Flirting with Boys (9 page)

Celeste looked across at him warily. The breakfast had been really fun, and they'd treated each other almost like humans. So was he returning to the old Nick now that they were back at the resort? The silence must have stretched out a little too long, because Nick threw the car into park and looked out through the windshield.

“Hey,” he said. “Totally business—I swear.” He glanced over at her. “What, are you afraid of the big bad wolf, little girl?” he teased.

Celeste rolled her eyes. “Don't hold your breath. You're going to have to do better than that to scare me.” She opened the door and then turned back to Nick. “I'm not off until nine. I'll be at your place at nine thirty, okay?”

“Yeah, see you then.”

C
eleste couldn't help feeling a little exposed that night as she rang the doorbell of the Saunders guesthouse. It was weird coming over in jeans and her favorite navy tank top instead of her uniform. She clutched her notebook in one hand and all of a sudden wondered if she should have brought some food or something. A few beers? Then she shook her head. Why was she acting like this was a date? This was about the party.

Nick opened the door. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Celeste replied. They just stood there for a long minute, and then Nick hastily stepped back from the door.

“Sorry!” he said. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” Celeste stepped over the threshold, glanc
ing behind her. The last thing she needed was Travis popping out from behind a bush and making this into something it clearly wasn't. She followed Nick into the guesthouse. Most of the lights were off. “Where are your parents?” she asked, looking around. Nick shrugged.

“There was some big benefit tonight in the city. They took the Mercedes in. I think they'll be back by morning, but who knows?”

“Couldn't you go too?” Celeste asked, following Nick into the den. There were just a couple of lamps glowing dimly. A squishy gray couch piled with pillows faced a plasma TV on the wall.

“Are you kidding?” Nick snorted. “The last thing anyone wants is some teenage kid hanging around, eating all the hors d'oeuvres. I think my parents have taken me to one event my whole life, and that was when my own grandmother was giving it.” He motioned to the couch. “I thought we could sit in here.”

Celeste flopped down and almost disappeared into the gray cushions. “This is quite a couch. I didn't know we had this in here.”

“Um, yeah.” He dusted off a cushion and smiled sheepishly. “Do you want some of this weird European soda my mom's really into? It's passion fruit–flavored.”

“That sounds good.”

He was back in two minutes with a tray bearing two glasses and two funky little bottles, a giant bowl of
popcorn, and a smaller bowl of M&M's. He set everything down on the ottoman and plopped down on the sofa.

Celeste grabbed a handful of popcorn and stared at the screen as the opening credits rolled. Nick wasn't sitting near enough to touch her, but she could feel him next to her anyway, as if her skin had grown a whole set of invisible antennae. She snuck a glance at him. He was stuffing handfuls of popcorn into his mouth and staring at the screen, where a bunch of men in robes were riding across the desert. He seemed totally oblivious to her presence. She stared for a minute at his forearms, which were tanned and covered with hair bleached from the sun, then forced herself to look back at the TV.

“You know that Peter O'Toole almost got trampled by horses during the filming?” he asked, his eyes not leaving the screen.

“Oh yeah?” Celeste replied, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead.
Strictly business
, she reminded herself.

After about an hour, Nick paused the DVD and stretched. Celeste massaged her neck. “Alec Guinness is awesome in this,” she said, stretching her arms over her head.

“Yeah. He's so good. Have you ever seen
Smiley's People
?”

Celeste shook her head. “When did that come out?”

“Well, it's not a movie, it was a TV series based on
John le Carré novels. Anyway, John le Carré said that after he saw Alec Guinness play Smiley, he couldn't even write the character anymore without thinking of Alec Guinness.”

Normally, Celeste would've just assumed Nick was showing off. But he sounded so genuinely interested in what he was saying and in fact, he wasn't even looking at her. He was picking a bit of popcorn out of his teeth.

“That's really interesting,” she said slowly. All those years of flirting and Nick's over-the-top snobitude, and here they were, having a real conversation—actually, their second in one day. Celeste almost looked around for hidden cameras, but it seemed like maybe she wasn't being punk'd after all. He smiled right at her and for a minute, their eyes connected. His face seemed to fill up her field of vision, and for a moment she flashed back to their final drunken kiss at the end of last summer. Both of them laughing, almost spilling their beers, and then his arms around her waist and his mouth on hers. He'd tasted like mint and alcohol.

