Caleb + Kate (7 page)

“Thought we're going into Portland?”

“We will. We need to see this, man. Maybe I'll get myself a rich girlfriend out of it.” He laughs and takes off toward the music.

As we get closer to the edge of the upper level, the sound of laughter and talking mix with the guitar, drums, keyboard, and raspy-voiced lead singer.

Finn leans on the railing, staring down.

“Sorry man, this isn't your prom. I think this is an episode of
Gossip Girls
.”

Gossip Girls
?” I raise my eyebrows at Finn. “

“It's some TV show Meela watches.”

“Uh-huh. Your sister watches it?” I smile as if I don't believe him, which I don't. He hits me in the arm. Hard.

Finn's phone rings as the band sets down their instruments for a break.

“Hang on, man.” Finn walks back up toward the pool, talking into his cell.

I don't want to find Kate's blonde hair or face in that crowd below. I'd planned to have till Monday before confronting that issue. Instead, I stare out at the constant rhythm of waves. The sun has fallen into the sea far beyond where the waves travel from to finally slide across this rocky coastline. Across that water are my tiny home islands. I long for the warmth and scent of tropical flowers and the cawing of exotic birds. I miss raging bonfires and sleeping outside on the beach with my muscles sore from a full day of surfing.

I hear Finn's footsteps behind me.

“Look at them. Spoiled rich kids gone wild.”

From above they remind me of children with their laughter, movement, the splashes of light as some take pictures. I don't focus on individuals.

“Looks fun,” I say to spite him.

“Then go down,” Finn says with an edge of scorn in his voice. “It is your prom. I want to see you dance with someone.”

“Whatever,” I say and turn away.

“I dare you,” he says. “My jeep. For a month.”

“You understand what that means? Sure you want to stick by that?” Dares between Finn and me have always been very serious business. We don't give mercy once they are made.

“I dare you again.” His thin lips press together like a snarl. I stare at him a minute and think how this will make Dad happy too. “This one is going to hurt you.”

“A full song's worth,” he calls and I head down.

KATE

Monica laughs with her hair tossed back at something the bass guitarist says, and Oliver is now talking with Ursula at the refreshment bar. Constance, Derek, and Felicia rush over when they see me alone at my table. They're discussing the band and some rumor about one of the teachers, while I add my
oh reallys
and
ahs
and watch the guy on the railing above the dance.

Caleb stares out beyond us toward the ocean and sunset. My contacts are working overtime as I strain to see him better. Another guy comes up beside him; he leans on the railing as well, and I think tattoos cover his arms and neck. There's a grimace on the new guy's face as his gaze sweeps over the party.

Suddenly I wonder . . . which one is Caleb? I just assumed the first guy was Caleb, the more attractive one. They're enough alike to be relatives. The scowling one catches me staring at them, and I look away too late to miss his glare.

The first guy—who must be Caleb because Alicia would have been afraid of the other one—pushes off the railing with a smile and laugh. He slaps the angry guy on the back and motions down.

The band is moving back toward the stage.

Caleb walks down the stairs. It has to be him. He wears loose jeans and a white T-shirt. The party is a black-tie event. I wonder if Ms. Liberty will allow him in.

Why am I so relieved that the better-looking one is actually Caleb? I shouldn't care, there's no reason to care.

He reaches the bottom of the stone stairway, and a very tall and awkward Lady Macbeth is quickly attracted to him.

Just as I'm wondering if Ms. Liberty will send him packing, they turn my way and Ms. Liberty points at me. I try to glance nonchalantly around to see if she's really pointing at someone else. No such luck.

Now they are coming toward me and my heart is pounding, though I don't know why. Ms. Liberty and a very good-looking, underdressed guy begin to attract attention. Then the drummer starts making a beat and couples move toward the dance floor.

