Golden Girl (13 page)

“Maybe,” I replied, trying to match her confident tone. “In fact, maybe this is exactly what I need.”

But inside I wasn't so sure.

F
or discerning customers who appreciated a five-star-resort-style experience after a hard day on the slopes, Jacques's Steakhouse was really the only option on the mountain. A linen napkin, celebrity-chef-style restaurant, it was
the
place to see and be seen après-ski.

The interior of the restaurant had been designed to look like an upscale log cabin, with wooden-beamed ceilings and chandeliers fashioned out of elk antlers. The walls were covered with Native American crafts, created, I'd heard, by a local Vermont tribe, and the tables had a rustic, unfinished look, though each probably cost more than my dad's monthly salary. The lighting was dim and atmospheric, with scattered tealight candles offering up a romantic vibe, and soft music from a live harpist in a far corner floated through the air.

In short, Jacques's was exactly the type of place that Mountain Academy's headmaster, Moonbeam, would have avoided like the plague. But his jurisdiction began and ended at the school itself; Green Mountain Resort was entirely Olivia's dad's domain. And nothing was too fancy or too pretentious for Cy Masters. In fact, ever since he first bought the mountain back in the nineties, when Olivia's professional-skier mom had begged her husband for a place to train, he'd been working to class up the place. Jacques's was his crowning achievement.

Even though I'd changed out of my jeans and T-shirt and into a red velvet sleeveless shirt and slim-fitting black pants, I still felt underdressed as I met my dad outside the restaurant and followed the hostess inside. Everywhere I looked I saw designer dresses and European suits. Fancy jewelry and diamond watches. The luxury, in sharp contrast to what I'd witnessed earlier in the day down in Littleton, made me a little sick to my stomach.

As we walked through the restaurant, I spotted Olivia and her father, sitting at a table for four at the very back. Great. I prayed the hostess would change course before we had to pass by them. But instead, to my dismay, she not only led us right to them, but actually pulled out a chair next to Olivia and gestured for me to take a seat.

I glanced over at my dad in horror. He just smiled like the Cheshire cat. “Did I forget to mention?” he asked innocently. “We're joining Cy and Olivia tonight.”

I could feel Olivia's glare burning into me as I reluctantly took my seat beside her. Evidently
her
dad had “forgotten” to tell her of the extra dinner guests as well. Typical. The two old frat buddies were constantly trying to push us together, and they weren't above resorting to trickery and lies to do so.

This was going to be a long dinner.

“So what are we having today?” Cy Masters boomed, tucking his napkin into his shirt, as if completely unaware of the tension crackling between the two youngest guests at the table. “I'm thinking the cowboy bone-in rib eye for myself. What about you, Bruce?” he added, setting down his menu and addressing my dad.

“That sounds good to me,” Dad proclaimed in his usual cheery voice. He looked across the table at me, trying to meet my eyes. “What about you, honey?”

“I don't know,” I muttered, refusing to look at him. I couldn't believe he'd had the nerve to trick me like this. “I'm actually not all that hungry. . . .”

“Nonsense!” Cy declared. “You're an athlete. You can't be skipping meals! What do they teach you in that school anyway?” He scanned the menu. “Why don't you try the surf and turf? Chef Michael has the lobster tails imported from a local fishing outfit in Maine. Completely fresh—why this very morning those suckers were still crawling along the floor of the Atlantic.”

My stomach clenched at the thought. I wondered if my father would call me out if I lied and said I was actually a vegetarian. Probably. “Um, sure,” I managed to say instead. “That, um, sounds great.” Better not to make any waves. Just keep my head down and wait for the pain to be over.

“Good evening. Can I start you off with some sparkling water?”

I jerked at the sound of a familiar voice, looking up to see none other than Hunter himself standing at our table, pen and paper in his hand. Logan's brother's friend was now wearing an ill-fitting red suit jacket and matching pants instead of his snowboarding gear. Oh no, he was our waiter? And here I thought tonight couldn't get any worse.

