Epic Fail (3 page)

I stared after him for a stunned moment, then spun around on my heel to check on Webster. “You okay?”

He rubbed his shoulder ruefully. “I’ll live.”

“What was that about? He and I were just standing there talking and then”—I tossed my hands in the air—“boom.”

“Crazy, right?” He gestured toward the door and said, “Let’s get out of here.” In the hallway, I spotted Derek’s broad shoulders disappearing around a bend in the corridor. Webster said in a low voice, “He can act like a real jerk. But it’s not his fault.”

“Not his fault?” I repeated. “How can you be an accidental jerk?”

Webster grinned down at me. His thin face lit up when he smiled like that. He had dimples, not in the center of his cheeks like a little girl, but narrow dents at the tops of his cheeks. “Well, maybe it’s a
little
his fault, but I actually feel sorry for him. Think about what it must be like: your parents are so crazy-famous that everywhere you go people are falling all over you, treating you like you’re something special, giving you stuff, trying to get your attention. . . .” He gestured with his hands as we walked. “You probably start thinking you’re different from everyone else—more important—but at the same time you don’t know whether people really like you for yourself or just for the fact your parents are famous, so you also get all insecure and paranoid. It probably plays some intense games with your mind.”

That fit exactly with what I’d seen. “But that doesn’t explain why he hit you.”

He glanced around. “That’s a longer story. Do you have a class now?”

“Yeah.” I consulted my schedule and read, “Honors History. Kashani. Room nineteen.”

“Kashani? Bring a magazine—you’ll be bored. Follow me.” We moved down the hallway, weaving through the crowds of kids talking and laughing. With Webster at my side, I didn’t feel as much like a lonely outsider.

“So, does Derek have some kind of problem with you?” I asked.

“We actually used to be pretty good friends, and then . . . I don’t know. He’s what you might call mercurial.”

“I might—if I liked to throw around SAT words.”

He laughed. “How about ‘moody’ then?” he suggested. “Better?”

I nodded just as a girl in front of us bent down to tie her shoelace. We had to separate to go around her, then rejoined on the other side.

“There’s got to be more to this story,” I said.

“Smart girl. I’ll tell you the whole saga when we’ve got more time. And I promise to stick to words of two syllables.” He stopped in front of a door. “You said nineteen, right?”

“Uh-huh.” But I didn’t go in right away. “Hey, do you know Chase Baldwin at all?”

“Of course. Princess Chelsea’s big brother.”

“What about him? What’s he like?”

“He’s great. Everyone likes Chase. Proof? Even Derek likes him.” A pause. “The bell’s ringing,” Webster pointed out.

“Sorry!” I said with a guilty start. “You’re going to be late for your class.”

“Well worth it,” he said gallantly. “I’d risk a hundred tardies for the chance to chat with you again.” He shifted his bag, held out his hand. We shook. “Good-bye, Elise. It was nice meeting you.”

“Same here,” I said, and walked into the classroom with a smile on my face.

Chapter Four

I
was supposed to meet Juliana and Layla by the steps leading up to the parking lot as soon as school let out. I got there first and climbed partway up the stairs so I could watch everyone moving below me. I felt like a general wearily surveying the terrain of his next battle, except that I had no hope of actually winning the war that was high school.

Within a minute or two, I spotted Juliana walking slowly toward me, Chase Baldwin at her side, the two of them talking away earnestly. They looked like they’d known each other forever.

We’d both had our crushes and flirtations over the years, but we’d always spent more time talking to each other
about
the guys than actually talking
to
them. Our clumsy attempts at romance had ended in some extra sisterly bonding—and no actual relationships.

But this already felt different.

Juliana’s eyes were cast down so I don’t think she could see the way Chase was looking at her, but I could. He looked content, settled, like he belonged in the airspace next to this girl he’d met only a few hours earlier.

She looked up, saw me, and waved. They stopped walking then, but kept talking for a few more minutes while I waited and watched, waited and watched. I felt almost jealous of Jules—not because she’d found Chase, but because here, in this new setting, where I was just trying to find my bearings and survive, she was already thriving.

We’d always been inseparable, always been the two closest Benton sisters—buy one, get one free—and now, in addition to all the other changes of the last few months, it looked like that was going to change, too.

Finally she broke away and came toward me.

