Pool Boys (9 page)

A few days later, Brooke was still basking in the glow that was Marcus Craft.

They hadn’t gone all the way that afternoon, but they’d done enough to get them both too hot and bothered to remain in the sauna. They’d parted ways in the corridor outside, exchanging long, deep, intoxicating kisses, and then, cell phone numbers.

Brooke hadn’t heard from Marcus for the past several days—she’d been away from the club, visiting her grandmother in Darien, Connecticut, so she hadn’t been in touch with Charlotte or Georgia either. She was still pissed at Georgia for this new Valerie obsession, but Brooke was feeling too satisfied about Marcus to hold a grudge.

On Wednesday morning, Brooke was padding up to the pool patio, grinning. She couldn’t
wait
to see Marcus. She hadn’t told Charlotte or Georgia about him, but she couldn’t wait to do that, either.

This might be the start of something huge
, she said to herself as she neared the pool.
This could even be the summer when I finally stop flinging and get into a relationship.
She laughed out loud. Yikes. Was she already starting to think in lame romantic clichés?

“There you are!” Charlotte cried. She jogged up to Brooke, looking out of breath. “You’ll never guess what Georgia just told me—”

Brooke glanced at the lifeguard chair. Mr. Weatherby, Marcus’s fill-in, sat there, perusing
Reader’s Digest.
Brooke’s heart sank.

“I tried calling you,” Charlotte was saying.

“I didn’t get cell service in Darien.” Brooke tucked her hair behind her ear. “Hey, what’s wrong? You—”

“What’s wrong?” Charlotte cut in. She frowned and fiddled with her friendship bracelet. “How about, what’s
right?
Which is pretty much nothing at this point. Georgia has been spending
every
day with Valerie. And I finally saw her last night—”

“How is she?” Brooke muttered.

“Fine,” Charlotte answered hastily. “But the point is, she told me that Valerie asked Caleb to the Midsummer Ball.”

Brooke gasped. “C, what are you talking about?”

“You heard me. And the worst part is, Georgia just let him say yes.”

For the first time, Brooke noticed how upset Charlotte looked—her cheeks were red and mottled.

“She told me,” Charlotte went on, her voice cracking, “that it seemed like Valerie had a thing for Caleb and then she just
asked
him…But you know what the most screwed-up part is?”

Brooke shook her head.

“Caleb asked Georgia to the ball first!” Charlotte hissed, her eyes bulging. “Can you believe that? She turned Caleb down because Ethan asked her, but still…it’s like—it’s like—what was Caleb
thinking?”

“Um, C?” Brooke asked tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t get any of this.”

“Neither do I!” Charlotte practically shouted.

“So what you’re saying is…” Brooke chewed a fingernail. “What
are
you saying? Who invites anybody to the Midsummer Ball, anyway?”

“My sentiments exactly,” Charlotte muttered.

Brooke tried to think, to sort it all out—but she couldn’t. The only part that she understood was the obvious: Charlotte was pissed that Caleb had asked Georgia to the ball, and even more pissed that he’d accepted an invitation from Evil Valerie. It was so obvious—to Brooke anyway—that Charlotte had feelings for Caleb. It had taken Valerie’s presence to get Charlotte to even recognize those feelings.

But the Georgia issue was the most disturbing. Why wouldn’t Georgia intercede? Why hadn’t she tried to put the kibosh on Valerie? Why hadn’t she explained that the Midsummer Ball was a joke (it was in August for Christ’s sake, not even a real midsummer night) and that the fun of it was that there
were
no dates, so anybody could hook up with anybody?

“Why is Georgia spending all this time with Valerie?”
Brooke whispered. “It’s messing everything up. Didn’t you tell Georgia that Valerie is a two-faced liar? We know that she doesn’t know Robby Miller’s family—”

Charlotte shook her head. “Actually, that’s a lie. She
does.”

Brooke scowled. “She does?”

“Yeah. Robby told me. And she’s like super-rich, but has all these…” She didn’t finish.

“All these
what?”

“Listen, you want to get out of here?” Charlotte suddenly asked. “Let’s take a ride, okay? My mom let me have the BMW.”

Brooke took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. She’d find Marcus some other time. “Sure,” she said. Sometimes, if the universe has been flipped on its head, it was best not to argue. Sometimes it was best to let circumstances take the lead. It was best to surrender control.