As he caught my shocked stare, his eyes narrowed for a split second before he went into describing the specials, all smiles and nods. I thought back to him on the mountainside during the party—his arrogance, his swagger. His dismissive attitude toward the rich kids who went to Mountain Academy. It must have killed him to come to work here every day and be forced to bow down to the very people he despised.

People like me. I slumped in my chair, wishing I were anywhere but here. Hunter already thought I was “one of them,” and being caught at dinner with the resort's owner and his spoiled daughter was not exactly going to prove him wrong. I wondered if he'd believe me if I got up and told him I'd accidentally sat down at the wrong table. Or, you know, ran screaming from the restaurant altogether. Would he tell Logan he saw me here? Would Logan think less of me if he did?

“And what would
madam
be having this evening?” Hunter asked, turning to me after taking my dad's order. I could hear the sarcastic undertone in his question, so slight the others would probably miss it. I just knew the second he got back to the kitchen he'd be texting Logan and telling him everything. After he spit in my food that was.

“Um, I'll have the—” I stared down at the menu, my face burning, my mind going blank. “The . . .”

“She'll have the surf and turf,” Olivia suddenly interrupted. “And please tell Michael not to skimp on the lobster tails this time. That may be fine for tourists, but my invited guests should receive what they're entitled to.” She made a humph sound of emphasis, and I wondered how much willpower it took for Hunter not to reach out and strangle her with his bare hands.

But “of course” was all he said, the perfect model of restraint as he scribbled in his little pad. Only his white knuckles gripping his pen gave anything away. No wonder he was such a jerk when he first met me. He was used to people like me being jerks to him first. It was all I could do not to grab him and tell him that I wasn't like that. That I wasn't “one of them.” But I knew it would do no good.

“You know,” Olivia said, turning to her dad as if Hunter wasn't standing there, right in front of her. “In this terrible economy, you'd think people would be grateful to even
have
jobs. Why, if it wasn't for us, they'd probably be living on the streets.” She turned and leveled her eyes on Hunter, as if he was dog doo-doo she'd discovered on the bottom of her designer heels.

“That might be preferable to having to deal with you,” I retorted.

Olivia whirled her head around. “What did you just say?”

I opened my mouth to repeat myself, only to have my dad shoot me a warning look. “Lexi . . .”

“Nothing,” I said sweetly. “I just wanted to add a side of asparagus to my order.”

I glanced over at Hunter. Was that a hint of a smile ghosting his lips? Catching my eye, he gave me the slightest nod of his head—so quick I almost missed it—before moving on to take the rest of the orders. I sat back in my chair, feeling somewhat vindicated.

As Hunter left, Cy turned to my dad. “Now,” he proclaimed. “Let's get this out of the way so we can enjoy our dinners.” He turned to his daughter. “Olivia? Don't you have something to say to Lexi here?”

Olivia scowled, pursing her lips together so tightly they turned white. Finally she spoke. “I'm sorry,” she mumbled, sounding anything but.

“What was that?” her father demanded. “I don't think anyone heard you.”

“I'm sorry!” she spit out, this time with overexaggerated volume. “I'm sorry for making fun of you when you fell yesterday. I know you had a serious injury and it'll take some time to get back to where you were. If you need any help along the way, please let me know and I'll be happy to aid you in any way I can.”

She spoke the words in a monotone and a little too fast, as if reciting from a script. One penned by her dear old dad, I was sure. I sighed. I knew the two parental units meant well, but couldn't they see this kind of thing only made everything worse?

“That was very nice, Olivia,” my dad remarked in an oh-so-patronizing voice that only served to make Olivia wrinkle her nose in annoyance. Then he turned to me. “Well, Lexi?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something you would like to say to Olivia?”

I had many things to say to Olivia. Like, hadn't she already done enough, sabotaging me on the slopes, then stealing away my best friend? Did she really feel the need to keep on ruining my life for the foreseeable future?

But instead I said only, “I'm sorry for shoving ice cream in your face.”

