Social Lives (16 page)

“Then you'll buy her a boob job. Now stop it! You are no longer French feminist Simone de Beauvoir. You are a young, gorgeous, sex-starved queen who's about to face her own beheading.”

“Lovely,” Sara said sarcastically. “To the guillotine, then.”

“We should really get going. I don't hear the music, which means they're probably setting up for the dance exhibition.” Jacks was desperate to get them out of that room.

“Let's go, then!” Eva said, leading the way.

Jacks felt the pressure give a little, but only a little. “You two go ahead. I have to pee.”

“We can wait . . . ,” Sara offered.

But Jacks was definite. “No, really. Go,” she said.

Slowly—so very slowly—they moved through the hidden door, down the hall, and into the ballroom. Peeking her head out, Jacks did not move until she saw them disappear into the crowd. She gathered her things, a handbag and the glass of champagne that was now too warm to drink, then she pushed through the door herself and turned the other way, toward the back stairs off the old kitchen. The stairs that led to the wine cellar—and Ernest Barlow.

 

 

 

 

 

S
HE WAITED UNTIL THE
last second, hedging her risk. With every passing moment, the chances they would even remember they had a teenage daughter diminished, and this would facilitate her escape.

Dressed in black and taking the back way around the pool house, through the woods, and out to the street over the stone wall, Caitlin made it to the end of her driveway just after ten. She pulled out her cell and rechecked the text message from Amanda.
Just be there by ten and wait
. She sat in the grass, knees bent to her chest, compressed into as small an object as she could manage, in case someone drove past. Her mind was racing, as it had been all day, a day that had seemed endless. With her parents busy overseeing the party arrangements and the nanny watching her like the dutiful employee that she was, Caitlin had been forced to amuse herself within the confines of her room, battling the torturous anticipation that was, mercifully, about to end.

There had been one saving grace over the past twelve hours. Another exchange with her new friend, the mysterious TF.

Totallyfkd: Hey Cbow. I'm in! Smith took pity on me. Mother leaving me the hell alone now. Like it's over. I should be happy, right? I'm in to college. All this work and stress. Fucking SAT's and grades and joining
worthless committees and sports. I don't even know who I am anymore. I guess I'm a Smith girl, whatever that is.

Cbow: That is awesome. Congrats. Is Smith far from home?

Totallyfkd: Not too far. I guess it's a relief. But what if I just become my mother? Maybe that's the whole point. Do you ever feel like the whole system is just one giant meat grinder, turning us all into little patties?

Cbow: You should see the meat grinder that is my family! Generations of ground meat—top quality, of course.

Totallyfkd: Of course.

Cbow: All I do is play sports I hate and fuck up my homework. Is there really a future in squash? What about field hockey? Know any rich and famous field hockey players?

Totallyfkd: Exactly. It's all bullshit to put on a resume to get into college which then goes on a resume . . . ugh . . . but fuck, I can't even think about that now. Need advice about the guy. Here's an update. The prick never called—never. And now he barely says hi to me at school. OK, and I guess I have to admit it—he's a junior. It really couldn't be more humiliating. Not even if I tried. For the first time in my wretched life I'm glad I'm a nobody, cause now nobody knows.

Cbow: Sorry. Sucks! Still think it must help having “it” be over.

Totallyfkd: Maybe a little. Not sure yet. Heart still broken.

Cbow: Sometimes I feel like screwing the next guy I see so I can stop thinking about it all the time. Then I think about this one guy . . .

Totallyfkd: Dick Head?

Cbow: Do you have to call him that?

Totallyfkd: Guilty until proven innocent. How about I just call him DH?

Cbow: Whatever. I think about him and I want it to be with him. But then it feels like it'll be this huge thing. Why can't it just be like kissing? No one cares if a girl has kissed someone. No one marks the age when they first had a kiss.

Totallyfkd: Mountain climbing, Cbow.

Cbow: Mountain climbing?

Totallyfkd: Yeah. It's all about the fucking conquest. Pun intended.

Cbow: I don't know.

Totallyfkd: I do. There should be a class in high school. Fucking 101. Everybody has to fuck whoever they're assigned. It would be the great equalizer.

Cbow: That's fucked!

Totallyfkd: And what happened to me isn't? Listen—got to go.

Cbow: OK. XO.

Totallyfkd: XO.

The conversation and the thoughts it had provoked were still spinning in Caitlin's head when she saw the car. It was moving slowly, crawling down the winding road with the brights piercing the black winter sky. She held her hand to her forehead and squinted into the glare. She couldn't tell the make, but there was only one shadow moving inside. Caitlin stood as it approached, holding out her arm so he would see her. Amanda had said she might send her brother. Her heart was in her throat. If she didn't make it to this party, there was no telling what punishment her body would inflict upon her.

It was slowing,
thank God
, coming to a stop. And as it did, she could make out the shape and color. She knew this car—Christ how she'd studied this car, searched for it in the parking lot at school, on the streets in town. She ran up to the passenger door and peered inside, pressing her nose against the glass. She could barely see the driver, but she knew just from the outline of his face, the shape his hair made against the filtering light, that it was Kyle.

She opened the door, too quickly she would later decide as she processed every second that would occur from this moment on. She tried to stay calm, seem indifferent, but it was impossible to slow the rush of blood that flooded her brain, clouding her thoughts.

He was watching the road, even though the car was at a stop, maybe to make sure no one had spotted them. Maybe because he was indifferent to her. This, too, would be mulled over for hours when the evening had come and gone. For now, in the present, there was still a shred of possibility, and it washed away the day's torment like a giant crashing wave.

“Hey,” he said, turning briefly to greet her. Was he smiling? Maybe a slight grin.