I keep my eyes on the band, watching with my peripheral vision the weaving approach of Ms. Liberty around the tables and people. I take a deep cleansing breath, like something I'd do in yoga, trying to calm my heart and nerves. Maybe the refreshment booth needs something. I rise in my chair and turn away from Ms. Liberty, but too late.

“Kate.”

I wait until she says my name again, louder over the eruption of music from the band, then I turn around, hoping that I look surprised at being called.

“Hi, Ms. Liberty.”

Caleb stares at me, and not in the friendly expression he had when he was glancing over the crowd. Suddenly the music rises to an old rock song, “Old Time Rock and Roll,” and everyone is screaming.

“This is Caleb Ka—” Ms. Liberty is intersected by a Lady Ophelia, asking for a moment of her time.

“Excuse me,” Ms. Liberty practically yells over the music. “Please make introductions yourselves.”

Ms. Liberty is gone, leaving Caleb and me to stare at one another.

“Hello,” I say loudly, and his eyes are so dark and deep I have to look away from them. My hands are clammy as I shake his hand, and sweat breaks out down my back. What's up with this? I've met people from all over the world, have hung out with celebrities, but I'm actually nervous. “I'm Kate Monrovi.”

He nods slightly and I have to read his lips, the music is so loud. “Caleb Kalani.”

“So you're new here?”

He gives me a confused expression, and I lean close to his ear to repeat it.

He nods, then talks in my ear. His breath tingles warm across my neck when he speaks. “Yes, I am new to Gaitlin.”

My neck and cheeks sting with a blush creeping through me. “Yes, of course.” I am making a total fool of myself, unbelievable.

After a moment that feels probably much longer than it actually is, I say, “I'm your student guide escort.”

“What?”

I move close to his ear and say it again.

“What does that mean exactly?” he asks, and I realize we can hear each other perfectly if we talk close, our bodies only inches apart. I'm drawn to this, unable to move away, and if I could think, I'd know how crazy it is that I'm almost sizzling with emotion the closer I stand to him.

I take a deep breath again; my heart is racing like it does after a rowing competition. “I help you fit in, find your way around campus, help if you need tutors or whatever, anything really.”

“Great, I could use some help.” He pulls away and looks me square in the eye like a challenge. His skin is smooth and his eyes are so dark, they might be black. His lips are full and the thought of kissing him stuns me with its immediate want for it. I need to get away from this guy, but my feet don't move.

“I need some help now,” he says in my ear again.

“Okay. With what?”

The song ends and the dancers cheer. I feel a momentary reprieve, like the music is the only thing that ties us together. Looking around, I see Monica on the dance floor near the guitarist. Caleb's voice draws me back like an invisible force that closes out everything else.

“I'm just going to say this. My cousin dared me to dance one complete song with someone here. Do you have a friend who would be willing to dance with me?”

The lead singer shouts and another song breaks out. I speak before thinking, “Is there something wrong with me?”

He smiles with a tease on his lips, leaning for my ear again. “I guess you would do.”

I laugh at this, and he's smiling, laughing. It's only making this bizarre attraction worse.

“But your date might care.”

I glance around, then lean close to his ear, studying the brown smooth skin of his neck. “Monica and Oliver are my dates tonight.”

“Oh, okay,” he says, as if trying to figure out what to say next.

I laugh, seeing his evident confusion at that remark. “They are my two best friends.”

We both turn to say something and our faces nearly meet. It surprises us both, and I feel such an intense urge to kiss or be kissed by this guy that I take a step away and trip over a chair.

CALEB

I grab her arm before she falls and pull her against me. She is light and smells like a combination of summer and cotton candy.

We both move apart after that, and even with her cheeks turning rosy, I wonder what she's thinking about all of this. Is she playing me? Is she enjoying this, thinking of how she'll tell her friends about me later—the guy who works with his hands at her father's hotel?

I know Finn is watching from above, and I hope the angle has kept him from observing the details, the ridiculous details that even if I act cool, I'm not. Not at all.

She's more beautiful than I expected.