“Hey, C? I know you were psyched for a drive and all, but you
do
realize we’re way out in the boondocks, yeah?”

Charlotte’s hands tightened on the wheel as Brooke dug her cell phone out of her bag. She had to give Brooke credit; she’d been
very
patient so far, considering that they’d driven around aimlessly for the past two hours (or aimlessly as far as Brooke knew)—and especially since the radio play had ranged from grim to excruciating. What ever happened to fun, frothy pop? It was all alt-rock: whiny post-pubescent boys lamenting existential crises. Every song followed the same pattern: First the plaintive melody over acoustic guitars (i.e., the sensitive part) followed by the cymbals and thundering chorus (i.e., the angry part). Who
wrote
this crap?

To add insult to injury, the only CD Charlotte’s mom had left in the car was a sinister collection of heavy metal covers, sung by a cheeseball named Pat Boone.

“We’re almost there,” Charlotte said, pulling down the visor to keep from going blind. She glanced at the clock.
Man.
It was nearly six. The sun was sinking fast toward
the horizon at the end of the road. “It’s right up this little terrace…”

“Why the sudden fascination with the Old Fairfield
über-mansions?”
Brooke asked. She jammed her phone back in her purse. “Come on, C. What’s up?”

Charlotte spun the wheel and bounced down a barely paved road toward a white house with a brick chimney, and a pointy shingled roof—

There!

“Look,” Charlotte hissed.

She jammed on the brakes. She and Brooke jerked forward in their seat belts.

“C, tell me what the hell is going on,” Brooke snapped.

Charlotte tapped her finger against the windshield as she pulled into the shade of a sycamore tree and cut the engine. “Look. See that little white house over there? That’s the carriage house of the Whitney estate, which is like the most expensive home in the county. And that’s Georgia’s SUV in the freaking driveway. And look!”

“Oh…my…God!” Brooke whispered, her face turning even paler.

The two of them watched, slack-jawed, as Georgia and Valerie strolled down the front walk together, their blonde hair and tennis whites sun-dappled in the spotty shade, followed by Marcus—freshly showered, his hair wet and combed, dressed in a crisp long-sleeve T-shirt and jeans—and then by Caleb, wearing a ratty sweater over board shorts with flip-flops. The four of them piled into Georgia’s
SUV, laughing. Charlotte felt as if she were watching some surreal movie with the sound off.

“Interesting,” Brooke said in a toneless voice, as if they hadn’t just seen their best friend and the new girl with the two boys who were rightfully
theirs.

Charlotte turned toward her. “Are you pissed?”

Brooke shrugged. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she just watched as Georgia’s SUV pulled out of the driveway and disappeared around the corner.

“Brooke—”

“Why did we come here, C?” Brooke interrupted.

“Well, ever since Robby told me the truth about Valerie, I’ve been dying to see where she comes from, so to speak.”

“What did Robby say?” Brooke grinned.

Charlotte started up the engine again. There was a lot that Robby had said, but she figured she could leave out the
Rob-Robby-Robe
part. She glanced in the rearview mirror, pulling back onto the main road. “He told me that Valerie’s family
does
know his family.” She slowed to a stop at the next intersection. “Well, her dad knows
his
dad, anyway. He made me swear not to tell…”

“C, you know you’re gonna tell me. So just get it over with.”

“The Packwoods moved out here because of Valerie,” Charlotte admitted. “She practically flunked out of her old school, and she had some drama, and she lost all her old friends…” She gunned the accelerator, swept up in a wave of shame and general self-loathing. Summer should not be about spying. It shouldn’t be about secrets or suspicion.
Summer should be about hanging around the pool.
Period.
When had it all changed?

“So then why is she stealing Georgia, and Mar—Marcus, and Caleb from us?”

Charlotte shot Brooke a quick glance as she changed lanes. She’d noticed how Brooke had stumbled over Marcus’s name. Brooke’s hazel eyes seemed to have glazed over, too. Charlotte could see it even in the flickering light of the sunset.

“B?” she said softly, turning her eyes back to the road. “You—you really like Marcus, don’t you?”

“We hooked up,” Brooke whispered, sounding surprisingly vulnerable.

“Sauna?” Charlotte guessed with a sigh. She knew how Brooke operated by now.