“Hey,” Caitlin said back. “Thanks for getting me.”

He didn't answer as he pulled the car back into the road and sped off. Was he pissed that he'd been forced to come get her? Then why bother? Surely he wouldn't do it just because Amanda had made a promise. Was he high and trying to concentrate? Would she ever, in this lifetime, be able to figure him out?

“We have to make a stop,” he said as they neared an intersection, and turned in the opposite direction of his house.

Caitlin shrugged. “Sure. No problem. It's early.”

They drove for ten minutes, music blaring from Kyle's iPod, longing seeping from Caitlin's skin. He was even more beautiful tonight, if that was possible. Faded jeans, a loose-fitting white linen shirt falling from his perfect shoulders. He hadn't shaved what little facial hair he possessed at sixteen, but smelled of aftershave somehow, clean and sweet. With one hand on the wheel and the other hanging out the open window with a cigarette, there was no doubt in Caitlin's mind that he knew her every thought and, having already decided what to do with her—if anything—was simply charging down the road. That he seemed to hold this kind of power over her was nothing short of intoxicating.

The car slowed as they approached a driveway. Kyle pulled past it before stopping completely. He turned then to Caitlin, smiling warmly for the first time since she'd climbed into the car. And she smiled back, a bit wary. Was this it? Were they about to finish what they'd started weeks earlier? Maybe he'd chosen to pick her up so they could be alone, pull over on a deserted street, and be together. She was, in equal parts, excited and terrified. What if he wanted more than a blow job? What if this was the moment she'd gone over again and again in her mind? She thought about what had happened to TF. She had in her head a catalog of information that had been shoved down their throats by the school: STDs. Pregnancy. Condoms. Pills. And the most irrelevant in the end, abstinence counseling. She felt the surge inside her, and in an instant, everything she'd read, heard, studied, and memorized melded together into a wall of resistance that crumbled as quickly as it had come together. There was no question in that moment, she would do whatever he asked. Though, in the end, what he asked was devastating.

There was a knock on the passenger-side window, startling Caitlin, but then sending her into a tailspin of utter confusion. Standing outside the car, the way she had minutes earlier, was Victoria Lawson, a very buxom and flirtatious tenth-grader who, it was rumored, had lost her virginity with a senior only to dump him a month later. True or not, it was all believed, and now the sexy, available nonvirgin was standing on the other side of a thin pane of glass.

“Do you mind hopping in back?”

Caitlin heard the words and felt her head turn around to Kyle.
Yes.
He was talking to her, not Victoria. He was asking
her
to climb in back.

She didn't think. She couldn't think. How could she, possibly? The surge was still flowing through her, though her mind was short-circuiting from the shock of it all. She had given in to the abandon, and even if she alone knew this to be the case, it was no less humiliating. Like a scavenger collecting things from a littered street, she quickly gathered the contents of her head and shoved them back into their proper places. The hope, the wonder, the belief that she had her answer about Kyle. Her pride, her self-esteem. All of it was again tucked away.

The girl climbed in and closed the door. Perky, happy, gorgeous. She kissed Kyle on the cheek and said something incredibly cool, like “Hello, handsome.” Then she turned her head to face the backseat, where Caitlin was now seated.

She reached out her hand. “Hi. I'm Victoria. Are you Kyle's little sister?”

Kyle reached his hand over and flipped Victoria's hair in a playful, excruciating way. “I don't even have a sister.” He was different suddenly, goofy and flirtatious.

Victoria laughed and straightened out her long blond hair. “Oops.”

“That's Caitie. She's a ninth-grader.”

Victoria's face changed then as she put the pieces together.
Yes
, she seemed to be thinking.
You're the one from the hallway.
She let out another giggle then, and turned back around. Kyle hit the volume on the iPod, and the three were silent the rest of the way.

They arrived at his house not one moment too soon. Never had she suffered so. Never had she had to fight this long to contain herself, to stifle the tears that would cement her fate if they came inside that car. They pulled into the driveway. The house seemed empty, lights dim, silent.

“I thought you were having a party?” Victoria said, still cool and seemingly unfazed by the absence of others.

Kyle just smiled as he opened his door. “I am.”

He walked to the side entrance without waiting for either of his passengers, and Caitlin allowed herself every horrid thought that offered itself to her. He had no manners, no sense of chivalry. And his house was puny—a
little colonial compared with hers. Not even seven thousand square feet.
Yes
, she thought.
I am so much better than you.
The anger felt good and righteous.

Still, she excused herself immediately and found a small bathroom near the laundry machines. The tears came like water from a busted dam, pushing against the back of her eyes. She cried so hard it was actually painful, leaving her with a pounding head and a red face. She looked at herself in the mirror.
Shit.
This was all wrong. They would be waiting for her inside, whoever they turned out to be. Amanda, for one. Kyle. Victoria. How would she explain this? The bloodshot eyes, the flushed cheeks. She filled the sink with cold water and dropped her entire face inside the pool. She opened her bag and found the Visine. She squeezed it into her eyes and felt her pupils contract.

Having done all that she could, she cautiously opened the door and followed the soft buzz of music and voices down the hall. They were in the family room, which was lit only by a few candles burning on the square pine coffee table, and the moonlight that fell in through the skylights above. There were eight of them, maybe ten, and she made mental notes of the guests. Amanda was there, sitting on the floor around the table, smiling at her as though she could read her mind.
Poor thing
, she seemed to say.
Did you really think he was interested?
Or maybe it was just her imagination. Either way, it didn't feel right. The others—Kyle, Victoria, and a handful of upper-schoolers from the Academy—didn't notice her at all as she approached them and found a place to sit.