Just Flirt (26 page)

“Camera!” Mom exclaimed as I crawled out of bed. “Don’t let me forget the camera tonight. I need plenty of photos of our first family event. Can I borrow yours? Mine is so big and clumsy. Just think, a wine tasting party! Doesn’t that sound classy?”

Mom rattled off more things from her shopping list, like extra panty hose in case hers got a run and wine from the liquor store, while she shoved dirty clothes in my hamper and shooed dust off my bureau with her palm. I was about to tell her that no one wears panty hose in the summer when she slowly picked up the framed photos of Dad and Blaine. “Sweetheart … I’m sorry your father canceled on you again this weekend. And I’m truly sorry about you and Blaine breaking up. I feel like that’s all my fault, but, Sabrina, I couldn’t help but fall in love with Larson, so
please
be happy for me.”

But nagging doubts make that impossible.

Especially when it took us nearly four hours to find a summer dress that wasn’t too young and wasn’t too old—something that’s harder to do than I thought.

And especially when we had to spend the rest of the day running errands for Larson, picking up napkins, getting his dry cleaning,
and
calling people like Rex who forgot to RSVP for the party. And Larson even dissed the wine she gave him as a gift. “Aw, you’re too sweet—you bought this cheap wine as a joke, right, darling?”

It wasn’t a joke. She loves that wine, regardless of the price, but instead of standing up for herself, Mom tittered out a self-conscious “Yeah, ha, ha, ha!”

Like father like son, I think, while Blaine demonstrates the putt that won his game.

No.
Like mother like daughter.

She’s putting up with Larson’s tricks just like I put up with Blaine’s because I was so afraid he’d break up with me if I didn’t. She’s hanging out with people she really doesn’t like, just like I do, because I’m terrified to lose the security of popularity. And I put up with all of my father’s canceled plans and excuses because I don’t want him to leave me.

Just like he left Mom.

But the funny thing is, it feels good to stand on my own without Blaine. It feels good to not be afraid or weak anymore. What did Superflirt—whoever she is—say?
Weak—bad. Strong—good.
And aren’t I the one who always said that weakness will get you nowhere?

It’s time for me to follow my own policy.

And I know just where to start.

I leave the patio without bothering to excuse myself and walk into the basement that is crowded with men playing pool, smoking cigars, and chiding each other in that manly
just kidding, dude
way. Upstairs, the rest of the house is also crowded, so I duck into Larson’s office that could pass as a
GQ
photo set, with his executive-style chair, mahogany desk, and leather sofa with flanking dracaena plants.

The leather feels icy against my thighs as I pull out my cell. Dad answers on the fourth ring, echoes of high spirits, shrieks, and music coming from the background. “Sabrina, is that you, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, but the better question is, can you hear me?”

Because he’s going to hear a lot.

“Sorry, hon, we’re at Hersheypark in line again for the Storm Runner roller coaster,” he says. “It’s awesome! Zero to seventy-two in two seconds flat.”

Huh, Hersheypark, so that’s why he bailed on me—again—because he wanted to take his happy new family out for a happy Hershey day without me around. And now that I think about it, the weekend of Angela’s birthday party, was that why he didn’t protest when Mom made me stay home, to keep things less awkward? Sure, maybe Belinda and Angela didn’t want me there, but can I blame them? It’s not as though I was the sweetest person, so of course they wouldn’t want me around. Why didn’t my own father?

It’s time to find out.

“Hey, Dad, why didn’t you invite me along? This
was
our weekend, remember?”

The clicking sound of an approaching coaster and the whoosh of brakes tell me they must be near the front of the line. Dad waits for a safety announcement to end and says, “I didn’t think your mother would allow it, Sabrina. You know how Mona gets sometimes.”

Tears gather in my eyes. I look up to Larson’s ceiling, trying to blink them away before my mascara is ruined. Maybe he’s right, maybe Mom would never let me go because of the shopping and Larson’s party. But maybe she wouldn’t let me go simply because she
wants
me in her life. She needs me.

