Next Summer (19 page)

Georgia and Charlotte burst out laughing. Even Brooke had to smile. It was a classic, a perennial—all part of the never-ending, attempted Disneyfication of her life. Every single Silver Oaks member had tried to force the label on Brooke at one time or another.
How pretty you are! You look just like Snow White!
Maybe they figured if they said it enough, Brooke’s life
would
become a G-rated fairy tale. Maybe that was what they expected from a girl whose father was president of the board of Silver Oaks.

Perfection.

Yeah, right.

“And when did Valerie have this amazing epiphany?” Brooke asked, flicking her hair over one shoulder.

Ethan shrugged. “She was looking at the photo gallery in the dining room this morning. I think she felt a little lost and out of place, so she just struck up a conversation with me, asking if I knew the people in the photos. You know, the people her age.”

“Sort of like how she’s striking up a conversation with Marcus now?” Charlotte suggested, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because she feels
so
lost and out of place?”

Brooke gazed at Valerie and Marcus from behind the protective shield of her dark lenses. In Brooke’s experience, there were only two reasons why a tall, blonde, beautiful girl would compliment the looks of a complete stranger:

A) She was genuinely nice or incredibly open-minded or B) She had a hidden agenda.

Charlotte was the first to jump in the pool.

Bad move. She immediately resurfaced and splashed around for a minute, her teeth chattering.
CO-O-O-LD!
After a few sputtering gasps, she brushed her red curls from her eyes and launched into her breaststroke, even though she hated that word. She thought about her breasts (or rather, the lack thereof) way too often.

Charlotte von Klaus had been the first to do lots of things. She’d been the first to make out with a boy (Caleb Ramsey, in sixth grade, in a game of Spin the Bottle that had gotten slightly out of hand); the first to sneak into the downstairs sauna at Silver Oaks (on a dare from Brooke); and the first to take a slug of very pricey Pinot Noir straight from the bottle (after her parents’ divorce last year. Luckily, with some brute force, Georgia had managed to wrestle the bottle away from Charlotte and toss it in the recycling bin).

And she was the first of her friends to see a therapist. And still the only one.

The way Charlotte saw it, if you were the first to do something, then you carved out some quality alone time—even if you were in the company of your two best friends. Or, even if you were in the company of a boy. After all, she hadn’t been thinking about Caleb Ramsey when she’d made out with him. She’d been thinking about her math homework, and walking Stella McCartney—the von Klaus family’s smelly (male) Labrador—and which
South Park
rerun would be on that night.

So as Charlotte plowed through the icy water, kicking her legs and paddling, she didn’t think about swimming. She thought about Marcus Craft.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him. Due to the overabundance of chlorine, he appeared extra fuzzy and dreamlike, and he was still languorously draped over the side of his chair, chatting up the Hot New Girl, Valerie What’s-Her-Face, who had somehow snuck in under the radar. How had none of them heard of her before today? Even Ethan Brennan knew about her. It was absurd.

Actually, what was more absurd was that Charlotte had to practice swimming.

For reasons never made clear, Old Fairfield Country Day—otherwise known as the Tombs (Charlotte coined the moniker herself after a freakish school field trip to Washington DC, but that was a very long story)—required that their students pass a swimming test in order to graduate. This was now the summer before senior year, and Charlotte was in big trouble. Brooke and Georgia would have no problem. Brooke had been a pool girl since birth. And there wasn’t a single sport Georgia couldn’t master. Give her a bow and arrow; she’d become an archery champ in days. Hence, all of Charlotte’s friends would say good-bye to the Tombs and attend college, whereas Charlotte envisioned herself flunking out and spiraling downward in a self-destructive binge of steak sandwiches until she became a grotesque tabloid headline:

Charlotte reached the shallow end and nearly bumped her head on the stone steps.
Ugh.
She was about as graceful as a squid. Was Marcus watching her? She hoped not. On the other hand, if she started to drown, then Marcus would have to dive in and rescue her. But on the third hand (was there a third hand?), that would violate The Second Unspoken Rule of Silver Oaks, which Charlotte had written herself:

Brooke was clearly interested in Marcus. Though that didn’t mean that Charlotte couldn’t still check him out. Their parents surreptitiously checked out their friends’ significant others all the time, after all. It was the adult thing to do.

“How’s the water?” a boy’s voice asked.

Charlotte shook out her soaking red hair and turned to see Caleb Ramsey standing poolside, frowning.

Good lord, did that boy need some sun. As always, at this time of year, his lanky body was even whiter than Brooke’s, especially in contrast with his oversized dark blue swim trunks and his mop of black hair. And as always, at this time of year, he somehow still managed to be completely adorable.

“Freezing, man,” Charlotte said. “It’s like
March of the Penguins
in here.”

“Seriously, C.”

“I am being serious. The good part is, much like said penguins, I have lots of blubber to keep me warm.” Charlotte leaned against the side of the pool and rested her chin on her dripping arms, smiling up at him. “Unlike you.”

“Will you do me a favor?” Caleb asked, returning the smile. “If you ever fish for a compliment again by claiming to be fat, will you give me permission to chop you up and bury you on the golf course?”

Charlotte stood up straight and saluted, deliberately splashing water on Caleb’s knees. “Permission granted.”

“Hey!” He laughed and scooted away. “Damn. That
is
cold.”

“Once you’re in, it gets better. I’m gonna do one more lap. My shrink says exercise is good for me.” She launched into the water again.

