Pool Boys (11 page)

“Who cares?”

Brooke asked this lame question far too often lately. As the hours and days and eventually
weeks
progressed, it became an all-purpose catchphrase—the only way Brooke could get Charlotte to shut up about the whole Georgia situation.

Georgia hadn’t shown up at the club once since that rainy day. Not in two whole weeks. It was insane. Aside from two vacations to Europe, none of them had ever gone so long without communicating at least via e-mail.

So when Charlotte tapped Brooke on the shoulder the morning of July Fourth to announce that she’d finally received a text message from Georgia, Brooke didn’t even bother to look up from her magazine. She stretched out in the lounger, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on a Fiorucci spread in
Vogue.

“Who cares?” she said again.

Charlotte shoved her phone in front of Brooke’s face.

HEY C ARE U COMING TO THE PICNIC SORRY IVE BEEN SO OUT OF TOUCH. G

Brooke snickered. “So she’s alive.” Could it be any more
offensive?
It would take a lot more than a half-assed text message to set things straight.

“So what do you say?” Charlotte asked. “You want to go?”

Brooke slammed her
Vogue
shut and tossed it down onto the patio. She glared at Charlotte over the rims of her sunglasses. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she stated.

Charlotte sighed. Her eyes wandered over to Robby Miller and his posse, playing poker under the umbrella nearest to the diving board, and Brooke saw her cheeks color. Why? Charlotte quickly turned back to Brooke. “I don’t know, B,” she said, twirling her hair with her fingers. “I don’t feel like hanging around here, you know?”

Brooke glanced up at Marcus, slouched in the lifeguard chair. With his broad shoulders and muscular arms silhouetted against the overcast sky, he looked like something out of one of those movies about ancient warriors, like
Troy.
He shot her a grin, his eyes teasing. They’d been hooking up off and on in the sauna for a couple weeks now.

“No, C,” she murmured happily. “I don’t know.”

The truth was, Brooke was sort of secretly wishing that Charlotte would get lost. She wanted to fit in some alone time with Marcus in the downstairs sauna before the dumb Fourth of July festivities began. (Last night, her dad informed her that the usual picnic was canceled: It was supposed to rain. Instead, there would be an “indoor luncheon.”) Charlotte seemed incapable of taking the hint, though.

Oh, great. And now here comes Ethan.

He slouched toward them, smiling forlornly. He looked scruffier than usual. He probably hadn’t shaved in two weeks.

“Hey, you haven’t seen Georgia around, have you?” he asked.

Brooke shook her head.

“I don’t think she’s coming today,” Charlotte answered.

“Oh.” He mustered a weak laugh. “Well. I guess you guys are more of a duo than a trio of backup singers now,” he joked. He turned and headed for the cabana.

“That was a dumb thing to say,” Brooke muttered under her breath.

“Don’t worry, B,” Charlotte said. “We’re still like a trio of backup singers. Sometimes they have little squabbles, though, you know? I mean you saw that movie about Tina Turner, right? The one with Angela Basset? Remember how she fought with
her
backup singers?”

Brooke reached for her
Vogue
again. “No. I don’t.”

As if on cue, a few drops of rain began to fall. Brooke flopped back on her cushions and groaned. Wonderful. Now Marcus would have to busy himself with closing the pool. No way could she get him down into the sauna. All at once, Brooke couldn’t help but feel the need to leave Silver Oaks, too—as opposed to retiring to the billiards room and watching the moronic shenanigans of the Robby Miller Posse.

Charlotte’s phone began to buzz again.

“Georgia,” she said, flipping it open. She held up the little screen for Brooke to see.

HEY C THE PICNIC IS CANCELED CUZ OF THE RAIN. CALL U LATER.

Brooke let herself fume for a second over the fact that Georgia was still in touch with Charlotte and not her. Then she glanced over at Marcus. He was already working his way down the lifeguard ladder. He flashed a rueful smile.

“Let’s go shopping,” Charlotte said. “There are always tons of Fourth of July sample sales.”

Brooke sighed. “Why not? Maybe I’ll get lucky and find something really great. Lord knows I won’t get lucky here.”