“Sauna,” Brooke affirmed, digging around in her clutch for what Charlotte guessed was lip gloss—Brooke’s favorite armor. “But what does it matter,” she went on furiously, jerking out a tube of Stila. “Clearly he’s much more into Valerie—or Georgia.”

“And what about Caleb?” Charlotte said quietly. “Who do you think
he’s
into?” For the weirdest reason, she felt like she was going to cry.

“Well, one thing’s for sure—there’s no way in
hell
we’re going to Georgia’s July Fourth picnic,” Brooke announced in response. She shoved the lip gloss back into her bag.

“Oh, come on.” Charlotte summoned some composure as she pulled back up to Silver Oaks.

“No. We aren’t, Charlotte,” she snapped. “Not after what she’s done to us.”

Charlotte shrunk back in the driver’s seat. She wasn’t even sure who Brooke
was
right now. She was wearing some other face—a face Charlotte had never seen, not even when Brooke had fallen into a funk over a boy in the past.

“Brooke, I hate to say it, but Marcus Craft isn’t worth getting this upset over,” she finally murmured.

“What makes you say that?” Brooke shot back.

“I—” Charlotte shrugged. “Forget it.” She could feel a fight brewing with Brooke—a bad one. But she didn’t want to get into it yet. Better to see where the rest of the summer took them.

Valerie made the suggestion Thursday morning, in the parking lot.

“Hey, G? Instead of playing here at the club today, why don’t we try those courts at the state park? Let’s slum it.”

It was a stroke of genius.
Slumming it.
Georgia didn’t hesitate for a second. The two of them immediately loaded Valerie’s bike into the trunk of Georgia’s SUV, tossed their rackets in the backseat, and hit the road. With the windows rolled down, the wind whipping through their hair, and the radio cranked—some old Rolling Stones song, but still great driving music—Georgia actually felt
free.
They didn’t even need to make conversation. What was the point? Valerie had said everything she’d needed to say yesterday, when she’d introduced Marcus, Georgia, and Caleb to her parents.

Georgia still couldn’t get over how positive and optimistic Valerie was. She had lost her
life.
That was no exaggeration. For years, she’d gone to a private school in New York, where she’d grown up, where she’d been comfortable and confident—then
poof!
It was all gone, just because she’d gotten lousy grades. Suddenly, Valerie was thrust into a
new home, in a new town, with new people to try to befriend…and she was dealing with poise and grace.

Valerie’s parents were also very cool, as was Valerie’s older brother, Sebastian, who also happened to be exceptionally hot (a fact Georgia would have paid closer attention to had Caleb and Marcus not been distracting her).

Amazingly, the courts at the state park weren’t all that bad. They were clay, sure, but they weren’t scuffed or worn; they were freshly painted and sparkling green. Plus, the nearby forest and rolling hills provided a pretty awesome scenic backdrop, definitely more inviting than a dark, ivy-covered wall. It was also kind of refreshing to see people wearing something other than the Silver Oaks monogram, or even tennis whites. The couple on the next court wore tie-dyes and cut-offs. (Horrors!)

Best of all, though, was the pool—huge and noisy and chaotic, a place where people actually
swam.
And the poor lifeguard had to dive into the pool five separate times in the brief time Georgia and Valerie lounged there, post-tennis. He may not have been as hot as Marcus (he was more a Caleb type), but, unlike Marcus, he was actually doing his job.

“What do you say we come here again tomorrow?” Georgia suggested as they climbed back into her SUV at the end of the afternoon.

Valerie heaved a sigh of relief. “Whew. I thought you’d hate it.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Thanks,” Valerie said. “And thanks for hanging out with me and the boys yesterday. I feel like it’s awkward around Caleb ever since I asked him to the ball.”

“Yeah…awkward,” Georgia echoed, feeling awkward herself. She had told Charlotte about the invite a couple days back, and Charlotte had seemed crushed.

“Georgia, you know that the only reason I asked Caleb was to protect you. I’m not interested in him. I mean, he’s sweet…but he’s not my type. I like the more athletic kind. The tennis type.”

The tennis type.
Georgia clenched her jaw.
Ethan.
It was inevitable. Leaving Silver Oaks for a day wouldn’t somehow transport her to a magical wonderland where she could forget about him. How could it?

“Did I do something wrong?” Valerie asked. “Does Charlotte hate me now?”

Georgia shook her head. “No,” she mumbled.

