After Summer (7 page)

Ella didn’t answer her cell all day Saturday. Calls from Jeremy, leaving no voice messages. Calls from Kelsi, wanting to know what Ella was doing for Halloween. Ella ignored them all. She had other things to do.

Namely get dressed—in the skimpiest little cat costume she could pull together. It involved a low-cut bustier top and fishnet stockings, both of which enhanced her curvy figure. She slipped on her highest, blackest heels. She fluffed up her blonde hair into a sexy tousled mess, attached little kitten ears because that was what made it a costume rather than just slutty. And then, finally, after a quick nip of her mother’s vodka, she walked out the front door.

Outside, the moon was high in the cold October night, and the wind buffeted the windows. Ella felt hurt wrap
around her without warning, which threatened to suck her in, but she hurried down the block.
Forget Jeremy.
She didn’t have time for emotion. She had to get to Ryan’s party. Suddenly it was like everything would make sense if she could just see his face, and those bright eyes of his that seemed to know her through and through.

Ryan’s house was a sprawling prefab mansion transformed into a Hollywood-worthy haunted house. The lawn was lit by eerie flickering floodlights that cast spooky shadows on a front deck swathed with spiderwebs. Ella strutted past unmarked gravestones, disembodied mannequin limbs, and fake blood spatters on the slate walkway. Noise and hip-hop and laughter blared from the house. She smiled. As she had suspected, Ryan certainly knew how to throw a party.

The front door creaked open, leading Ella into a big foyer and an even bigger living room beyond. It was hard to tell exactly how big, since it seemed as if every teenager in New Caanan was packed in there, all of them dressed in elaborate costumes.

Ella made her way through the throbbing crowd. She dodged a beefy boy in an old lady’s house dress and wig, who practically drooled all over her. She waggled her fingers at a football player who was now dressed as a classic 1920s mobster in a pinstripe suit. She nodded hellos to the St. Augustine girls who greeted her, most of them dressed as
girls scouts or ghosts or brides of Frankenstein. Ella enjoyed the faces they made when they got a closer look at how little she had on. Though her uniform restricted her during the schoolday, she was delighted to remind them that, during off hours, she did, in fact, still have it.

Ella stopped steps away from the hoagie table, where a long sandwich was dressed to look like an undulating centipede. She saw a familiar figure, in a French maid costume Ella had personally picked out, straddling a guy dressed as a horse jockey on a nearby couch. They were going at it like crazy. It took her breath away. Ella had been beaten to a guy. Marilee had made Ryan hers.

But just then, Marilee lifted her head and revealed that she was actually making out with the captain of the lacrosse team, Cheryl Anderson’s former boyfriend. Ella grinned and breathed a sign of relief. She loved a good scandal almost as much as she loved getting what she wanted.

Then she was back on the hunt, dodging and weaving though Darth Vader costumes and lip-locked couples in her search for the master of ceremonies. A fog machine purred out smoke, making it hard to see through the crowd. Animatronic spiders dropped down from the ceiling only to climb back up their silk webs. The DJ, wrapped in Ace bandages like a proper mummy, worked a crowd of gyrating dancers, dropping one amazing record after another. The party boy himself, however, was nowhere to be seen.

She finally found him over by the keg (marked appropriately as poison), dressed like Johnny Depp in
Pirates of the Caribbean,
all braids and stubble and dirty pirate swagger. Yummy.

He flipped up his eye patch when he saw her coming. A slow smile stretched across his mouth.

“You are the hottest girl at my party. Without. A. Doubt.”

Ella smiled and gave a little twirl. “A beer for the lady?” She giggled.

Ryan growled, stepped closer, and nuzzled his face into her neck. The prickles of his facial hair ignited in friction on her skin.

“I thought you said you were hanging out with the boyfriend tonight,” he said, stepping back passing her a foaming plastic cup. “Not that I’m complaining. This pirate feels like he’s just found his treasure. Arrrrgh!”

“Plans change,” Ella said carelessly, and smiled back at him. “I decided to make this party epic after all.”