Celeste's phone buzzed. She jumped and ripped her eyes away from Nick's, clapping her hand on her pocket at the same time. “Oh, my phone!” she exclaimed a little too loudly.

“Yeah. You'd better answer it,” Nick replied. He stared at her for a second longer and then started stirring
the leftover popcorn kernels in the bowl with his finger, looking oddly disappointed.

Celeste peeked at the screen and leaped to her feet, knocking her thighs into the coffee table when she saw Travis's name.

“Whoa.” Nick reached out and steadied the soda bottles. “What's up?”

Beep
. Travis had left a voice mail. Damn it. Now he was going to wonder where she was.

“Heh-heh.” Celeste laughed nervously. “Um, can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure,” Nick said. He clicked the TV on to
Sports-Center
. “But I hope it's not just to freshen up. I like my girls kinda dirty.” He caught Celeste's startled glance and laughed. “Joking.”

Celeste felt a little splash of irritation well up in her. Here she'd been thinking how nice it was when he treated her like a person instead of a potential hookup, and now he'd regressed straight back to annoying and snobby.

“Don't worry,” she snapped, heading toward the bathroom. “You've never been worth the effort of freshening up.”

In the peach and pale green bathroom, which was bigger than her entire bedroom at home, Celeste perched on the closed toilet seat and dialed Travis.

“I'm sitting here on the golf course. It's dark and
there's no one around,” he said as soon as he answered. “And I've got two bottles of Stella. Where are you?”

Celeste glanced nervously at the door, thanking God for the millionth time that people couldn't see through phones. “Um, out with Devon,” she said, trying to keep her voice low yet normal-sounding.

“Where are you guys? You didn't tell me you were going out,” Travis said. “And why are you talking all muffled like that?”

“I'm not talking muffled.” Celeste raised her voice a tiny bit. “It was a last-minute thing. Devon came by with…Paul Simon tickets, so we went. I didn't have time to call you.” She stared at a small spider making its way across the peach bath mat.

“Wait, you're at a
Paul Simon
concert?” Travis asked incredulously. “Right now? Why's Paul Simon playing Palm Springs? And why's it so quiet?”

“He's—um, it's a small concert. A really small concert,” Celeste stammered. “He's only playing one night…at his grandmother's house.”
What, Celeste?
“It's like an invitation-only thing, so there aren't that many people here.” The spider had reached the sink pedestal and begun its journey up to the basin.

“Wait, so let me get this straight,” Travis said with irritating logic. Why couldn't she have talked to him later in the evening,
after
he'd drunk those Stellas? “You're at Paul Simon's grandmother's house in Palm Springs,
listening to an invite-only concert. Is that right?”

“Right,” Celeste said desperately, eyeing the door. She'd been in here way too long. Nick was going to think she had some serious intestinal issues. “Oh, whoops! They're starting again. Gotta go. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” She clicked off.

Celeste opened the bathroom door and leaned against the door frame for a minute. She felt like she needed a nap. A medal and then a nap, actually. Slowly, she made her way back down the hall toward the den, where she could still hear the TV blasting. But as she passed an open bedroom door, Celeste stopped. There, on the desk, she spotted a MacBook Air, one of those really light new laptops. The room was obviously Nick's: T-shirts lay strewn over the chair and floor, and several pairs of sneakers were jumbled by the unmade bed. Celeste stared in envy at the shiny white computer on the desk.

“Like my new baby?” Nick said from behind her. Celeste jumped.

“Oh! Uh, yeah. I was just, um, lost,” she said hastily, backing away from the door. She felt like she'd been caught reading his diary.

He didn't seem like he cared, though. He stepped into the room and patted the laptop tenderly. “I love this baby. I can do all my film editing on it practically.”

“I've had my eye on one of those too,” Celeste said,
trying to swallow the envy in her voice.
Of course he has exactly the laptop I'd want—he probably gets a new one every six months,
she thought.

He glanced over at her quickly. “I got it at a computer store I worked at one Christmas break. It was a floor model and the manager gave me an amazing deal. I do actually work for things I want.”

Celeste felt her cheeks turn pink. “Um, okay. How about that movie?” she said, backing away from the door and heading back toward the den. Nick followed but stopped in the kitchen.

“I'm starved,” he announced. “You want a sandwich?”