She’ll even fight for me.

That’s what I want, for Dad to fight for me, to do whatever it takes to make me a part of his life. My lips quiver and my throat feels as though it’s wrapped with cable as I say, “Yeah, I know how Mom is, Dad. But guess what? She’s here. She’s
here
, with all her flaws and faults, she’s here, she never left me, not like you did.”

From his end of the line, I can hear Belinda announce that it’s their turn next. “Oh, okay,” he tells her before saying to me, “Sabrina, look, I’m sorry things never worked out between your mom and—”

“No, this has nothing to do with the divorce. If you’re happy with Belinda, then I’m happy for you and I’ll try to get along better with her, but what did you tell me the night you left? You said things between us would never change, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“You broke that promise, Dad. You never fought for me. Instead, I always have to fight for you. So go ahead, have fun on the roller coaster, but you need to realize that before you know it, the ride will be over and it will be too late for us to have any kind of relationship because I’ll no longer be waiting in line for you.”

“Sabrina, I—”

“Goodbye, Dad.”

*   *   *

By the time I get back down to the patio, my headache has tripled and the boring conversation has turned from golf to clothes. “So, Sabrina, you didn’t tell me where you bought that
fabulous
dress,” Bridget says, biting into a chunk of Brie cheese that she’ll probably chunk up later in order to keep her emaciated figure. “Did you, like, get it at Lord & Taylor? Torr and I went shopping there yesterday. We got the cutest outfits. Mine is just like the one Miley Cyrus wore in her latest video.”

I hate that video. And slimy Brie cheese. And how would they react if they knew where I got my dress? Probably the same way Larson reacted to Mom’s cheap wine.

Huh. Let’s find out.

“Thanks, Bridget, you really like my outfit?” I ask her, smoothing down the bodice and making the skirt twirl by twisting back and forth like an agitating washing machine. “I got it for ten dollars.”

“Seriously?” she asks.

“Seriously,”
I repeat in a shrill, girlie voice. “From
eBay.
”

Torrance drops her mouth and Bridget almost chokes on the Brie. “You actually shopped on eBay? Was it, like,
used
? That’s so gross.”

I cock my head to the side, as though deep in thought. “Hmm, no, not this one, but that skirt you borrowed from me, Torrance? That was totally used. Oh, and my Kate Spade bag? The one you
love so much
? It’s, like, a total knockoff.”

Chunk on that, ladies.

22
Dee

Saturday’s events don’t really sink in until I wake up Sunday morning. Fighting with Jake, which bothers me more than I care to admit. Hanging out with Roxanne, who is, well,
nice.
And Danny—Jake was right, he’s actually pretty cool, once he’s away from Blaine and his conceited bunch.
But Rex Reynolds with my mom?
No, that part is NOT cool. I mean, he’s the guy who destroyed all our beautiful land. He’s the one making a killing from the swanky houses he built, and he’s the one who will benefit from the lawsuit after he gets his hands on those four acres. A nagging thought keeps haunting me, though.

If my mother likes him, how bad can he be?

And she did say that he offered her more than a fair price, as well as a large deposit she could use to pay off Mona. Was he being helpful … or crafty? No, this is a subject I can’t deal with right now. That’s tomorrow’s worry, but today?

Today is for spying.

“So, how exactly are we going to get to Larson’s?” Natalie asks me as she peers into the bag of snacks we bought from the store.

“Shh, not so loud!”

I motion to where Madeline is writing an announcement on the message board with pinpoint precision. When she starts to watch us suspiciously, Natalie leans back into the porch swing and calls to her, “Well, I hear that congratulations are in order, Mrs. Barton, after your mighty victory in yesterday’s golf tournament.”

Madeline reads her announcement with what she must think is a humble smile. “Oh, it was nothing.”

Natalie gives her a double thumbs-up. “Well, ya did all right, Dee’s grandmother. And good news—the little girl you beat finally stopped crying at midnight.”

