“Meg, you should invite the cute guy from the beach,” Tiffani teases, but it’s almost sincere. “And, Rach, I already know you’re going to invite Trevor.” Rachael’s cheeks flush with color, and she quickly turns to face the windows. As Tiffani giggles, she rests her eyes on me. “And I’ll have Tyler, so there’s just you, Eden. We’ll need to find someone for you.”
For a second I feel guilty for not being a good friend by telling her that Tyler’s just not that into her, but my lips have a mind of their own and soon I’m blurting, “I’ll just hang out with Jake.”
There’s a simultaneous “What?” from all three of them.
Tiffani even draws her hands away from the table so that she can spin around to stare at me, and I can feel all of their eyes on me at once. “Jake? Our Jake?”
“Oh my God, what have we missed?” Rachael demands, her eyes wide and eager, her bottom lip drawn into her mouth. “You don’t just say you’re going to hang out with someone at a party, okay? There’s always a reason behind it. Are you crushing on him?”
“We hung out on Saturday night,” I admit, and my cheeks are now tinted rose as my eyes drop to the floor. I wish I hadn’t said anything. “And I, um, stayed at his place.”
“Jesus,” Meghan breathes. She blinks at me before exchanging glances with both Tiffani and Rachael. “It only took him a week to get the new girl?”
“Meg,” Rach hisses, but quickly locks her eyes on me again. “How far did the two of you get?”
“What?”
“You know…” She glances unsurely over to Tiffani, and Tiff decides to finish for her by obnoxiously asking, “Did you suck his dick?”
I splutter, almost choke, and fail to compose myself. I manage a quick, “No,” and then shake my head. “We watched The Lion King.”
Rachael tilts her head. “Is that a code word or…?”
“No. We literally watched The Lion King.”
“Oh,” she says, then bursts into laughter.
“Rachael, just stop talking,” Tiffani says. She turns back around and places her hands down on the table again and allows the nail technician—who is understandably a little lost—to continue.
“But didn’t anyone tell her about the Maxwell Base?” Meghan says, and by this point I just wish I could run out of the salon and go straight back to Santa Monica. I feel mortified and way out of my comfort zone.
“The Maxwell Base?” I force myself to repeat.
“Instead of third base, it’s known as the Maxwell Base,” Meghan informs me. “Because our good friend Jake Maxwell just so happens to get head a lot. It’s traditional, and it looks like you’re up next.” She and Tiffani laugh.
“You guys are so gross,” Rachael says. “Eden, don’t listen to them. You don’t have to do anything.”
“We’re gross?” Tiffani gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in mock disbelief. With a shake of her head, she locks her gaze back on me. “Eden, here’s the honest truth: Meghan’s specialty is jerking guys off and Rachael’s is blow jobs.” I can see the two nail technicians rolling their eyes and shooting each other a look. I bet they can’t wait for us to leave. “You’ll find them in the spare bedrooms at any party with any guy. Usually with Rach, it’s Trevor. I’m the classy one.”
“Hey!” Rachael and Meghan both protest, but they don’t exactly object. Rachael does, however, quip, “I didn’t know hooking up in the American Apparel fitting rooms was now considered classy.”
“That doesn’t count,” Tiffani argues, biting her lip as the nail technician finishes off her right hand. “At least I’m in a relationship with the person.”
The entire conversation is completely awkward, but I find myself glancing up from beneath my eyelashes to see if Rachael or Meghan will muster up a reply. The two of them just exchange a quick glance, their lips forming two perfect frowns, but they say nothing.
I catch Rachael’s eye and raise my eyebrows at her, questioning their sudden silence, but she only offers me a minute shake of her head, as though to tell me that now isn’t the time.
She clears her throat and decides to put the conversation in reverse, saying, “So Saturday should be fun, right?”
Chapter 15
I receive an urgent text from Rachael at 3:27 p.m. that Saturday. Her parents have just left—four hours later than planned—and we now have only five hours to prepare the house for a reckless high school party. Rachael wants us to come over right away, and for me, this is easy to do.
“I’m going to Rachael’s,” I tell Dad as I’m untangling the laces of my sneakers by the living room door. “Guy drama,” I add. “We’ll probably just order food, so I don’t think I’ll be back for dinner.”
He mutes the TV, glancing over at me, almost considering whether he should object. “Remember we’re taking Jamie and Chase to the Dodgers game tonight. We’re leaving in an hour, because it’s just north of downtown. Can you fend for yourself for the night?”
“Oh yeah.” Perfect. No need to lie about why I’m heading across the street. “I won’t be back before you leave, so have a good time. Bye, Ella.”