The Sweetest Thing (9 page)

“But Sara-Beth, doesn't living in the pod make your whole town house wasted space?” I frowned at the pod, which looked like it might crash-land at any second.

“What? I can't hear you!” she screamed over the grinding of the crane's machinery.

“Sara-Beth, you love your town house! If you live in the pod, you won't be using any of it.”

Sara-Beth didn't answer. The pod was dipping low, right above her bedroom skylight. “No, no, not here! I want it over there!”The pod continued to descend—four little feet, like the claws on the bottom of an old-fashioned bathtub, grazed the top of her house, settling in for a landing, but SBB looked like she was about to cry. “Not here, I said!” Suddenly, she let out an anguished shriek and began beating the sides of the pod with her tiny, angry fists. Even from next door, I could see little craters starting to appear in the delicate white metal.

“Oh, Flan!” SBB wailed into the phone. “Now I'm having second thoughts, because if I live in the pod, the paparazzi will know exactly where to find me! Maybe if the pod were at the center of a maze …”

“Or you could live in your house,” I suggested, trying not to roll my eyes. Being Sara-Beth's best friend required a lot of patience sometimes. “It's got plenty of places you can hide. Like the walk-in closets, and the guest room …”

“Hmm, that's a good point.” The pod was bobbing in the air again, but Sara-Beth just waved it away.
“Flan, you're so good at pointing out angles no one's thought of. Have
you
ever considered interior design?”

“Umm …” I had enough problems without adding redecorating SBB's town house to the list. “Some things are better left to the professionals, I think.”

“True, true.” Sara-Beth ran to her roof's edge and yelled at the crane operator, “Take it back! I don't want it anymore!”

The pod sank back down to the street with a groan, and I could see the operator shouting angrily into his walkie-talkie. Oblivious to the chaos she'd caused, Sara-Beth sat down cross-legged on the roof in obvious relief.

“What a wonderful night for stargazing! I can see all three stars.” She sighed dreamily. “So tell me what's been going on with you, sweetie?”

“Way too much.” I looked at my jack-o'-lantern, with its crazy triangular eyes, and tucked my legs under me on the chair. Suddenly I felt totally exhausted. “I just wish things would go back to normal—or normal by Flood family standards, at least.”

“Don't I know it. What I wouldn't give to live on a soundstage again!” SBB reached one arm upward, almost as though she were trying to pet one of the stars or maybe some imaginary sound boom.

I furrowed my brow. “But Sara-Beth, I thought you hated
Mike's Princesses
. You said it traumatized you for life.”

“I wasn't talking about that. Anyway, tell me what's wrong, Flan. You know you can always rant to me.”

I sighed. “Feb's just being really weird. She's trying to control everything I do!”

“Well, you know how I feel about those psychos in my family. Get a good lawyer as fast as you can!” Sara-Beth paused thoughtfully. “I know you can divorce your parents, but divorcing your sister might be a little trickier. Not impossible—but challenging.”

“I don't want to divorce her. I just want her to be reasonable. I love her, but she's the flakiest person I know, and she's definitely in no position to give me advice.” I leaned forward and rested my chin on my free palm. “I'm the one who goes to school every day, does my homework, and goes to bed before five A.M. It's so hypocritical. And even Patch is on the ‘ground Flan' bandwagon now.”

“Well …” Sara-Beth's voice took on the mysterious tone she always uses when quoting great philosophers or reading from the back of a Celestial Seasonings green tea box. “If there's one thing that awful Nada taught me, it's that there's a cosmic logic to the universe.”

I watched the crane drive away, still holding the swinging bio-pod, and I couldn't help but wonder if the whole world was going crazy.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Like, you just saved me from living in a tiny pod!” Sara-Beth yelled, and then she started laughing, and I knew it was going to take forever to cool her down.

There was no way I was going actually going to follow any of Feb's ridiculous rules, so after school on Thursday, Meredith, Judith, and I took a cab to the Meatpacking District to meet my other friends Liesel, Philippa, and Sara-Beth Benny for tapas and drinks at the Gansevoort Hotel. The hotel is one of the most glamorous in New York. It's on this picturesque cobblestone street and is fourteen stories tall. There are windows everywhere, and it kind of looks like a silver palace. Plus it has a rooftop deck and pool, where you can look out over the entire city and see the low buildings of the Village and Chelsea, the high-rises of Midtown, and even the Empire State Building.