“Lucky me,” Ryan said. He nodded toward Marilee, who was now practically giving the guy a lap dance. “I knew she liked me, you know.”

“Really,” Ella said, tilting her head to one side and smiling.

“I had to blow her off,” Ryan said, moving closer. “I’m interested in someone else.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ella teased him. “Who’s that?”

“Someone I consider a friend.” Ryan replied. “Someone like me. I could tell we were alike since the moment we met.”

“Happy Halloween,” Ella said with a grin, and tilted her face up to his.

Ryan grinned back, and didn’t wait one more second. He took Ella’s chin in his hand and kissed her—hard. And hot. His lips were demanding, and his arms that slowly snaked around her waist felt wildly possessive. Ella pressed right up against him, delighting in the feel of his muscular frame. She kissed him right back, her tongue teasing his, her lips tempting him with everything she had. And he tempted her right back.

When they both drew back to catch their breath, they were smiling at each other in the same knowing, devious way. Ella was flushed with pleasure, but she wanted more.

“Come on,” Ryan said in a husky voice, pulling Ella right up against him. “I want more.” And they started kissing again, hotter and hotter, oblivious to the party around them.

Finally, Ella thought, things made sense again.

Beth had never seen George look so excited. And she found that the tired feeling she seemed to carry around these days was no match for George being excited about something. In fact, it was breaking right through the fatigue and kicking her into high spirits, too.

It was Saturday, late afternoon. The annual big Halloween party, thrown that night at the summerhouse of one of their Martin friends, was out on Cape Cod. George had decided that they should book a hotel with some of the money he’d saved up working construction over the summer.

This was an exciting prospect, considering the sleeping arrangements at this particular party were first come, first served. Beth remembered last year sleeping on top of the
pool table when all the floor space was occupied. Still, she had been better off than the kid who had slept on top of the washing machine. But nothing could beat their own private hotel room.

It was to be, as he’d told Beth a zillion times, the Weekend of Beth and George.

“This is going to be legendary,” he told her again, navigating his way through the traffic. His eyes were on the road but he was grinning nonstop. “Seriously, Bethy. You might have to take drastic measures on Monday morning and, like, contact the media to brag about this weekend.”

“Assuming we make it,” Beth said, looking out at the sea of taillights. “Have you ever noticed that the amount of traffic is in direct proportion to how badly you want to get somewhere?”

“Oh, we’ll
make it!
” George promised her, cocking an eyebrow at her in a naughty way. “Don’t you worry.”

Beth leaned her head back, and instructed herself to relax into the moment. She’d been so tense lately, and the last thing she wanted for this weekend was to be tense. This was like a mini-vacation. With George. What could be better?

George loved Halloween. He always had, as long as Beth had known him. And the Cape Cod party was the kind where everyone got
very serious
about their costumes, and even awarded prizes at midnight for creativity. Last year
Beth and George had gone as Homer and Marge Simpson—and it had been one of Beth’s favorite nights all year. Something about being caked in yellow makeup and wearing blue hair, she guessed. This year, in what had started out as a kind of a fight about Beth’s swimming commitments, Beth had told George that if he wanted to go to Cape Cod,
he
needed to plan everything.

And I mean actually making a plan instead of
planning
to make a plan,
she’d told him, because she had this vision of ending up sleeping in the backseat of the car, which George would claim was romantic.

To her surprise, George had been all over it. There’d been no fighting at all as he started to talk about how cool it would be to go away together, which they usually did during the summer. They hadn’t spent the whole summer together this year and maybe that was why things were weird between them. Neither one of them actually said that, but Beth wondered if they were both thinking it.

Every time she’d asked about Halloween weekend since, George seemed to buzz with more and more excitement. He had even taken on responsibility for their costumes, which he said would be a surprise. And his eyes had danced when he said it.

As Beth gazed out the car window at the traffic, which had begun to speed up, she let her belief in George wash
over her. This weekend would be exactly what they needed. Maybe they could finally talk—not just have sex and/or argue.

Everything was going to be great.

