and the three of us fake cheers. “Ch—” We all freeze, noses up, ears cocked as we wait to confirm that the bu—bu—bump 303
is the right bu—bu—bump.
“
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah—Nah nah nah
nah nah nah
—” we squeal at the opening lines of a defiant Pink, and, scrambling, take one another’s hands as the three of us start dancing right there at the golf course’s edge. “I’ve got my rock moves!” we scream, tears of joy in the corners of our eyes.
As the song winds down, we catch our breath and Nico picks up the bottle.
“Caitlyn, you can go back in,” I say. “We’re cool, really.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. The night is young—there may still be Coors and hotness in your future. And one of us should get to have this.”
She nods and starts to walk away, but stops and pivots to me. “Jess, Drew is not having the fun. Come in. Rescue him.”
“I don’t think that’d be appreciated.”
“Jess, it’s prom night—”
“
Un
prom night,” Nico chimes from her chair.
Caitlyn walks back and takes my hand. “It’s still your senior prom. Don’t let them take that away from you, too.”
I stare through the window at him. Wondering for the millionth time if I’d just taken a different turn I could’ve been pointing to him in that tux and me in this dress captured in a yellowed photo on my own mantle, explaining our haircuts to our kids as they roll their eyes. A couple 304
dances in front of him, blocking my view.
“Hey, loser,” I hear Nico suddenly say from behind us.
“It’s Nico.”
We both spin to Nico, who’s backing away from us as she continues talking on her cell. “Because prom can suck my ass. Well, hi to you, too.” She falls back on a chaise and sticks her legs up in the air, fabric and feathers sliding down to her butt. “Listen, I’ve got some friends here from the city, and we’re having our own party, just decided.
We’re at the new school pool. Come hang out. . . . Don’t even try to front that you’re having a good time.
Please.
”
She gives a self-satisfied grin. “Thanks, Drew. You’re a love. See you in ten.”
“What are you doing?” I cry as she clicks off her phone.
“What is she doing?” I turn to Caitlyn.
“You a favor,” Nico says, throwing me her keys.
I press my hands against the tiers of gold fabric fishtailing onto the metal risers and listen to the string symphony of crickets outside the recently completed pool. I can’t believe the school actually got it out of them. Then again, the school probably had a lawyer or two review that contract.
I look up at the waving lines of light that undulate and ripple across the plaster ceiling. What am I doing here?
Maybe he won’t even show. Or he will.
Which is worse?
I turn to the sound of footsteps echoing across the tile.
“Nico?” Drew’s voice bounces off the hard surfaces 305
encasing the shimmering water.
Swallowing, I stand. Blazer off, tie loosened, he looks up, his expression hardening as he spots me. “In my defense, this wasn’t my idea.” I walk down to where he’s stalled near the starting blocks.
“Okay. Can I go?” He shoves his hands into his pockets.
“Drew.”
“What, Jesse?”
“I’m sorry.”
He nods, the moonlight glinting off the pool making waves across his pursed lips.
“So that’s that?” I ask.
“What do you want me to say?”
I step closer to him. “I want you to say you forgive me.”
“Jesse,” he sighs, slipping his hands through his hair and looking away.
“Drew! I haven’t got this all figured out. I made mistakes like everyone. I just get to watch mine on reruns.”
“You lied to me!” He shakes his head. “To my face.”
“I didn’t know what else to do! The minute you thought I hooked up with him—”
“
Did
hook up with him.”
“Yes, you were just so . . . so
disgusted
with me. Like I was ruined or something.”
“He’s such a dick, Jesse. I don’t know how you could have—”
“So let me ask you, is it just Jase, or would you feel this 306
way about anyone I was with?”
He stares at me long and hard, his voice barely audible over the whir of the filter. “Anyone.”
Right answer. I step forward. “Then why didn’t you
do
something?”
“I tried. But there was always some Fletch-planned thing interrupting us.”
“Well.” I look up at him. “There isn’t now.”
He crosses his arms. “There’s too much . . . too much has happened.”
I bite my lip and stare at him, incapable of accepting that, unwilling to let this be it. “Okay. Well, then, let’s start over.”
