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“Nothing!” I protested. “Will asked me to come. It must be a friend of his.”
“You have to go.” Ivy dropped the invitation and grabbed my hands. “Go and report back on everything. It’s your sacred duty.”
“Even better…” I pulled a notebook out of my backpack, my preferred mode for getting down ideas. “I’ll write an article about it. Can you imagine all the crazy excesses at this party? I’ll call it…‘The Care and Feeding of the Rich.’”
“Yes, girl! A tell-all exposé — right here in the school paper. If you’re fast, you can squeeze it into the last edition of the year. People will eat it up.”
“Maybe I can even pitch it to other publications,” I said excitedly. Writing helped me focus, a way to make sense of a mixed-up world and mixed-up feelings. Observing and reporting gave me a job to do, made me feel safe. “Now I have a reason to go. Without…”
“Without?”
Saying I want to. “Never mind.” Blushing, I closed my notebook and slid it into my backpack. I didn’t even know if I actually wanted this. I felt compelled to see Will, whether I liked it or not.
* * *
My mother wasn’t happy. Her lips went thin when I showed her the invitation, and she rubbed her temples.
“You’re eighteen. It’s your choice. But please, Andie, be careful. You have a good head on your shoulders. Don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
My father insisted that this was a long-overdue gesture from Rose and her family to make peace and help us out. I should accept it without question. He and my mom descended into another fight, and I put on my headphones.
Two weeks later, I was on a train to the Hamptons. My overnight bag held the only formal dress I owned. I’d bought it with prom in mind, but Ivy had convinced me to ditch our senior prom for a concert.
The dress was a final sale and couldn’t be returned. At least I had a place to wear it now.
A black town car was waiting when I stepped off the train. The driver wore a suit and sunglasses.
“Miss Baker?” he asked.
Will had told me someone would pick me up at the station. I’d expected one of his friends — a teenager. I nodded at the driver, speechless, and followed him to the gleaming black car.
Dazzled and self-conscious, I kept my knees together in the spacious backseat, inhaling the clean-car scent. My tank top was wilted, and I tried to fluff it up. The driver didn’t make conversation. I scribbled a few notes: Driver in a suit to pick me up. Spotless car. Free water bottles in the back. No idea what’s happening next.
He delivered me to a sprawling white house and sped away. As I stood on the front steps, trying to get my bearings, my cousin opened the door.
Will had lengthened and sharpened. My gaze flicked to his lean tallness, his defined cheekbones and jaw. Photos didn’t do him justice.
Clear green eyes gazed into mine. “You’re here. And you’re all grown up.”
Should I give him a hug? He looked too beautiful, too dangerous to touch.
“So are you.” Cautiously, I reached up to hug him around the shoulders. For a brief moment, Will looked surprised. Then his smile broadened, teeth gleaming, and he pulled me into an embrace.
Our bodies were much closer than I’d expected. He smelled so good, warm cedar and spice. One hand splayed between my shoulder blades, and my breasts were suddenly pressed against his chest.
“Um, Will,” I began, hot and flustered. Just as suddenly, he let go.
“Come on, little cousin.” Taking my bag in one hand, and my hand in the other, he pulled me into the house. “I’ll show you a good time.”
The pressure of his fingers on mine, the heat of his palm on my palm, stayed with me through swimming and sunning by the sparkling pool, meeting the dozens of other people — all effortlessly beautifully, all our age — who filled the house. There were no older adults, except for a few efficient and unobtrusive people whom Will explained to me were the staff.
I tried to keep track of names and identifying traits for my article. It wasn’t easy. The bright colors, the fine fabrics, the clink of ice and the freshness of the food, the laughter and heat, the mingling of sunscreen and perfume, acted like a drug. And Will, most of all Will, crowded my consciousness, blotting out my thoughts.
He stayed by my side, his tanned arm draped across the back of my pool chair, which kept me off-balance. Sometimes he tucked my hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing my neck. Boys and girls flocked to him. He introduced me simply as “Andie.” Not “my cousin.” No one asked how we knew each other; there was a finality to Will’s voice that didn’t invite questions. Their speculative stares slid over me.
Bryce Wingard III, the reason for this party, came over to shake my hand. He was broad and short-haired and hearty in pink swim trunks, and he told me Will was “something else.” When I asked him what he meant, he laughed.
“Trust Will to bring someone new,” he said to the people crowding round. “It’s good to have fresh blood.”