Several hours later, Beth stood in the bathroom of their hotel room and stared at herself in the mirror.

She wanted to cry.

She also wanted to burst out through the door and pummel George with whatever heavy object was close at hand.

The chair, the minibar, whatever worked.

She couldn’t believe he’d done this to her.

Everything had seemed fine at first. The traffic had been bad the whole way down to the Cape, so they arrived much later than planned. They’d giggled about how adult and formal it seemed to check into a hotel together, and then they’d each had to shower and quickly start getting ready.

Beth fully expected George to come up with a brilliant costume for the both of them. Something kitschy but cool, like Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. He was good at things like that. He
lived
for things like that.

Apparently, not anymore.

“I was going to get some Bonnie and Clyde thing,” George called from the other side of the door while Beth was drying off after her shower. “But I saw this one and
knew
you had to wear it.”

She’d known it was bad when George opened the door partway and handed her the tiny, flimsy little package. The sort of Halloween costumes Beth normally wore did not come in teensy packages.

But she hadn’t known
how
bad it was until she put it on.

And it was really,
really
bad.

She was wearing a devil costume, made up of a red bikinilike top festooned with sequins and a pair of skintight, practically nonexistent red silk hot pants. A wide swath of skin was exposed between the bottom of the bikini and the top of the hot pants. The long lengths of Beth’s legs were completely exposed, and finished off with the red, spangly heels George had also handed to her.

I look like a complete ho,
Beth thought. A ho with a swishy, pointed tail and a pitchfork she’d like to ram into her boyfriend’s eye, that was.

Taking a deep breath, Beth opened the bathroom door.

George was at the sink in the little vestibule, dressed in a long white robe with tiny gold wings and a halo attached to a headband. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

“You look
amazing!
” he said.

“What,” Beth asked in the calmest voice she could manage, which wasn’t all that calm, “were you thinking? I can’t wear this
outside.
I show less skin at swim practice!”

“But you look so hot!” George argued. “I wanted to dress you so you can finally see yourself like I do!”

Um,
what
? This was how George saw Beth in his mind’s eye—in red silk hotpants?

“I feel ridiculous,” she said. But even as she said it she felt guilty, because maybe this was George’s stupid boy way of complimenting her.

“I think you look so hot,” George said in a husky voice, moving closer and running his hands along her sides. “Maybe we should stay right here.”

“Oh, no,” Beth said, pushing him away. “I’ve been looking forward to this party all week. We’re going.” She eyed his robes. “But maybe
you
can be the devil, and I’ll hang out in those robes.”

George made a face at her. “Nice try, but the shoes are way too small. You’ll have to stay the devil.”

Beth rolled her eyes, and marched over the bed to scoop up her school sweatshirt, which she tied around her waist.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“You can’t wear that sweatshirt!” George cried.

“Well, too bad. I am.”

“You
can’t.
” George’s face got very serious. “This is a costume party, Bethy. People aren’t going to care that you’re maybe showing a little skin. But they’re definitely going to notice if you have a sweatshirt over your costume!”

“I’m wearing it anyway,” she told him.

“Fine,” he said. “But you know that will only call more attention to what you’re wearing, right?”

Which was, of course, the one thing he could say to make her leave the sweatshirt behind.

But she seethed about it all the way to the party.

“Wow,” Taryn said, and not in a good way. “What are you doing?”

It was Saturday night—Halloween—and Kelsi was wiggling into her fishnets. She then smoothed her white miniskirt down.

“What?” she asked, glancing up. “I’m getting dressed.”

“Barely,” Taryn said.

“Hello,” Kelsi retorted. “You’re wearing cling wrap!”

“Ahem.
I
am a sea goddess!” Taryn said, twirling around. “I guess I’m just not used to seeing
you
in fishnets and minis. Or low-cut bustier tops.”

“I had an epiphany,” Kelsi told her and placed a tiny white hat atop her head. “A sexy nurse epiphany.”

It had been coming for a while, really.