“Hi,” she said, a little too casually, as she joined me on the steps.

“You’re going to be seeing him again in half an hour, you know.”

She ignored that. “Where’s Layla? She’s late.”

“Layla’s always late.”

“Not
always
.”

“Always,” I repeated.

Another fifteen minutes went by before Layla finally showed.

“You were supposed to meet us here at three thirty,” I snapped.

“It’s right around then, isn’t it?” She glanced vaguely at her watch.

“It’s almost four,” Juliana said.

“Sorry. I met some girls today and we were talking and I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

“Why are your eyes all glittery?” I asked.

Layla reached up to touch her eyelid absently. “We were playing around with each other’s makeup.”

“You’d better take it off before Mom sees you,” Juliana warned. We could get away with wearing a small amount of artfully applied blush and eye shadow so long as it looked fairly natural, but anything too bright was a red flag to our parents, who didn’t think their daughters should wear makeup at all.

“I know,” Layla said. “There are wipes in the car.” She pushed me away from her. “Are you sniffing me, Elise? What are you, a dog?”

“Have you been
smoking
?” I asked.

“Oh, for God’s sake! Can we just go home, please?” She ran up the rest of the steps.

Incredulous, I grabbed my messenger bag and dashed after her, Juliana close behind. “If Mom and Dad find out—”

“They won’t if you don’t tell on me,” she said over her shoulder. “Anyway, it wasn’t me who was smoking. It was a couple of the other girls—their smoke got in my clothes. You can smell my breath, if you don’t believe me.”

“You’re chewing gum! That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“Yeah?” she said. “And how would
you
know that?”

“Give her a break, Elise,” Juliana said, catching at my arm. “If she says she wasn’t smoking, she wasn’t smoking.”

“Thank you,” Layla said. “At least
someone
in the family is capable of showing some trust.” She walked on the path ahead of us, her chin high, the picture of affronted dignity.

That was when I noticed her pockets. “No way!” I said to Juliana.

“What?”

I pointed. “Those are my jeans—the
one
new pair I own.”

“Are you sure? Maybe they just look like yours.”

“I’m sure,” I said, my voice tight with the kind of frustration that comes from having three sisters and a small house and never getting to keep anything to yourself. “I bought them with my own money.” I sped up. “I should tear them right off her little selfish—”

Juliana tightened her grip on my arm. “Calm down, Elise. She shouldn’t have borrowed them without asking, but I know she was really nervous this morning. She was probably worried about being dressed right, and—”

I flung off her hand irritably. “Why do you always defend her?”

“Honestly?” She smiled apologetically. “Because someone has to.”

We entered the student parking lot and walked by rows of Audis, Lexuses (Lexi?), Mercedes, and Porsches before going through the gate that separated the students’ cars from the faculty’s. The cars instantly became less fancy and more utilitarian.

Ours stood out among the countless gray-toned and indistinguishable small Japanese cars; it was one of only a few minivans, and uniquely bright green. Mom had negotiated for it years ago through a car dealer who said he could get us a great price as long as we weren’t picky about the color.

We weren’t picky about the color. We couldn’t afford to be.

Layla was already tugging impatiently on the door handle. “Will you hurry up and open it already? My bag weighs a ton.”

Juliana pulled out the keys and unlocked the van. We had driven in with Mom that morning, but she had told Juliana to take us home. Dad’s old Honda was still in his space: he’d head home when he was ready and then come back to pick up Mom whenever she was all done with meetings—which, she had pronounced, wouldn’t be until after dinner. She had a lot to do “to whip this school into shape,” she had said in the car that morning, her eyes gleaming with almost-religious fervor.

As Layla tossed her book bag inside the car, I came up behind her. “If you ever wear my jeans again without permission, I’ll kill you,” I said.

She glanced down at her legs like she had never seen them before in her life. “Are these yours? I had no idea. They were in my room, so I just assumed they were mine.”

“You are such a liar,” I said. “They were folded and in my drawer this morning.”

“You’re obviously confused.” It was the little snarky smile on her face that drove me to the edge. I grabbed her arm—not gently.

“I am so sick of this,” I said, shaking her. “Why do you have to be such a—” Something fell out of the pocket of her hoodie. We both bent down to grab it, but I was faster. I snatched it up and showed the open cigarette pack to Juliana. “Still think she was telling the truth?”