The worst part of the whole situation was that Brooke and Charlotte were practically out of the picture entirely. Georgia hadn’t meant to alienate her best friends. It had just sort of happened.

“It’ll be awkward if I see Charlotte at Silver Oaks, won’t it?” Valerie was saying.

Georgia stuck her key into the ignition. “Valerie, I swear to God, it’ll always be awkward at Silver Oaks, even if you’re a lifelong member. Why do you think I want to have the July Fourth picnic at my house?”

Valerie glanced at her. “So you don’t mind coming here instead? You know, to play tennis?”

“Not only do I not mind, but I’m gonna pick you up at your house tomorrow to play here again.” Georgia grabbed the gearshift and pushed it into drive.

After dropping Valerie off at home, Georgia wondered if she should swing by Brooke’s or Charlotte’s houses. Just like old times—an impromptu visit. But she decided to go home and shower first.

She rounded the corner onto Meadow Lane—the tiny three-house street where she’d grown up, tucked in the woods across town from Silver Oaks. Instantly, she spotted a dark figure standing on her front walk, silhouetted against the glare of the sunset. Her stomach jumped with hope. Maybe Brooke or Charlotte had come to
her.

It wasn’t Brooke or Charlotte, though. It wasn’t even Ethan. It was Marcus Craft.

She jerked to a stop. She tried to smile as she hopped out of the car, to hide her discomfiture, but this was just a little too strange. It didn’t help that he was wearing a pale green T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms or that his blond hair swept across his face in the late afternoon breeze.

“Hey,” she said, slamming the driver’s door shut.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Hey.” Crickets chirped in the falling twilight.

Suddenly, Georgia was very self-conscious of how lousy she looked in a pair of gym shorts and an ancient Yankees T-shirt. Not the most flattering wardrobe.

Marcus turned toward her white-shingled house. His eyes roved over the broad porch, complete with the rope swing, the turret at the end (Georgia lived in the tower), the black shutters, and the sloping roofs. Charlotte always referred to the place as “Martha Stewart”—in other words,
new
, but still tasteful. Brooke never commented on it. Then again, Brooke lived in one of those awful, ultra-modern monstrosities: a maze of glass and wood and white tile—impressive and opulent, but cool and austere. Kind of like Brooke herself.

“Nice place,” he remarked.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Look, Georgia, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for the way I acted Sunday morning, okay?”

She shook her head. “What way?”

He turned back toward her. “You know, when I was hanging out by the pool with Brooke. What I said about Valerie. That she was a liar. That wasn’t cool. I could tell it bummed you out.”

Georgia started to smile. “Well, okay, that’s fine. But it all worked out anyway, right? I mean we all hung out that afternoon.”

He nodded, staring down at his Tevas. He looked just as out of sorts as she
felt.

“What’s wrong, Marcus? If you feel bad, I’m not the one you should be telling. You should be telling Valerie. But I don’t even think you need to.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” He stepped closer to her,
the sun dancing off his hair. “I’m here because I care about how
you
feel.”

Georgia’s breath quickened.

“I know I shouldn’t even be saying this,” he began, drawing even closer, until his face filled her entire field of vision. “I know the policy, and everything…”

The policy!
Georgia’s heart squeezed. The policy had already crushed her once. And how about that other policy—the one about not poaching thy friend’s love interest? Her thoughts raced…What was Marcus doing? She fought to come up with something to fire back at him, but her brain felt muddled.

He took her hand.

“What about Brooke?” she whispered vacantly. She didn’t even feel as if she were
there:
outside her house, on her street, after a long day of tennis. She felt as if she were watching someone else in some other place, listening to someone else talk.

“I like Brooke,” Marcus breathed. “But I think I like you more.”

Georgia closed her eyes. Even through her dizziness, she could sense him approaching, drawn like a magnet. This time, there was no pushing him away. She gave herself up. She couldn’t stop. She began to kiss him, to taste his mouth, his tongue—

She broke away. “I can’t,” she said, experiencing a horrible déjà vu.

“Georgia, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I—”

“I think you better leave,” she said thickly. “This is all
wrong.” Before she realized it, her eyes had welled with tears. She turned and fled into her house, slamming the door behind her.

“Georgia!” he shouted after her. “I’m sorry!”

She raced upstairs to her room, where she dove into her bed and buried her face in her pillow for a long, long time.

Later that night, it started to drizzle.