Cy Masters burst out laughing. Olivia looked as if she'd swallowed worms. “Sorry,” Cy said quickly, regaining his composure. “I hadn't heard that part.” He shook his head. “I gotta hand it to you, Bruce. Your daughter is a spitfire. Just like her old man. You better watch out, Liv. With spirit like that, she's going to be back on the mountain in no time flat—kicking your butt in every race—just like her old man used to do to me!”

I cringed. I knew he just meant to be funny—but for Olivia this was anything but. “Look,” I tried. “Olivia's actually quite—”

But she was already gone, up from her chair, coat in hand, before stampeding toward the restaurant's exit like a wild horse. The other diners stopped their conversations and watched her go, curiosity, rather than sympathy, sparking in their eyes.

Cy turned to my father. “What did I say?” he asked, completely clueless.

I rose from my seat, forcing my movements to be slow and calm, even though all I wanted to do was scream.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I . . . don't feel well.”

Now the stares turned to me as I headed out of the restaurant, but I ignored them all, pushing past the lengthy line of people waiting to get in and down the hall toward the exit. As I turned the corner, I almost tripped over Olivia, who had crouched down against the wall outside the ladies' room, hugging her knees, her face buried in her arms. I could hear the muffled sobs coming from below.

I knew I should walk on, leave her to her well-deserved misery. And yet somehow I felt an unwanted stirring of pity deep inside—some strange fellowship over our two totally meddling fathers—and found myself sliding down the wall to sit beside her.

“You okay?”

She looked up, her face blotchy. “Go away.”

“Look, I'm sorry about all that,” I said awkwardly, not sure the best way to comfort her. Or if I should be comforting her at all. “I'm sure your dad was just joking. He didn't mean it.”

“Of course he meant it,” Olivia snapped back, her voice filled with venom. “Do you think that's the first time he's said something like that to me?”

I shook my head slowly, remembering the scene outside the rec center. Where, once again, her father had used me as a means to cut her down. No wonder she hated me so much. I'd kind of hate me too.

“Nothing I ever do is good enough for him,” Olivia went on, staring at the wall across from her. “If I get an A, he'll want to know why I didn't get an A plus. If I win a race, he'll say I just got lucky.” She squeezed her hands into fists. “I so wish Mom was still alive,” she uttered, more to herself than me. “It was so much better then.”

My heart ached at the raw pain I heard in her voice. It was hard to remember, when suffering through her daily dose of meanness, what she'd had to go through two years before when her mom lost a long battle with breast cancer. The two of them had been so close—best friends in a way. She must miss her like crazy. And while, sure, that didn't excuse all the nastiness and arrogance and certainly not the sabotage on the slopes, it did help me remember that she wasn't a total monster deep down. Just a girl who missed her mom.

“I'm so sorry,” I murmured, daring to lay a hand on her arm. “I can't even imagine what that must be like.”

For a moment Olivia let me put my hand on her. Then her face twisted, and she jerked her arm away. As if she suddenly realized exactly who she was allowing to comfort her.

“What do you think you're doing?” she growled.

I stumbled backward, a little shocked. I wanted desperately to tell her it was okay—that I wouldn't tell anyone I'd caught her in a moment of weakness. But I knew it would do no good. She'd just inadvertently shown her soft underbelly to her worst enemy for the second time in a week, and I was going to have to pay for what I saw.

“Look, Olivia,” I tried, holding out my hand. “It's no big deal. I'll help you up and we'll go—”

“Get away from me!” she screeched, her voice choking on the words, which only served to make her angrier. “Don't even pretend like you care!” She turned toward me. My eyes widened. Was she actually going to hit me? I could feel the eyes of those waiting for a table on us, as if we were part of some kind of reality TV show. What would I do if she hit me? I couldn't hit back—I'd get expelled from school! But I'd have to defend myself somehow. . . .

“Olivia, stop!”

A familiar voice broke through the noise. I looked up to see Becca pulling Olivia to her feet. What was she doing here? Had Olivia texted her or something? Asking
my
best friend to come to
her
aid? I could hear Olivia protesting over Becca's soft but forceful words.

“Calm down.” Becca was soothing my enemy. “She's not worth it.”