The Islanders (17 page)

Nina's a year younger, and I remember her as less grown-up looking than Claire. She had braces, and a cocky look that was sort of a better-natured, more mocking version of Claire's.

But I've had no visual input to update either picture, so those old images persist when I deal with these two girls, although I've added many, many details—the plush softness of Claire's lips, the heavy silk of her hair, the smooth skin of her legs,
hte
the heat I could always feel long before I touched her, the way she smells somehow of moonlight and ocean breezes. I think I will always know the beat of her heart, the cool precision of her voice, her laughter, so infrequent that when it came, it always shocked me.

And yes, I know she's calculating and self-serving and even ruthless when she feels she has to be. I know she's impatient with anyone less gifted than herself, that she exploits the insecurities she brings out in other people.

But I also know that underneath it all, sometimes
way
underneath it all, Claire is a decent human being, striving to figure out what's right and to do it. I
now
know that if I were ever in trouble, tomorrow or ten years from now, I could count on Claire to help. Of course, she'd bitch about it a little first.

Nina? I have less of Nina. A very old image joined to new information that, brought together in my mind, still doesn't form a complete picture.

No one is faster with a deadly accurate slam. And no one is so careful never to really cause pain. She's bold and provocative and individualistic, but she's also shy and
and
awkward and insecure. I think of her as a person who can blush in terrible mortification or laugh defiantly. There's no one I'd rather just hang out with, listen to TV with, walk with.

But Nina as something more than a friend? I don't know. That concept hasn't taken hold for me. I know it's strange, but in a way I can't picture Nina as having a body. Legs, arms, shoulders, lips, breasts. I think of her
as an attitude, a sense of humor, a lightning-quick jab that makes me laugh.

But as someone I might hold?
Sa
As someone I might touch and kiss? I don't know that Nina.

Not yet.

THE CLOCK OVER THE CHALKBOARD
jerked the final minute and the bell rang. Zoey all but ran for the exit, snatching up her books and banging her leg on the desk in her hurry. She was one of the first people into the hallway, though hundreds boiled out behind her and from all the doors lining both sides of the stuffy, overlit hall.

“I have no idea what that woman is trying to teach me,” she muttered under her breath. A freshman guy paused to look at her curiously. “Don't ever take trig, that's my advice,” she told him. “In fact, just drop out now.”

The second and third periods of the day were her least favorite. First period was fine. Journalism. No problem. After lunch everything was fine, too, with American lit., history, and French. But second period was trigonometry and it was followed immediately by gym. She didn't understand trig—she would never, ever, if she lived a thousand years, understand trig. Her brother and Claire and Aisha all laughed at her for being a
mathematical idiot. The three of them took calculus, the creeps.

As for gym, well, that had just been stupidity on her part. She, Claire, and Aisha had all brilliantly decided to put off the junior-year gym requirement and take more exciting electives. Now they were among the very few senior girls still forced to make fools of themselves throwing basketballs blindly toward a back-board that she, at least, never hit; bouncing from trampolines; and, in Coach Anders's latest annoying brainstorm, playing tennis. The tennis had to be played outside, which would be even less fun when the temperature dropped to minus five and the wind blew through at fifty miles per hour. To make matters worse, the only other senior girls taking gym were on their way to becoming phys-ed majors. These girls enjoyed bouncing tennis balls off Zoey's head while she flailed away clumsily with her racket.

“One more year of this place,” she muttered.

Then four years of college.

She sighed and headed down the hall, down the stairs, and down the lower-floor hall, heading on unwilling feet toward the gym.

A hand shot out from a crush of kids and grabbed her arm. Lucas twirled her to face him and put his arms around her. “What, you can't even stop and say hi?”

“Hi. I didn't see you,” Zoey said. She kissed him lightly, and
he pulled them both to an unoccupied few inches of locker-lined wall. They kissed with more concentration, far away for a few moments from the echoing shouts and slamming metal locker doors all around them.

“Now I'm in a much better mood,” Zoey said, leaning against him. “Your hair's wet.”

“Just got out of gym. Were you in a bad mood?”

“I'm always in a bad mood after trig. I don't personally believe there should be classes where nothing can be explained in English and it all relies on numbers and signs. Besides, when in my life am I ever going to have to deal with cosines, tangents, or any of that stuff?”

“You might have to cosign a loan. Or is that getting off on a tangent?”

Zoey groaned and made a face. “That's the kind of thing I expect from Nina.”