When we stepped into Ono, the Gansevoort's Japanese restaurant, the other girls were already there, sitting on a couple of minimalist gray silk couches in a corner. The low table in front of them was covered
with little colorful plates and drinks the color of pink lip gloss.

“Flan!” Sara-Beth Benny leapt up. She was wearing a crocheted top with long fringe all over. She flung her arms around me, and a bunch of royal-purple strands hit me in the face. She usually wears a wig when she goes out, but apparently that afternoon at the Gansevoort, she felt comfortable enough to sit out in the open, more or less. Her hair was tied back in a purple scarf that matched her top, and her oversize Krizia sunglasses only covered half her face.

“I was so worried you wouldn't come!” she cried, finally letting go of me. I kissed Liesel and Philippa on both cheeks and took a seat next to SBB.

“Why wouldn't I?” I asked, setting down my Isabella Fiore schoolbag. “I just talked to you on the phone an hour ago.”

“I know, but these last few days everyone's been letting me down! I just had to audition for a new TV pilot. Can you believe that? I've haven't had to audition for anything in
ages
! It was so awful. And I was just telling everybody about this nightmare I had about living in a pod—and you were in the dream, Flan!”

I kept quiet right then, rather than freak out SBB even more by telling her that her dream was real.

“Well, it sounds pretty exciting to me,” Judith said as she and Meredith took a seat next to Liesel on a brown silk couch. “Definitely better than bio homework.”

When I'd first met Judith and Meredith, they were obsessed with celeb gossip and tabloids, and I'd figured I needed to keep them separate from SBB, Philippa, and Liesel. Don't get me wrong: Meredith and Judith are both very cool, but when I first started at Stuy, they were a lot shyer, and I worried a lot they'd feel out of place with the Page Six crowd I'd grown up around. Now, though, they seemed perfectly at home at the Gansevoort on a Thursday afternoon. And I secretly hoped hanging out with non-Stuy people would create a sort of Adam-free zone.

“Excited about auditioning? At this point in my career? Ha!” A waitress appeared to take our orders. “I'll have another Death in the Afternoon.” Sara-Beth sighed. Meredith, Judith, and I asked for virgin passion-fruit daiquiris.

“Don't sweat it, SBB. It's probably just a formality. You'll totally get the part.” Philippa took a sip of her Bellini as Liesel nodded in agreement.

Liesel, Philippa, and SBB are all older than us—seniors in high school—and I met them through my
brother, Patch. He and his friends (whom everybody calls the Insiders) know just about everybody who's anybody in Manhattan private schools, and Liesel and Philippa are two of the coolest girls in their clique. Liesel already works in PR, promoting trendy new bars and restaurants, which means she can always get us into the hottest clubs in town. She's a really cool person, and earlier in the semester she helped me plan a great party at my house, which I still owed her for big time. That night, her golden hair was poufed up at the forehead, and she was wearing a Nanette Lepore dress with a gold Chanel chain necklace and matching metallic handbag.

“What's been going on with you, Liesel? Any new parties coming up?” I asked.

“Nothing as exhausting as Sara-Beth's troubles, thank goodness.” Liesel, who had been touching up her lipstick, snapped her MAC compact shut with a click and dropped it back into her bag. “But I'm so excited for Halloween. I'm organizing a benefit gala at MoMA, and it's going to be just sublime. Right now, we're still sorting out the entertainment. I wanted to hire Leland Brinker and his new band, but he refuses to play ‘Monster Mash.' No matter what I say he just can't see the irony in it.”

“That sucks.” I used to have the biggest crush on
Leland, and he and Sara-Beth Benny had actually had some sort of romance, way back when he was still performing songs as Aladdin at Disneyland. I was kind of afraid that hearing his name might upset her, but she was too busy gulping down her cocktail to notice.