“What?”
I walk to the edge of the pool, my heart pounding under my rib cage.
“What are you doing?”
“Clean start. Right here in these XTV-underwritten waters. I’m jumping in and washing off the last five months. When I come out, I expect you to smile at me in a snowbank and ask me for a muffin and tell me we’re in this together.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe. But if you don’t have the balls to take the plunge this time, then it’s officially your problem.” I turn away from him, one more glance to the moon hanging low in the window, one huge breath in—and dive. As I sink into the bracing water, the sound of my splash recedes, my 307
soaking dress weighing me down in the dark silence.
Alone.
I stay under until my chest feels like it’s going to burst and then kick to the surface, gasping for air. I wipe the water out of my stinging eyes to see him standing on the pavement where I left him, his hands on his hips. He glares down at me.
I twist, pushing against the weight of the dress and the cold of the water to reach the other side of the pool, desperate to get away from this. I grab the tile and whip around. He’s still there—staring.
“Is this entertaining you?” I yell through the torrent of drips running down my face. “Too bad the show’s over.
Show’s over, and the episode summary is posted—I like you and you used to like me and it got royally screwed up.
I get it.” I try to lift myself up but just can’t, the unheated water, heavy gown, and heartache have conspired to zap my strength. “So just . . . fucking . . .
go
and let me drag myself out of this pool without an audience.” But he doesn’t move. “Please?” I am crying now.
And all at once he dives in.
Oh God—could he—is it—I kick my legs against the clinging fabric, searching for where he’ll surface.
Drew’s arms circle around my waist as he lifts up in front of me, his lips finding mine. We kiss, slow and deep.
“So,” he says, releasing me so we’re nose to nose as he swims me to the wall, pressing me back against the tile.
“So.” I smile from my toes, suddenly warm.
“No more surprises? No lost episode where you and Jase secretly marry in Vegas and then do the entire Playboy Mansion together?” He puts his forehead to mine.
“Airing only in Jase’s mind. I swear.”
“And now the Three Musketeers at NYU, huh?
The
Real Washington Square Park
?” he murmurs as his warm lips move down to my neck.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur back. “All the glamorous homeless people and drug dealers XTV could want.” I raise his head, my hands cupping his gorgeous face. “You sure you want to be with a girl who has so many blogs devoted to her?”
“I’ve got blogs,” he balks, pulling back from me to tread water. “I’ve got a nine-year-old in Missoula who thinks I should run for president.”
“So, I have competition, is what you’re telling me.” I kick forward and circle languorously around him.
“Think you can handle it?” He grabs me by the waist.
“I don’t know. I’m a very jealous person,” I say, letting him float us to the wall, the pool at my back.
“You should work on that. I don’t believe in jealousy.” He releases me to extend his arms over the edge and tilts his chin up to the ceiling.
“I see. And what do you believe in?”
“This.” And at that, finally, we sink into each other.
Best.
Prom.
Ever.
With tremendous gratitude to: Our phenomenal editor, Farrin Jacobs—should she ever be casting a reality show, we’re first in line. Suzanne Gluck and the rest of our spectacularly hardworking team at William Morris, Erin Malone, Alicia Gordon, Sara Bottfeld, Ava Greenfield, and Lauren Heller Whitney. Our rock-star lawyers, Ken Weinrib and Eric Brown. Sarah Mlynowski, for being a great cheerleader and even better friend. Evi Kraus for proofreading at the zero hour. And last, but not least, our husbands, Joel and David, for the real.
EMMA McLAUGHLIN & NICOLA KRAUS are the authors of the New York Times bestsellers THE NANNY DIARIES, CITIZEN GIRL, and DEDICATION. They live and work in New York City. Please visit their website at www.emmaandnicola.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
EMMA McLAUGHLIN & NICOLA KRAUS
THE NANNY DIARIES
CITIZEN GIRL
Jacket photo © 2009 by Howard Huang
Jacket design by Jennifer Heuer
THE REAL REAL. Copyright © 2009 by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader April 2009
ISBN 978-0-06-191141-5
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