In high school, Kelsi had always been the concept-costume sort of a girl. Sophomore year she’d dressed as a wedding cake—complete with cardboard layers and a miniature plastic groom sticking up out of her white headdress. It was one of the benefits of attending an all-girls’ school—Kelsi had never dressed with boys in mind. Ella, meanwhile, took Halloween as her personal opportunity to dress as sluttily as possible. The more skin on display, the better. This year, Kelsi had begun to wonder if Ella had it right. Something about spending the evening with Taryn and the laid-back louse Bennett had inspired her. So, first thing Saturday morning, she’d called Ella to discuss sexy costume ideas. Her sister hadn’t answered, so Kelsi had gone to the giant Party Warehouse near Northampton. She passed up the lab coats, the space suits, and the farmer-in-overalls. She knew she needed something different, more dramatic, something to catch Tim’s eye. But none of the costumes around her seemed to be the thing.

What Would Ella Do?

She wandered around for more than an hour, searching every aisle up and down. Then, at the very back of the store, through a sparkly red-beaded curtain, she found what could only be described as the Ella Tuttle Costume Section.

Everything was tiny. And see-though. And lacy. And
frilly. And pleather. The selection of stockings alone was astounding. Varying weaves of fishnets, from striped thigh-highs, to schoolgirl kneesocks. It was daunting.

And then Kelsi spotted it. The tiny white nurse’s cap dotted with a little red cross. It was a metaphor for what her relationship with Tim needed. A little emergency attention. And though she second-guessed herself all the way up to the register, she told herself that she was doing the right thing.

“I don’t know,” Taryn said after Kelsi had explained all this to her. “This isn’t really you, is it?”

Which was Kelsi’s point exactly.

When Kelsi first walked into the supercrowded, noisy party, packed with kids in wild costumes who were jumping up and down to old hip-hop, her natural shyness took over. What was she
doing,
wearing a slutty nurse costume in public? She started to cross her arms over her chest, but then someone passed her a cup of beer, and after gulping it down in record time, Kelsi began to feel warm, fuzzy, and a lot less shy.

“Kelsi? Is that you?”

She turned at the sound of Tim’s voice, and walked slowly over to him. He wasn’t in costume, and his curly blond hair fell into his eyes. She wasn’t very good at doing the sexy walk (which Ella, of course, had mastered at, like,
age two), but she felt she did a decent imitation. After all, she’d gone to all this trouble
for
Tim. To remind him that she wasn’t some chaste little flower. To show him she could be the girlfriend he might want after all.

She tried not to think about all the venerable Smith feminists who were rolling over in their graves right about now. “What?” she purred, because Tim was staring at her with a blank expression on his face. Wasn’t he supposed to be all lust-crazed and pawing her?

“You look different,” he finally said, his tone blank.

“Um, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s Halloween,” Kelsi said, laughing, and then she pressed her stethoscope to Tim’s chest.

Tim only shook his head and glanced down, frowning.

Kelsi felt a funny little tug in her stomach, but then decided not to let Tim’s weirdness ruin her fun. She turned to rejoin Taryn and the rest of the party.

After a couple more beers, Kelsi was feeling looser than she ever had. She danced around the room, wiggling her hips, flushed and sweaty, and she could feel guys looking at her approvingly. Whenever she felt a little self-conscious, Kelsi just closed her eyes and pretended she was Ella. But when Kelsi was reaching for another beer, she felt Taryn take her elbow.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Taryn said quietly, removing the can of beer from Kelsi’s hand.

“I disagree with that diagnosis,” Kelsi retorted, and took it back.

“Kelsi, seriously,” Taryn pleaded. “What is this?”

“The new me,” Kelsi told her.

She turned her back on Taryn and made her way through the party. Around her, frat guys in costume jumped and shouted, and if she almost closed her eyes she felt like she belonged. Here a guy in a
Scream
mask, there two brothers dressed as dead presidents, and all kinds of happy, screaming, half-dressed girls. Kelsi decided she was pleased that finally, she fit right in.

She shimmied her way through the crowd and zeroed in on Tim, still standing by the wall and still clenching that beer in his hand.