“Yeah, sure.” She sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and watched as Nick bustled around like one of the hot Food Network chefs, pulling rolls out of a bag and slapping on huge piles of roast beef, cheddar cheese, lettuce, and tomato, all covered liberally with mustard. He handed a loaded plate to Celeste, who gazed at it in amazement. “What do you think I am, a linebacker?” She laughed.

“Oh yeah,” he said through a mouthful of roll. “Don't worry, I'll finish yours.”

Back in the den, he settled himself on the sofa, balancing the sandwich plate on his stomach. Celeste settled herself gingerly next to him. She took a bite of roast beef. Boy-made snacks, a movie—this felt like a date. She shook
her head violently. No. It did not feel like a date, because she wasn't with Travis—her boyfriend—the boy she went on dates with.

“What do you have, a bug in your ear or something?” Nick asked, chewing with his cheeks distended.

“Oh! No, I'm fine,” she said quickly. Nick started the movie again and she gazed blankly at the camels and horses trawling across the screen. She was going to have to be more discreet about her internal battles. Because it was starting to seem like she was the one who needed help keeping this relationship professional.

W
ell, I don't know why you have to go,” Travis said. Or rather, whined. He peered out the windshield at the maze of warehouses and concrete buildings. “I have no idea where we are anyway.”

Celeste sighed and tried to push down the irritation rising in her. “I told you. Nick and I really want this band for the party, but they won't come out to the resort for an audition. The only time they'd let us hear them is when they're warming up for their concert tonight.” Inside, Celeste knew that she was actually stoked to see the band play. Although she'd really rather
not
be stuck in the car with a whiny boyfriend. But her parents' car was in the shop, and her dad had agreed that Travis could drive her in a resort truck only if he
stopped on the way back and picked up some new mower blades. She'd figured a one-way trip with a whiny Travis would be better than however long it would take her to explain why she was riding with Nick. She was starting to rethink that decision.

“And,” Travis went on, swinging the truck down a narrow alley lined with fire escapes, “I really don't like the idea of you driving back with him.”

Celeste fought the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she peered down at the directions once more. “Is this Highland?” she asked, squinting up at the nonexistent street signs.

“How the hell should I know?” Travis growled, reversing to avoid a one-way street.

“Travis, chill out,” Celeste said. “We're practically right on top of it—turn! Highland!”

Travis braked suddenly and screeched the truck to the right. He pulled up in front of a scarred metal door set into the side of a crumbling, graffitied building.

“I'll see you tomorrow, okay?” Celeste said, opening the door. “And don't worry—this is all totally business! Remember what I told you about keeping the Saunderses happy.”

Travis nodded sullenly and drove off.

Celeste struggled with the latch on the battered metal door. Finally she managed to press it down, and the door flew open with a terrific crash against the interior
wall. Celeste stumbled and almost fell into the room. To her embarrassment, the door opened directly onto the performance space. The band had been warming up on a stage across the room. The lead singer, whom Celeste recognized from their publicity shots, stopped in mid-wail and stared. Everyone else—a few sound guys, some rocker types sitting at little tables, and Nick—turned around to see who was making the grand entrance. Celeste smiled weakly into the silence and crept to a seat next to Nick. To complete her humiliation, the band didn't resume tuning up again until she was sitting down. Finally, the lead singer shook his greasy shoulder-length hair and played a few notes on his guitar. “Let's take that again, guys,” he called.

Under the cover of the music, Celeste leaned over to whisper to Nick, “This place is freaky!” She looked around at the exposed pipes on the brick walls, the black-painted plywood stage, the grimy bar at the back of the room, where a tattooed bartender was setting up glasses in preparation for the night's concert. The floor was sticky under her flip-flops.

“Yeah, I know,” Nick murmured back. “It's like a nineteen eighty-five time warp.” He gazed at the band on stage. They were all skinny and deathly pale. “They look like they spend all their time underground, but they were band of the month in
Rolling Stone
. The singer is Sloan Love, by the way.”

Sloan was doing some sort of bizarre howling vocal warm-up onstage. “He sounds like his volume control is broken,” Celeste said. “I think the guests will all start running away if he sings like that, if the creeptastic eye makeup doesn't scare them off first.”

Nick laughed, watching the stage. “I think that's just his warm-up. Let's hear how they sound once they do a song.”

“First
Lawrence of Arabia
, now the next generation of Poison? What are you getting me into?” Celeste teased.