Madeline’s pride over her big win trumps any suspicions of us, but I still have no clue how we are supposed to get to Larson’s. Roxanne is taking care of that part and after a few more minutes, we hear gravel crunching beneath tires. A familiar red truck appears. The driver brakes, pulling his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose before saying, “I hear you ladies need a ride.”

Jake.

Jake
and
Danny, who opens the passenger door and moves to the backseat. Roxanne appears out of nowhere, carrying a stuffed backpack. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks, taking Natalie by the sleeve and pulling her to the back with Danny, leaving the front seat open.
What?
I thought Jake was still mad at me. Did Roxanne talk to him? And why, exactly, does she find it necessary for me to sit beside him?

Honestly. If we didn’t just start getting along, I’d totally kill her.

*   *   *

I’ve often wondered what a stakeout would be like. They seem so fascinating on TV, what with the binoculars, coffee, and junk food—can’t have a proper stakeout without junk food. But what happens if you have to pee? Poor Natalie is finding out the hard way. She fidgets and squirms in the backseat. “Why did we have to get here so
early
? And why can’t I go to the bathroom?”

We are parked in the Swains’ new driveway behind the construction dumpster, with Roxanne’s eyes focused on Larson’s closed garage doors. “Because,” she says, clutching the backpack on her lap. “You can’t blow a stakeout by arriving too late. Larson’s lunch is at one o’clock and it takes about forty-five minutes to get to Fairfield, plus we had to factor in the chance that he could leave earlier to run errands.”

“But that doesn’t tell me why I can’t pee,” Natalie says, her legs tightly crossed. “There’s a port-o-pot right there.”

“Nope, too risky,” Roxanne says. “It’s already twelve-thirty. Larson
should have
already left.”

I prop my bare feet on Jake’s dashboard and adjust my favorite pink skirt that I broke down and wore because refusing to flirt doesn’t
really
mean you can’t dress flirty, right? “Oh, please. Blaine was always late so if Larson is anything like him, she has plenty of time.”

With that, Natalie opens the door and runs to the portable clutching her stomach. Danny digs into a bag of Cheetos and says, “You know, I never liked Larson much. Neither did my dad—Larson kept trying to get extra work done for free, and I’m pretty sure he still owes Dad some money.”

Rex doesn’t like Larson? Well, I suppose that’s a mark in Rex’s favor. But I’m just now realizing there’s a remote possibility that Danny could one day be my brother.

Oh, no, do NOT think about that now.

“And man, a real stakeout,” Danny says. “Just like in Splinter Cell.”

Roxanne’s mouth drops. “Get out, I love that game! Last week, I got through Conviction’s final mission with no cheat code help.”

“Mission eleven? How did you get by the agents near the turret?”

As they talk about Black Arrow guards and assassinations, Jake tilts his head to scratch his ear and glances toward my bare legs. Is he checking them out? Or is he only annoyed that my feet are leaving marks on his freshly polished dash? He jerks his gaze away and says, “So, why are we tailing Larson? What if he just has a business meeting today?”

I kick my legs down and cover my thighs with my purse. “I guess that could be true, but how many people do you know who have Sunday business meetings at French restaurants? They’re more for romantic rendezvous.”

Jake drums his fingers on his knee. I’m about to thank him for driving us—especially if there is someone
else
he’d rather spend the day with—when Danny notices Larson’s garage door rising and a silver Audi creeping out. “It’s him. Get down!”

Jake and I duck at the same time, crouching on the seat with our faces inches apart. The smell of his citrusy shampoo and the warmth from his skin make my heart pound. Jake blinks, his green eyes holding me captive until Danny taps the seat. “He passed us. Hurry up, Jake, before we lose him.”

Moment gone.

Jake starts the engine as Natalie dashes back into the truck. “Ugh, remind me to
never
go into a port-o-pot that’s been used by construction dudes,” she says. “Man. They must eat tons of fiber.”