“And thank God for that.”
I choose to ignore his stupid remarks and head over to the patio doors, pushing them open and allowing a warm breeze into the house. Behind me, Tyler and Dean call that they’re off to the gym. It doesn’t surprise me; it’s evident that they work out a lot. I contemplate asking Tyler later which gym he uses, because I’m considering joining one for the remaining six weeks that I’m here, but I decide to stick with my morning runs instead. Quite frankly, I don’t think Tyler would appreciate his so-called sibling rival tagging along with him.
*
By the time Wednesday rolls around, everyone is back in town. Rachael is back from a weekend with her grandparents that she claims was so traumatizingly boring that she was on the verge of setting their house on fire; Tiffani is home after staying at her dad’s place, which she stated was the equivalent to living with Shrek; and Meghan feels great again after throwing up for three days in a row.
Instead of meeting up to gossip at the beach or over coffee or even at the promenade, we end up catching up over manicures.
“Honestly, my grandpa made me play bingo with him,” Rachael continues to moan. She’s been venting to us about her awful weekend for the past fifteen minutes. “Every single night. ‘Rachael, time for bingo!’ Here’s a thought, Gramps: hell no.”
“My dad started pulling out the old albums from, like, 1801,” Tiffani says, cringing. She’s perched on a chair with her hands pressed onto the table, with a nail technician huddled over them.
Rachael and I were up first to have our nails brought back to life, and now it’s Tiffani and Meghan’s turn. I can’t help but constantly glance down at my hands, admiring how glossy my nails are, and then get comfy in my reserved spot on a chair in the corner of the salon. I should do this more often. It’s really not that bad.
We’ve traveled into Venice for these beauty treatments, because Tiffani claims this is the best nail bar around. I don’t mind traveling out of Santa Monica to come here, because Venice Beach looks amazing—at least from the four minutes that I got to see it.
Rachael paces back and forth across the room, checking her nails every few seconds. I can’t blame her. “I’ll take historic photo albums any day over bingo.”
“I’ll take either over throwing up,” Meghan comments from Tiffani’s side. Thankfully, she’s a little shyer than Rachael and Tiffani, so I’m not the only one who’s barely contributing to the conversation. “My insides feel like acid.”
“At least you’re feeling better in time for your birthday,” Tiffani says. Side by side, she and Meghan have their technicians filing away at their nails. Tiffani throws a glance at Meghan. “Are you throwing a party?”
A frown grows on Meg’s lips, and she shrugs. “You know how strict my parents are.”
“Oh my God, Meghan!” Rachael explodes, halting mid-pace and throwing her hands up into the air ecstatically. “I have a free house on Saturday night; you can have a party at my place!”
“Another party?” I murmur, but luckily none of them hear me. I’ve been here for just over a week and already I’ve been to two of these trashy parties where unlimited booze, drugs, and sex seem to be a general theme. I’m just not that into them.
“Are you sure?” Meghan looks at her from over her shoulder. She looks doubtful and a little guilty, and I can understand why. Rachael’s risking her house getting trashed.
Rachael rolls her eyes. “Obviously, Meg. It’s no problem. Let’s do it.”
“I’ll get Tyler to spread the word,” Tiffani offers, and when she mentions his name, something flutters in my stomach. I wonder what he’s doing right now.
“Tell him not to invite Declan’s crowd,” Rachael says, and she shoots Tiffani a firm look. “I don’t want anything illegal in my house, because if anything’s left behind, my dad will kill me.”
“I’ll make sure he knows.”
I vaguely remember Declan being the person who threw that horrendous stoner party over the weekend. Thank God Rachael has the common sense not to invite the potheads.
“You guys can all come over on Saturday morning and help me get the house ready,” she says, then squeals in excitement. The nail technicians flinch. “This is gonna be so good!”
It doesn’t sound that good. I’ll hate every second of it. I’ll hate the alcohol, I’ll hate the drunk strangers, I’ll hate the noise, I’ll hate Tyler. He gets even more irritating when he’s been drinking, and I’ll be the one who has to drag him home across the street at the end of the night.