Nick widened his eyes. “Hey, I'm just trying to give us all the options.” He sat back in his chair and draped his arm over the back of hers. Celeste eyed the arm for a minute and decided he really was just resting it there.

The band played for a few more minutes, and then ground to a sudden halt when Sloan made a chopping motion behind his back without looking back. They were all still for a moment and he raised his hand, still staring straight ahead. He brought it down onto his guitar and the band crashed into some opening chords.

At first, Celeste didn't hear the lyrics. She was completely caught up in the rich, complex melody flowing from the scruffy guys on stage. Given the tight, torn T-shirts and copious amounts of guyliner on stage, the band's hauntingly beautiful sound was entirely unexpected. Then Nick nudged her side. “They're singing to
you
!” he whispered.

“What?” Celeste said.

“
Celeste, like the stars in the sky, my Celestial
,” Sloan sang with his eyes closed.

“How do they even know my name?” Celeste tried not to shriek.

“I don't know—I mean, I sent an e-mail to say that we were coming, but no one ever wrote back. But if it's a coincidence, that's gotta be a sign that this is meant to be.” Nick laughed.

Onstage, Sloan opened his eyes and stared right at Celeste as he finished the song. His black eyes were piercing. As the last wailing notes of the guitar died away, everyone was silent for a moment before breaking into scattered applause. The band put down their instruments and started wiping their foreheads and gulping from bottles of water. Sloan turned to confer with the drummer. Nick stood up and turned to look at her. “Okay, what do you think?”

Celeste nodded. “That was amazing,” she said slowly.

“I thought so too,” Nick agreed. “Should we book them?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay. Let's go.” He turned and headed toward the stage. Celeste trailed a little ways behind. She was surprised to find her palms sweating a little. She'd never really dealt with business contacts outside of Pinyon. And Sloan, as they approached, looked intimidatingly
tall and aloof, with his prominent hipbones encased in worn black leather.

Nick, however, seemed unfazed. He hopped onto the edge of the stage like he talked to burgeoning rock stars all the time. The band took as much notice of them as if they'd been crumpled gum wrappers on the floor. Nick cleared his throat. Sloan put down his microphone and walked to the opposite side of the stage to adjust one of the dials on an amp. Celeste cast Nick a worried look, but his face was neutral.

“Hey,” Nick said politely. No one even glanced at them. Celeste was starting to feel remarkably stupid just standing at the front of the stage. She felt like she had the day she'd tried ask Brian Hellman to be her boyfriend on the playground in fifth grade. He had proceeded to laugh at her and then tell all her friends.

“Nick,” she murmured. “I don't think they're interested.”

“Don't worry,” he muttered back. Then he raised his voice.
“Hey!”
he almost shouted. His voice echoed in the empty space. Sloan turned around slowly. He stared at them for what felt to Celeste like a long, long moment. The other members of the band also stopped talking and turned to stare.

“Yeah?” Sloan said finally.

Nick offered a wide, toothy smile. “You guys sounded great.”

Sloan looked bored. Nick plowed ahead, apparently unfazed. “We'd like to book you for our party at the Pinyon resort.”

The singer waved his hand. “We don't do Sweet Sixteens, kid,” he sniffed. “Thanks for coming, though.” He turned back to the amp. Celeste felt like she'd been slapped in the face. She turned away.

“Where are you going?” Nick whispered, catching at her arm. She glared at him.

“I'm getting out of here—this guy is totally not interested in us. Let's just leave,” she pleaded.

Nick's eyes narrowed and his dark blond eyebrows knit together. “No way,” he said firmly, and, still hanging on to Celeste's arm, he clambered right up onto the dusty, scarred wooden stage. Celeste just managed to scramble up after him.

As the other band members watched in astonishment, Nick strode right to the other end of the stage and tapped Sloan on the shoulder. He turned around and, seeing who it was, rolled his eyes. Nick ignored this.

“I don't think you heard me just now,” Nick said pleasantly. To Celeste's ears, he sounded as calm as someone ordering brunch at an outdoor café. “We're planning a party at the Pinyon Ranch for the Palm Springs Film Festival. This is going to be a big deal, so I'm not sure why you're not interested in gaining some exposure for your band.” He gestured around the space. “What are
you going to pull in tonight—a hundred people? Maybe one fifty?” Sloan's mouth was slightly open. Nick went on. “We're expecting over five hundred at the festival, and all of them will see your name on our promotional material. And we're talking entertainment insiders, not kids on summer vacation. But if you're not interested, no problem. We can easily find someone else.”