After picking up some Lucky jeans and Mella flip-flops at the mall, the girls drove to the state park to kill time—anything to avoid going back to the club, and each for their own reasons.…

When they got there, though, they saw Georgia and Valerie, playing tennis in the rain.

Brooke and Charlotte sat in their seats, with the rain crashing down, speechless. Georgia and Valerie were playing all by themselves in the downpour, swatting a tennis ball back and forth in soaked gym shorts and tees, laughing hysterically like a couple of kindergartners.

And that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that when Georgia paused to wipe her damp hair off her forehead, Brooke could see that Georgia was missing something: her friendship bracelet. She’d taken it off. She’d violated the sixth Unspoken Rule, the rule she’d inscribed herself. Don’t Toss Out Anything of Value.

“Let’s get out of here,” Charlotte mumbled, reading Brooke’s mind. “Maybe we can still make the stupid luncheon at the club.”

Tires screeching, Charlotte’s car spun out of the parking lot and onto the highway. The windshield wipers slapped in an off-kilter rhythm, drowning out the radio.

“Can I ask you something?” Brooke said.

“Sure.”

“What did Dr. Gilmore say about Georgia, you know, ditching us and all that?”

Charlotte lifted her shoulders. “He says that we’re all stressed about colleges and stuff. He says that we all could be ‘acting out.’”

Brooke frowned. “But we haven’t even started
applying
to colleges yet.”

“Yeah, but we will pretty soon.” Charlotte sighed. “He says that sometimes people drift apart. Especially if they’ve been close as kids—” She bit her lip. Her grip tightened on the wheel, her knuckles whitening. “Whatever. He’s just a stupid shrink who wears a bow tie. It’s not like he has any idea of what’s really going on.”

For once in her life, Brooke didn’t have a dry or witty comeback. “You think G will at least come to the Midsummer Ball?” she heard herself ask. “I know we’ve joked about it and even said a few times that we wouldn’t go. But at least we were going to go shopping for it.”

Charlotte shrugged again. “Honestly, your guess is as good as mine,” she answered quietly.

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Brooke sighed. “Who cares?”

The Fourth of July came and went without much activity, but the very next day, Brooke finally got the fireworks she’d been craving.

The day dawned brilliantly—perfect suntanning weather—and at the pool that morning, Marcus caught her eye and gave her a long, knowing look. Brooke smiled back, and that afternoon, they met up in the sauna.

“It’s been a while,” Brooke murmured, letting her pool robe drop as Marcus walked over to her. She’d missed him so much, but she didn’t want to let on.

“Yeah,” Marcus replied with a grin, undoing the strings on her halter bikini. He leaned in and started kissing her. His lips were warm and salty; his tongue was insistent. Brooke responded in kind, and soon the two of them were down on the bench, going at it like crazy.

“Hang on,” Marcus whispered, pulling back to catch his breath. “There’s—um—before we get too busy, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“What?” Brooke drew back, too. She met Marcus’s wide blue eyes.
About Georgia? Or Valerie?
She didn’t know what to expect anymore.

“It’s about the Midsummer Ball,” Marcus whispered, tracing a pattern on Brooke’s bare shoulder with his finger. “I know the girls who are getting inducted generally have escorts or whatever, so I was wondering if I could be yours?” He gave her a winning smile.

“You—what?” Brooke whispered back in disbelief. Maybe she and Marcus
weren’t
just about random hookups.
Maybe he did want something more. But was the Midsummer Ball really the appropriate venue to take her relationship with Marcus to the next level? He was an employee, after all. Wouldn’t her dad utterly lose his shit?

And why would that be so bad?

Before Brooke could respond to Marcus either way, her cell phone, which she’d tucked into the pocket of her pool robe, began buzzing loudly. Retying the strings of her halter, Brooke bent down and plucked out the phone. It was Charlotte.

“Do you need to take that?” Marcus asked, standing up and stretching. “I can wait outside if you want.”

“Yeah…I should get it,” Brooke said. It wasn’t like Charlotte to call in the middle of the day, so Brooke knew something had to be up.