Lucas kissed her again. And again, trigonometry, gym, and pretty much the entire rest of the world ceased to exist.

“Is that more the kind of thing you expect from me?” Lucas asked huskily.

“Mmm.”

“Let's bail. We'll sneak off, get your folks' car out of the garage, cruise down to Portland or even to Boston. Have fun. What can they do to me? I'm the newly elected homecoming
king. I am all-powerful.”

“Don't tempt me when I'm on the way to gym class,” Zoey said.

“Oh, I think you look cute in your little shorts.”

“When have you seen me in my gym outfit?”

“I'm in algebra for the mathematically impaired on the third floor then,” he said. “Perfect view of the field. The guys especially like it when the girls stretch out—you know, bending over to grab your ankles and all that. I'm trying to figure out how to smuggle binoculars into class.”

“It must be nice having a one-track mind. So few outside distractions.”

Lucas laughed. “It beats paying attention to algebra.”

“I better get going; Coach Anders makes you run laps if you're late. Bye, I'm off to shower with strangers.”

“I'll trade you. I'll go shower with the girls, you can do my algebra.”

“On top of trig? I'd rather have my hair pulled out, one hair at a time.”

“Hi, Lucas.” Pause. “Oh, and hi, Zoey.”

“Hey, Louise,” Lucas said with careful nonchalance.

“Hi, Louise,” Zoey said. Louise Kronenberger was wearing bell-bottomed jeans with a tight, loose-knit sweater over no bra. Lucas's eyes were darting down to peer between the mesh.

“Hey, homecoming king,” Louise said. “We need to get together and talk about Friday and Saturday.”

“We do?” Lucas asked. He shot an alarmed glance toward Zoey.

“We have a couple of official duties,” Louise said.

“I thought all we had to do was look surprised when they announce we won, and then dance.”

The actual announcement of the homecoming queen and king would come at halftime in the game, but for the last two years the administration had always leaked the results early. The precaution was thanks to an earlier homecoming queen who hadn't expected to win and had showed up tripping on LSD. She had become terrified of the opposing team's mascot and run screaming from the field.

“We want to look good for the dance, right?” Louise said.

The warning bell rang. A collective groan went up from the masses and people began disappearing back into classrooms.

“I don't care how I look, Louise,” Lucas said. “I'd wear a bag over my head if I thought I could get away with it.”

“I have to get going,” Zoey said.

“Me too,” Lucas said.

“Which way are you going?” Louise asked Lucas.

“Uh, third floor.”

“Me too.” Louise grinned. “We can talk on the way. Bye,
Zoey.” She took Lucas's arm and began towing him along. Lucas looked back over his shoulder and sent Zoey a helpless look.

Zoey made a face and silently mouthed a single descriptive word in reference to Louise Kronenberger.

Lucas grinned. But he still followed Louise up the stairs.

“My towel's all gross,” Zoey complained, wrinkling her nose at the dank smell. It actually smelled even worse than the rest of the locker room. She threw the towel into her open gym locker on top of sneakers, deodorant, shampoo, and an uneaten Snickers bar that had been in there since the first day of school. “Will someone remind me to take it home and wash it? Now what am I going to do? I'm wet, but if I use that rag, I'll smell like dirty socks all day.”

“Don't look at me,” Aisha said, raising her arms to let her shirt settle down over her. “You can't borrow
my
towel. Hey, do you believe Christopher? That walking hormone. No apology, nothing. Just hands out the rackets and balls like he doesn't even know who I am.”

One of Christopher's many jobs included working part-time as equipment manager for the gym department.

“I was not going to ask for your towel, Aisha,” Zoey protested. “Gross. Borrowing someone else's used towel?” She looked around distractedly. The truth was, she'd have gladly
borrowed Aisha's towel. She glanced at Claire, doing her makeup, but Claire was ignoring her helpless look. “What did you want Christopher to do?” she asked Aisha, feeling cranky. “He was working, and Coach was right there the whole time. Besides, Eesh, I thought you'd already forgotten Christopher existed. Damn, I cannot put clothes on over wet skin—they'll cling.”

“Cling to what?” Claire muttered, concentrating on her eyeliner.

“I don't really care what Christopher does anymore,” Aisha said. “I was just saying that on top of everything else, he was rude.”

“I'm freezing here,” Zoey said, “and all I get is clever remarks and indifference.”

Claire began methodically pulling paper towels from the dispenser on the tiled wall beside the sinks. “Here.” She handed the wad to Zoey and returned to leaning over the sink to put on blush.