Celeste's jaw dropped. That boy had balls! Who would have guessed that pretty boy Nick could face down Marilyn Manson Two? And he was being polite about it, even though the guy was obviously a total jerk. Sloan looked equally surprised but quickly regained his composure.

“We really don't have any interest in private parties,” he sneered, his nostrils flaring.

“We'll double whatever fee you're getting for tonight's performance.”

Celeste coughed. Nick was going to flatten their music budget—and probably the rest of the budget too. “Nick,” she whispered, resisting the urge to tug at his sleeve. He ignored her.

The singer seemed to actually be considering Nick's offer. He dug a little black notebook out of his pocket and flipped through it, licking his forefinger each time he flipped one of the onionskin pages and muttering to himself. He fished out a stubby little pencil and poised it over one of the pages “All right,” he said. “It'll be a waste of a night. When's your party?”

Celeste tried to restrain herself from jumping up and down right there on the scarred black stage, but Nick didn't even blink as he gave Sloan the details about where and when and promised to e-mail the info as well. Celeste thought she could detect just a hint of flush in his cheeks though.

They confirmed the band's contact information, then made their escape. As they shoved open the heavy metal door and stepped out onto the sidewalk in a flood of bright sunlight, Celeste threw her arms around Nick. “That was amazing!”

“Thanks,” he said. Suddenly, Celeste realized what she was doing. She could feel the warmth of his skin beneath her arms, and their faces were only a few inches apart. She dropped her arms fast and backed away, tripping a little on a raised part of the sidewalk.

“Um, yeah,” she said, pointlessly brushing her hair back from her face even though it was in a ponytail. “No, seriously, that was really good.”

Nick shrugged. “Come on, the car's this way.” He started heading down the sidewalk. “Honestly, it's not hard to get someone to listen to you. I hate that people always feel like they can blow off teenagers. I've learned that you just have to be polite, even if they're being rude. And you know he was totally bluffing about not being interested. He put your name in a song! That guy just enjoys being an ass.”

“Yeah,” Celeste said thoughtfully. Suddenly, she remembered what Nick had offered to pay them and felt herself deflate. “But, um, Nick, we'll never be able to afford them.”

Nick didn't look concerned. “Yeah, we will. What, do you think I'd willingly break our budget? I'm not stupid, you know. I actually do know what a budget is.” As they walked down the decaying block, he dug a piece of paper from his pocket. “One of my buddies keeps a website for music managers that lists what different venues pay. I took a look at it before we came over.” He unfolded the paper and handed it to Celeste. “See? This place only pays one fifty. I mean, look at it. You're local and you've never been there before. We can totally afford three hundred for music.”

Celeste glanced at the paper and looked carefully at Nick, who was ambling along the sidewalk. His white T-shirt clung to his wiry chest, and his straight blond hair was falling in his eyes as usual. It was nice having someone else take care of things once in a while, she thought. Instead of chasing Travis around, trying to pick up the pieces of his various screwups.
No, stop. Travis is awesome and fun
, she reminded herself hastily.

They reached the Alfa Romeo, parked halfway up on the curb and directly in front of a giant
NO PARKING ANY TIME
sign.

“Wow. I guess you're not quite as good at parking as you are at negotiating,” Celeste teased.

“That sign was totally not there before,” Nick insisted, his eyes wide.

Celeste slid into the front seat and Nick started the engine. “So, do you know how to get back to the resort from here?” she asked. “I have no idea.”

“Totally,” Nick reassured her. “I'll just go back the same way I came.” The car thumped off the curb and he pulled into the street.

“Um, Nick?” Celeste said after a minute. “This is a one-way street. And you're going the wrong way.”

“Damn!” Nick dragged the steering wheel over to one side and executed a perfect U-turn in the middle of the street. He turned onto another one-way street, this one deserted and lined with trash cans.

“Do you see a street sign?” he asked, peering up at the corner.

“Um, no. I think this is an alley. Why don't we try that way?” She pointed ahead, where they could see busy cars crossing a wide boulevard.

“Good idea.” Nick floored the accelerator and the car shot ahead.

“By the way,” Celeste said, “I'm glad you know where you're going, because I am totally turned around. Plus, all the signs are in Spanish now.”