“MoMA's an amazing place for a party,” Meredith said to Liesel. “I was there a few weeks ago with my art class, and an ambient improv group was playing in the big open area on the first floor. I practically started dancing around there myself.”

“Well, I'm definitely ready for a good party,” Philippa said as she adjusted her slouch cowboy boots. Philippa is just awesome—smart and laid-back, with a really great ironic sense of humor. She looks a little like Jennifer Connelly, only younger and taller, and that afternoon she was wearing Citizens jeans, a long black sweater, and four different necklaces. “I've been holed up in my room filling out college applications.” She rolled her eyes. “I don't know how they expect us to have all these ‘memorable experiences' if we're supposed to be stuck inside all day writing essays. Speaking of which, the three of us are going to a party for one of the Pussycat Dolls at Marquis later tonight. You guys want to come along?”

“Sorry.” I pointed at my bulging schoolbag. “I
know it's almost the weekend, but I have way too much homework.” I didn't bother to bring up my new “curfew.”

“I hear ya. I'm really just procrastinating.” Philippa tucked a strand of light brown hair behind her ear. The last time I'd seen her it had been dyed some weird burgundy color. I was glad she'd let it go natural again.

“How's Mickey?” I asked. Her boyfriend, Mickey Pardo, is one of my brother's best friends, but I hadn't seen him around for a while. In general, he's hard to miss, since he's always doing crazy stuff.

“Oh, he's all right,” she said, sipping her Bellini. She speared a ginger shrimp with one of her chopsticks. “Relatively uninjured. Did you hear about his latest incident?”

I helped myself to a piece of sashimi. “No!”

She swallowed. I could tell she was trying not to smile. “He crashed his Vespa … into the back of an ice cream truck.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, well, he wanted a Fudgesicle, and he saw the ice cream truck way up ahead, so he started speeding toward it. Then the truck hit a red light—and Mickey hit the truck.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I just don't know what to do with the guy. Fortunately, he
and the bike survived. With a few scratches. Enough about my love life.” She turned to Judith. “How's yours? Meet anyone special lately?”

Judith blushed. “No, not really.”

“Oh, c'mon. I bet you have.”

Meredith looked over at her quickly, and then she started blushing too.

“There's a football game we're all not going to this weekend,” Meredith said.

“Why?” Liesel asked. “The hottest guys are always on the football team. You should totally go!”

“I don't know …” I, Judith said. But she and Meredith were both staring at me like that decision was completely up to me.

That Friday was so unseasonably warm and gorgeous that during our free period, Meredith, Judith, and I—along with practically everyone else at Stuyvesant—decided to go up on the roof to sit in the sun. I love the roof. With its wrought-iron chairs and matching glass-top tables, it's pretty much the perfect place to hang out with friends, eat hummus sandwiches, and, of course, people-watch. There's a nice tall ledge, so you never feel like you're going to fall off, and it's far enough away from the street that it's not too noisy. Plus, you can practically see all of Lower Manhattan from up there.

On the way up the stairs from the seventh floor, the three of us passed a crowd of cheerleaders coming down, all wearing red-and-blue uniforms and shrieking with laughter. Right behind them was a kid wearing a football jersey made out of red and blue duct
tape. As soon as we stepped out onto the roof, I saw that a couple of guys had set up a card table. They had stethoscopes and lab notebooks, and they were poking and prodding at a football player sitting in a folding chair in front of them. Beside them on the table was a science fair backboard. DOES FOOTBALL INCREASE HEART RATE? it asked in giant letters.

“This is totally out of control,” I said. “The whole school has football fever.”

“Well, the first game
is
tomorrow,” Judith pointed out. We walked over to an empty patch of roof, and she spread out the picnic blanket she'd brought up from her locker. “It's a pretty big deal.”

“Maybe we should check it out. You know, just in the name of school spirit,” Meredith said. “I mean, besides our old softball team, I've never really gone to any big games. I think it'd be fun.”

“
I've
always liked football,” said Judith. “If I don't get into Harvard, I'm definitely going to a Big Ten school.”

“I'll go to the game with you guys,” I told them. “But no more fighting over you-know-who.”