“Here,” she said, trying for a sexy sort of drawl. She leaned into the wall next to him and held out her beer can. “Take your medicine.”

Tim just looked at her with the strangest expression on his face, like he didn’t know who she was. Kelsi sighed when he didn’t reach out and take the beer. Then she took a hearty swig.

“Want to dance?” she asked. She moved her hips in a circle and ran her hand down his arm. “Come dance with me.”

“I don’t want to dance,” Tim said in a hard voice. He
grabbed her wandering fingers and squeezed them, not hard, but enough to make her look at him.

“What?” she asked.

“What are you doing?’ he demanded. “What is this?”

“It’s Halloween,” she said.

“And what, exactly, are you supposed to be?” he asked.

Kelsi stared at him. It slowly dawned on her that if anything, Tim looked miserable. She didn’t understand.

“I thought this is what you wanted,” she said.

“My girlfriend drunk and acting crazy in the middle of my frat house?” he asked incredulously. “Not really, no.”

Kelsi felt a wave of emotion crest in her, and she shook her head.

“Then I really don’t get it,” she said. “Why did you lie to all your friends? I thought you wanted me to be more sexy.”

Tim stared at her.

“You’re sexy the way you are,” he said. “I never said I wanted you to change. I just…”

“Wish I was sexier,” Kelsi finished for him.

Tim looked at her. Kelsi watched his face change from confused, to annoyed, to an emotion she couldn’t quite identify, and then to that grudging good humor she’d hoped he’d eventually display. He squeezed her hand again, and then started shouting.

“I lied!” he yelled, in the voice he used during football games, the voice that could carry across stadiums. “My girlfriend and I have never, ever had sex!”

Kelsi was mortified. And also kind of pleased. She watched as Tim’s brothers and fellow pledges—including the mountainous Kenny—stared. Across the room, Taryn’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

“See?” Tim asked, looking down at Kelsi. “Are you satisfied? I hope so, because while it might look like they’re ignoring that statement, they’re going to give me shit about it for weeks. Trust me.”

“Thanks,” Kelsi said.

He studied her face, touching her cheek with his fingers. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to, Kelsi.”

“Okay,” Kelsi whispered.

“But you need to understand that it’s really hard for me,” he continued. “You’re gorgeous and smart and sexy. Of course I want to have sex with you. I work really hard to respect your boundaries, and I’m not sure you get how tough that is.”

“I understand,” Kelsi promised him.

But later that night, when Taryn had gone home with one of the football players, and Kelsi shared Tim’s bed with him, she found she couldn’t sleep.

Tim snored lightly on his side, and Kelsi lay there in a
tank top and a pair of his boxers, staring up at the lights from outside as they played on his ceiling and across his face.

She studied him.

He looked cute lying there, and okay, a little bit drunk. Less Heath Ledger-ish when in a drunken stupor, and more like…Heath’s oafish brother.

She thought she should feel better than she did. She thought she should feel victorious. Satisfied. Happy.

And it wasn’t that she
didn’t
feel those things, necessarily.

It was just that she didn’t feel them
enough.

The rest of the night had been fun. Tim took the predicted ribbing of his friends well, which was one of the reasons Kelsi loved him. He was always able to see the joke, even if it was on him.

But as she lay there, she kept going over their conversation. He’d said that he respected her, but she wasn’t sure that was true. Because if he respected her, surely she shouldn’t have to be the guardian of her virginity, right? Surely it would be just as important to him. Or was that just a pipe dream?

Was this just the way guys were? Or was it just that Tim was more the traditional jock guy that Kelsi had thought him originally?

He’d seemed so different in Maine, when it had been just the two of them on their excursions. He’d been so smart and sweet, all wrapped up in one package. But now their
world wasn’t secret Maine islands any longer. It was frat houses and pledge commitments, and Kelsi wasn’t sure where she fit in all of it. Where
they
fit in.

She didn’t like to even think it, but the thought caught hold and bloomed inside her head:
What if Tim and I aren’t meant for each other after all?