When I talk to her, it's not that she's really a sophisticated beauty, it's something else altogether. It's difficult to stop staring at her. I want to figure this out, get a better sense of control, because my usual control feels thin-skinned and shaky right now.

Her chin—it's absolutely perfect and makes me long to touch it with my fingertips. She has a cute little indention perfect for my thumb. Her face curves—a heart-shaped face, I remember from when my little sister made me help her determine the shape of her face from a magazine illustration.

Her dress is beautiful, but she'd look even better in jeans and a T-shirt—one of my T-shirts. Must get that image out of my head.

Her blonde hair is woven in intricate curls and braids around her head. I feel a compulsion to touch one of the tendrils that dangles near the small ear that my lips have come millimeters from touching. Her brown eyes have some green in them, unless that's from the reflection from lights and tables.

Get control of yourself, fool
.

I've seen every kind of beautiful on the beaches back home: women from around the world, barely dressed, or wearing the most expensive outfits. Kate Monrovi can't impress me with her looks or her money. Perhaps it's worked with other guys, I don't know. But it means nothing at all to me. So what
is
it about her, then?

She's talking again. I'm not sure if it's harder to concentrate when she's talking or when she's looking off, like she's looking for some kind of anchor other than me. When she does that I can study her better, try figuring out why I'm not my old self with her.

There's a freshness in her face, an innocence . . . then I tell myself it's all the pampering she just had in the spa today. It irritates me how I cut her down in my mind to settle this energy jolting through every muscle of my body.

Remember who she is
. I repeat this in my head. If I forget it, I may cart this girl off and never return.

The noise decreases and we can talk again.

“So we've established that I am not involved with anyone.” Why were we going down this road?

“I guess we have established that.” This shouldn't make me happy, but strangely, it does.

“So what about you?” she asks, trying to act like she doesn't really care.

“How did we get from my dare to who we're dating? Or not dating?” I'm out of control with this girl.

“Nice change of subject.”

I shrug. “It's a gift.”

Her eyes study me, diving inside me and making strange things happen in my stomach and chest.

“When a guy doesn't want to answer the question as to whether or not he's dating someone, it usually means he's seeing someone but wants to keep his options open.”

This makes me grin. “Is that right?”

“Or else he doesn't like girls.”

“Do you judge all men so quickly?”

“Usually,” she says with an adorable shrug of her small, silky shoulders.

Why are we flirting
? But I'm on a roll and can't stop now.

“Perhaps guys would rather not admit when we aren't involved with anyone because we might look like losers. And girls are more attracted to what is unavailable anyway.”

“Not true.” I see her glance toward her “best guy friend” and wonder about him. In my experience, few guys stick around as friends without some attraction or interest.

“I have examples,” I say.

“Give me your best.”

“You are in Paris, maybe. You see a dress in a fashion show and you really like it. No, you see two dresses. You find out that one is available, but the other is nearly sold out. Isn't the sold-out one now more attractive to you than the one that's available?”

She bites her lower lip in a disconcertingly adorable way. “Not always.” But she laughs and I know I have her.

My grandfather believes I should be a lawyer and at times like this, I think he's right.

“I think yes, always. You have judged me as a possible cheater, but you have no idea, do you? I could be a lonely guy who just doesn't want to admit it. I might have just broken up with someone, and it's too painful to talk about yet.”

She's doing that lip-biting thing that should be outlawed—if this were court I'd ask for a mistrial, claiming she was trying to influence the jury. Or the lawyer.

“I'm sorry I judged you,” Kate says, and I think she actually might feel bad about it. “But why didn't you ask
me
to dance? It's not because you thought I had a boyfriend. And whether you're involved or not, you were planning to dance with someone.”

“Maybe I'm just not attracted to you.” I try to keep a straight face, and the fact that I'm terribly attracted to her isn't lost on me—and possibly her—for one moment. This is exactly who I am
not
supposed to get involved with—not even as a friend. It's like I've lost all control of myself.