Marcus promised Brooke he’d be waiting outside, and then ambled out of the sauna room, leaving her alone with her cell.

“C, you’ll never guess,” Brooke said immediately. “Marcus invited me to the Midsummer Ball. The invitation bug seems to be catching.”

There was a pause. “Interesting,” Charlotte said flatly. “Have fun.”

Brooke clenched the phone in her slick fingers, annoyed. “C? I gotta tell you, I’m not in the mood for mind games right now. What’s going on?”

Charlotte laughed. “Oh, nothing. Just that now, everybody officially has a date to the Midsummer Ball except me. Ethan is going with Georgia. You’re going with
Marcus. And Caleb is going with Valerie. Maybe you guys should all get a hotel room together or something.”

Brooke held her breath, waiting for the follow-up.

“Did you hear me?” Charlotte asked.

“Yeah, I heard you,” Brooke said irritably. “It’s a joke, right?”

“No, it’s not a joke. Jesus, B, can’t you think about somebody besides yourself for once?” Charlotte demanded.

Brooke opened her mouth, but no words would come.

“Hey, I’m sorry, okay?” Charlotte mumbled in the silence. “Don’t worry about me. Honestly. You never do, anyway.”

“C—”

“I gotta go.”

Click.

Brooke stared at the phone. The first thought that leaped to her mind was:
Charlotte’s on the verge of another breakdown, and I have to talk to Georgia right away.
She punched in the speed-dial and brought the phone back to her ear.

After two rings, Georgia answered. “Hello?” she said softly, her voice incredulous. “Brooke?”

Brooke drew in a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and plunged straight in. “G, listen,” she began. “I know we’re—”

“I’m not interested in Marcus, Brooke, I swear,” Georgia interrupted. “I was just confused, and upset, and you were right; it’s more about Ethan.”

Brooke blinked, scowling. “What?”

“Marcus told you, didn’t he? That’s why I’ve been staying away from the club. I didn’t want to see him. I wanted him to be with
you.”

“What are you talking about?” Brooke demanded, her blood running cold.

“Marcus didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me
what?”

Georgia was silent.

“G, what was Marcus supposed to tell me?”

“That he kissed me.”

Brooke didn’t answer. The tiny sauna bench seemed to crumble beneath her and send her free-falling into a bottomless abyss. She couldn’t believe Marcus was still waiting outside. Well, let him wait. Forever. She’d walk by him, freeze him out.

“Brooke? Are you there? It was just one time—and—um—”

“No, G. He didn’t tell me about it. But just so you know, Charlotte is really pissed off, and I think the three of us should meet.”

“I…uh, okay. Yeah. Let’s meet. How about the golf course, around seven P.M.? Let’s say the thirteenth hole. I’ll call Charlotte.”

“Valerie’s not invited, is she?” Brooke asked frostily.

“Of course not. B, come on—”

“Done.”

Georgia never understood why the die-hard golfers didn’t play at this hour. It was the most beautiful time of day—the sun sinking, the wind picking up, the sky golden red in the west and dark blue in the east. But then, the diehard golfers liked to drink cocktails at this hour. And given the sub-zero expression on Brooke’s face, and the way Charlotte was furiously twirling her red hair, well, some cocktails right now might have been a good idea.

“So, we’re all here,” Georgia announced. She watched her two (former?) best friends pace the green. “Let’s talk. Or let’s at least try to conjure John Lennon.”

Brooke froze in her tracks. “That’s not funny,” she said.

“Oh, come on, B,” Charlotte groaned. “Let’s just please—”

“Let’s just please
what?”
Brooke snapped. “Georgia is making fun of you, Charlotte. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The ‘nice’ Georgia Palmer we knew is gone. Either she’s cloned herself, or she’s had one of those face transplants.”

“Brooke,
relax
, all right?” Charlotte pleaded, her voice rising. “I don’t care if Georgia is making fun of me.”
Charlotte marched over and planted herself between the two of them, her red curls bright in the twilight. “Georgia can say what she wants. I mean,
I
could say a lot of stuff right now. But I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.” Charlotte gave Brooke a pointed stare.