Zoey began applying the paper towels to various parts of her body. They stuck, making her look sort of like a shingled roof. Aisha tilted her head at a critical angle and looked Zoey over. “I think you may have a look going there, Zo. Let's take a picture and send it to
Glamour
. I see it as a continuation of the ‘waif look.'”

“Zoey
is
the waif look,” Claire said. “Or would be if she could look just a little dumber. You need to work on the blank, uncomprehending stare, Zoey, if you're going to go for that true Cara Delevingne thing. You already have the body.”

Zoey sent Aisha a conspiratorial smile. “It's terrible when the wheels of fashion turn against you full-figured gals, isn't it, Claire?” Zoey teased. “Your little snide remarks don't bother me, not anymore. The whole world now sees that small is beautiful. This is my hour. Juglessness rules. The unbuffered shall inherit the earth. Flat is powerful.”

“You're covered in wet paper towels, oh powerful one,” Claire pointed out.

“New from
The Limited
—the wet paper towel bodysuit,” Zoey said. She began peeling them off and slipped into her clothes, grimacing at the residual clamminess.

“That's another thing about Christopher,” Aisha said, back to fuming. “He once told me I had big feet. But have you seen his forehead? No, because he
has
no forehead.”

“I saw K-berger and Lucas having a very close conversation up in the third-floor hallway,” Claire said, not even bothering to conceal the sly look in her eyes. “They look like a good couple to be homecoming . . . whatevers. Now, K-berger, there's a girl who will never be able to pull off the waif look.”

“Homecoming is stupid,” Aisha said. She fluffed her hair
with both hands. It sprang out in a voluminous, curly mass that Zoey greatly admired. “What's it even mean? Homecoming?”

“That's what all the girls say who don't have a date,” Claire said dryly. “And this year, I agree with you—homecoming
is
stupid.”

Zoey's jaw dropped. “You don't have a date? No wonder you're being so snippy. I assumed it was just PMS.”

“Don't pick on Claire because she doesn't have a date,” Aisha grumbled. “Two out of the three girls standing here don't have a date for homecoming. In fact, Zoey, you seem to be in the minority. Although personally I'm glad. I hate football games and I hate dances. I'd rather stay home and watch . . . whatever's on Friday and Saturday night.”

“
20/20
on Friday,” Claire said. She finished her makeup, and Zoey took her place at the sink. “Barbara Walters. I think she's interviewing some politician. Huge fun. Maybe we could watch it together. But if you do stay home, Aisha, Christopher will laugh and think you couldn't get any other guy.”

Aisha's eyes narrowed. “You know, you're right.”

“How would he even know?” Zoey reasoned. She snatched Claire's blush. “He's not in school except to work. He would only go to the dance if you invited him, Aisha.”

“Oh, he'll find out somehow,” Aisha said through gritted teeth. “Claire's right. He'll think he's such hot stuff that without
him all I can do is sit at home and watch
20/20
.”

“
SNL's
on Saturday night,” Claire added. “For whatever that's worth. Not much, usually.”

“What are you going to do?” Zoey asked Aisha. “You don't have any guys on hold or anything.”

“I can get a date,” Aisha said defensively. “Hey. How about Benjamin?” She shot Claire a
so there
look.

Claire shook her head. “He's taking Nina.”

“Excuse me?”
Zoey said, her eyes wide. “Benjamin is taking Nina? My brother, Benjamin, is taking out Nina, one of my best friends, and I don't know about it?”

“Nina probably thinks you'll make a big deal out of it,” Claire said. “And you know Benjamin. Not exactly Mister Gossip.”

“I'm his only
sister
,” Zoey nearly yelled.

“Nina just told me last night,” Claire said. “You know how she is about guy stuff.”

“Yeah, I do know.” Zoey's face turned serious. “By the way, have they arrested that creep uncle of yours yet?”

“It's complicated.” Claire sighed. “Maine laws, Minnesota laws. My dad has a lawyer working on it.”

“Great. So Nina suddenly emerges from the nunnery and instantly steals the only remaining guy around,” Aisha said. “Now what am I going to do for a date?”

“Maybe Nina will trade you straight across,” Claire suggested.
“Benjamin for Christopher. Throw in some cash and I think she might consider it.”

“Very funny,” Aisha said. “But I don't need your pity. I'll probably have a date by the end of the day. One that will make Christopher eat his liver.”

“Not that you care what he thinks,” Zoey added.