Charlotte hadn’t been able to joke around about therapy at first. She hadn’t even told Brooke and Georgia that she was even
seeing
a shrink until after her second session post-divorce last year. Not because she was worried they would think she was a loon (they already knew that), but mostly because she wondered if they’d be hurt. After all, who needed a shrink when you’ve shared everything with your two best friends since the age of diapers?

Surprisingly, Brooke had been the first to speak up. “I think this is exactly what you need to do, sweetie,” she’d said, squeezing Charlotte’s hand. (This from the girl whose tenth-grade yearbook quote was:
“Life is far too important a thing to talk seriously about.”—
Oscar Wilde.) And Charlotte began to realize Brooke was right. The difference between best friends and therapists? Best friends could and should constantly surprise you. Therapists couldn’t and shouldn’t. Dr. Gilmore was no exception. He’d worn the exact same paisley bow tie to every single session, now going on number fifty-four.

Charlotte reached the shallow end again, allowing her feet to touch the pool floor. She rubbed the water from her hair and eyes. Caleb was staring at Valerie now, though pretending not to. And Brooke was pretending to read
W,
and pretending not to watch Valerie and Marcus as well. Georgia was hurrying into the cabana to change, obviously about to meet Ethan on the tennis courts.

Caleb crouched down beside Charlotte, sitting on the edge of the tile and sticking his feet into the water. He eased them down very slowly, up to his knees, and then cringed, as if it were torture.

“You really are a wimp,” Charlotte teased.

“Well, not all of us can be lifeguards.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “By the way, have you met…?” He didn’t bother to finish the question.

“Sort of. I said hello to him, anyway. I still have yet to say hi to
her
.”

Caleb glanced up at the lifeguard chair, and then returned his gaze to the water. He kicked his feet absently. “She seems pretty cool.”

“Really? Have you talked to her?”

“No. This is the first time I’ve seen her.”

“Easy there, Caleb. You’re drooling.”

“That’s because of
you
, Charlotte,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You know, I still haven’t gotten over that game of Spin the Bottle.”

Charlotte laughed in spite of herself. “Funny. I was just thinking about that.”

“You were?” He puffed out his skinny chest. “I had that effect on you, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, stallion. Actually I was thinking about how I was thinking about other things. When we made out, you were the
last
thing on my mind.”

“Thanks,” Caleb said flatly. “I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I was just thinking…I don’t know.”

“Very articulate,” he mused.

“Hey, go easy on me. I got a C-minus in English this year.”

“It’s not your fault. You had Mr. Lowry. The guy’s a sadist.”

“No kidding,” she grumbled. Charlotte stretched out and kicked her feet to keep warm. “Anyway, enough about the Tombs. It’s summer. No school talk.”

“Agreed. May the Tombs rest in peace. So what’s with Brooke? She seems bummed.”

“I think it’s because—” Charlotte bit her lip. She was about to say:
This new girl is stealing her thunder.
But that wasn’t fair to Brooke; besides, Brooke may
not
have been bummed. She may have been deeply involved in an article in
W,
a brilliant piece about the “25 Best Ways to Satisfy Your Man!”

“Because of what?” Caleb prodded.

“Because Ethan said the three of us are like a street gang,” Charlotte replied, mostly because it was the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re a lousy liar, Charlotte von Klaus,” Caleb said with a laugh.

“He did say that!” she insisted, trying not to smile. “What? You don’t believe me? Ask him.”

“No, I believe you. And I agree. I’d say you three are exactly like a street gang. Except, you know, that you’re socialites from Connecticut who spend all your time at the country club. That’s the only difference.”

“Is that what you really think of us?” She stopped kicking and stood, rubbing her wet arms. She wasn’t sure why, but Caleb’s jab had struck a chord inside her.

“Actually, no, I think what everyone else here thinks of you,” he said, withdrawing his feet from the water. He made air quotes. “‘Brooke, Georgia, and Charlotte,’” he proclaimed in a deep voice. “‘The Princess, the Jock, and the Clown.’”

“Oh, God,” Charlotte murmured, aghast. “That’s even worse! Who thinks that?”

“Nobody.” Caleb splashed her playfully. “I’m kidding. If anything,
you’re
the princess.” He stuck his big toe back in the water and splashed her. “Look, I should run. I have to escape before my parents get here. Are you gonna be around later?”

Charlotte nodded absently. She shivered and stared at the sunlight sparkling off the tiny pool waves.

“Hey, are you all right?” Caleb asked. “I was just messing around.”

“I know, I know.” She pushed back into the water. “I’m just in a weird mood. I guess we all are. End of school and all. And in August we’re getting officially inducted into Silver Oaks, and all that crap.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my world,” Caleb said wryly. “The world of weird moods.” He sighed and turned, disappearing into the pool cabana.

Charlotte watched him go. What was she so upset about, anyway? And why should she care what anybody said about her and her friends, or, least of all, about Caleb Ramsey?

Maybe because she was scared that this summer
was
going to be more of the same old, same old. More hanging out by the pool. More of the same old banter with the same old pool
boys
: Caleb, and Ethan, and Robby Miller—another Old Fairfield Country Day kid—arrogant and in training to be a frat boy. And Robby’s fratty friends, Mike and Johnny and Billy, who were all pretty much interchangeable.

So maybe it was time to mix things up a little. Maybe somebody just had to make the first move.

Charlotte leaped out of the pool and marched right over to Marcus and Valerie, dripping water on the flagstones.

“Hi, again!” she said. “You’re Valerie, right? Great to meet you.” She extended a wet hand. “I’m Charlotte von Klaus. C for short. Welcome to Silver Oaks.”