“Oh, Layla,” Juliana moaned.

“They’re not mine,” Layla said, turning to her. “I’m holding them for a friend.” Her voice got higher. “Really. I swear.”

“Do you ever stop lying?” I thrust the pack out toward her. “They were on your—”

A BMW convertible came roaring up to us too fast and then paused—just for a second, like the driver had tapped his brake.

And that was when I caught a glimpse of Derek Edwards’s face through the driver’s side window, looking stunned by what he saw. . . .

Which I realized was me, Elise Benton, standing by her parents’ huge, ugly, bright green minivan, extending an open cigarette pack to her little sister and—to all appearances—offering her a smoke for the ride.

Derek quickly drove away. Juliana called out a feeble, “See you at the restaurant,” and then she and I looked at each other with dismay.

Trust Layla to make me look bad. It was a talent of hers.

Meanwhile, she was clambering happily into the car. “What restaurant?” she asked, poking her head back out.

Juliana told her while I found a trash can to toss the cigarettes into—I didn’t want Mom or Dad to find them later—before we headed to Kaitlyn’s school.

“Who else is going?” Layla asked. When she heard the names, she bounced up excitedly in her seat. “Whoa! Do you guys know who Derek Edwards is?”

“How do
you
know?” I asked.

“Everyone knows. I mean, he’s in
Us Weekly
all the time.”

“Really?”

“Well, not
all
the time. But once in a while. With his parents. And this girl I met today was telling me about all the famous kids who go to Coral Tree, and she said he’s far and away the most famous. I can’t believe you guys are already friends with him. That is so fucking cool!”

“Hey, hey!” Jules said, with a glare in the rearview mirror. “Watch your language, Layla.”

“Oh, please. You guys are such prigs. Kids here swear all the time.”

“Well, we don’t,” Jules said. “And if Dad heard you—”

“He won’t. I’m not an idiot.” She gave another bounce. “Melinda Anton’s son!”

Juliana was silent. She was frowning a little and I understood why. “You want to drop us off at home first?” I asked her in a low voice. “You could go on to the restaurant by yourself.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“It might not be.”

“It’s too late now. She’s excited. Hey, Layla?” she said, raising her voice so she could be heard in the backseat.

“What?” Layla had pulled a mini hairbrush out of her bag and was brushing her long dark hair furiously.

“Try to be normal around Derek, okay? Don’t bring up his parents or anything like that.”

“Don’t worry,” Layla said. “I know how to be cool.”

It took us a while to sign Kaitlyn out of her afterschool program, so the others were already seated at a table eating pizza by the time we got to the restaurant. Let’s just say that my idea of cool and Layla’s turned out not to be the same. Hers involved audibly whispering, “Is that
him
?” while pointing at Derek, and, upon confirmation, loudly announcing that his mother’s picture was on the wall and asking him, “Do they know you’re her son? Do you get free food and stuff?”

Kaitlyn proved she was more in Layla’s camp than mine when it came to “cool,” by accidentally tossing a hot, oily garlic roll across the table, where it almost landed in Derek’s lap. Then she giggled much too loudly about it even though no one else was amused, and Chelsea, who had been near the line of fire, was shooting her venomous looks.

By the end of the meal, two things were clear:

1. Chase was so crazy about Jules, he didn’t seem to notice her youngest sisters were Neanderthals, and

2. Despite Chase’s cheerfully optimistic exit line that we should all do this again soon, Derek Edwards didn’t seem likely to let himself get trapped into having a meal with the Bentons ever again.

In the car, post–pizza debacle, Kaitlyn happily informed us that she had made a friend at school already, a girl named London, whose parents owned four houses, “if you count their apartment in France.”

“Oh, let’s count it,” I said airily. “I assume they have a place in London, too?”

Kaitlyn furrowed her brow. “I don’t think so.”

Juliana and I exchanged an amused front-seat look.

“She’s an only child, so she doesn’t have to share a room in
any
of their houses,” Kaitlyn added.

Juliana said, “Don’t you think it would be lonely to have such a small family? I love having three sisters.”

Kaitlyn twisted her mouth, clearly not sure she agreed with that. After that meal, I wasn’t sure I did, either.