Brooke laughed. “Oh, please. What? Are you talking about that picture you—”

“Shut up, B,” Charlotte hissed.

Georgia glowered at Brooke. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, Georgia. So you did try to poach Marcus?” Brooke asked demurely, affecting an air of fake innocence.

Charlotte winced.

“Brooke, I apologized for that,” Georgia whispered, clenching her jaw.

“Exactly!” Charlotte exclaimed, before either of them could say another word.

Georgia’s eyes bored into Brooke’s. Brooke stared down at her Manolos. “What picture?” Georgia asked.

“Look, everybody here kisses tons of other people,” Charlotte babbled. “It’s practically Silver Oaks tradition. Take my own parents—”

“C, cut out the stand-up routine tonight, okay?” Brooke moaned. “It loses its charm fast. This is serious.”

Charlotte whirled and stared at Brooke. “You know, we wouldn’t even be fighting right now if it weren’t for Valerie,” she spat.

“Valerie?” Georgia asked, not sure if Charlotte was joking again.

“Yes,” Charlotte replied. “Valerie.” She kept her eyes on Brooke.

Georgia threw her hands in the air. “This has nothing to
do
with Valerie!”

“It has everything to do with Valerie!” Brooke and Charlotte cried at the exact same time, spinning to face her.

“Funny.” Georgia shook her head, now more angry than miserable. “This is just what I was talking about—with Valerie herself.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “What’s that, G?”

“It’s just…It’s almost, like, psychic. That you two have this connection. And sometimes it gets pretty annoying. That’s all. I guess it’s just taken me a long time to come out and say it.”

Brooke stepped forward, brushing Charlotte aside. “G, that’s not cool.”

“What isn’t?” she demanded.

“I just…this isn’t like—it isn’t like you,” Brooke said—actually stammering, which she never did. “We
all
have that connection. Has there ever been a summer—other than this one—when we haven’t hung out together? I mean, yeah, you’ve always liked spending more time playing tennis than hanging out with us by the pool, but—”

“Excuse me? Why do you keep saying I’m not like
myself?”
Georgia was simmering now. Brooke’s comment wasn’t a compliment or a confession or even an attempt to help; it was a not-so-veiled snub, nearly identical to Ethan’s—and it perfectly summed up everything that had driven Georgia crazy recently. “Maybe you never knew me
in the first place. And you’re right—I
do
like playing tennis more than hanging out by the pool and listening to your inane gossip. I mean, come on, Brooke! You spotted Marcus and you
called
him, like you were calling first dibs on a new pair of Sevens. You’re shallow, Brooke Farnsworth.”

Charlotte stepped between them again, extending a hand to each. “This is so stupid, you guys. There’s no way I’m gonna let this happen.”

“Well, it
is
happening,” Brooke shot back. “Deal with it. Maybe the three of us are just growing apart.”

Charlotte shook her head, her face registering shock, and Georgia felt a similar pang of surprised sadness. But, somehow she found her voice.

“Maybe we grew apart a long time ago,” Georgia whispered. “Maybe we’ve been playing a charade of friendship all along.”

“Well, true friends wouldn’t act the way we’ve been acting all summer,” Charlotte acknowledged, swallowing hard.

This is like a séance
, Georgia realized. Only this time the girls were dredging up the ghosts of their pasts.

“Fine,” Brooke said icily. “Then if the point of coming here was to be honest, here’s
my
honest opinion—I wouldn’t mind never seeing either of you again.”

“Gee, my sentiments exactly,” Charlotte snapped. Then, looking as if she were going to cry, she turned and dashed across the green. Georgia watched her go. Her stomach squeezed. For the first time in her life, she had an
idea of how crazy, and neurotic, and sad Charlotte must have felt all the time. So she decided to follow her example. She ran away from Brooke, too—but in the opposite direction.

And, as Georgia darted across the lawn in the setting sun, she caught a glimpse of two figures, laughing and talking beside the ivy walls of the tennis court. Two figures that made her heart stop.

They were Ethan and Valerie.