Santa Monica Place is an outdoor mall, with four public walkways leading into an oval center, glamorous stores circling it. It’s so complex and unique and modern that it makes me feel out of place, but I follow the girls nonetheless. We head up the escalators to the third and final floor, which has an open-air dining deck, and make a beeline for Johnny Rockets. Johnny Rockets is another fast-food chain that Oregon seems to be missing, because Oregon sucks and seems to be deprived of just about everything, except rain. Oregon is never short on rain.
When we reach the food court, Tiffani gets herself something called a Super Sundae, Meghan and Rachael go for the Perfect Brownie Sundae, and I simply opt for water.
“The guys are on their way up,” Tiffani tells us without glancing up from her phone. She texts someone—presumably one of the guys—while scooping up a mouthful of ice cream at the same time, her eyes never leaving the device in her hands. “They’ve finally decided what’s happening on Saturday.”
“What’s happening on Saturday?” I blurt, my curiosity getting the better of me once again, and after I say it, I realize it’s the first thing I’ve said since I decided that French guys are better than British.
Tiffani’s eyes raise from her phone as she swallows the ice cream she’s just piled into her mouth. She stares at me for a long moment before she glances across the table to Rachael and Meghan. “Is she serious?”
“The annual beach party,” Rachael says slowly, her eyes fixed on me as her spoon hovers above her brownie. She twirls it around in a circle. “The biggest and hottest party of the summer.”
“Oh,” I say. Quickly, I unscrew the cap of my water and take a long drink.
“They get a permit and shut down one half of the beach,” she explains, although I’m not all that interested in the exact details and I don’t exactly know who “they” are. “It’s supposed to be over twenty-one only, but, well, you know…” Playfully, she adjusts her hair and pouts. “Everyone goes. There’s not exactly a door to the beach where the security guards can card you.”
“Security guards?”
“There’s a lot of fights,” Tiffani says. “And obviously you can’t drink while you’re there, because it’s a public place and all. Unless you want to get arrested, which a lot of people do.”
“So,” Rachael cuts in, without missing a beat, “you get drunk before you go. Just don’t get, like, wasted or anything, because you’ll draw attention to yourself and you’ll end up getting kicked out for being a minor.”
Tiffani places her phone down on the table and draws her sundae toward her, slowly scooping up some more ice cream. She smiles as she throws me a peculiar glance and says, “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about Eden getting wasted.”
I press my lips together and narrow my eyes at her, slightly offended, as she and Rachael stifle a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tiffani’s smile grows into a small smirk as she exchanges glances with Rachael. She holds her spoon up to her lips. “You’re just not very…”
“I’m not very what, Tiffani?” I gnaw at the insides of my cheeks as five million words run through my head all at once. Not very cool? Popular? Sociable? Pretty? In other words, not very like them?
“Reckless,” she says, and then shovels the ice cream into her mouth.
Reckless? I’m not reckless? I almost mimic one of Meghan’s snorts but somehow manage to suppress the laughter in my throat. Oh, Tiffani, I think, I can assure you I am pretty damn reckless. If only they knew.
Tiffani swallows and stares at me, noticing my silence. “Where were you on Tuesday night?”
“Tuesday?” My voice is something between a whisper and a squeak. On Tuesday night, I was at the pier with Tyler. I certainly wasn’t with Meghan, and Tiffani knows this.
“Yeah, Tuesday.” She blinks at me as she awaits an answer. I don’t know why she’s asking me again. It’s like she wants to try and catch me, like she’s hoping I’ll casually blurt out the truth in front of them all.
Rachael’s watching me too, intensifying the pressure of Tiffani’s question. My palms sweat. Meghan snorts again, and I begin to wonder if perhaps Johnny Rockets has slipped a few grams of pot into her brownie. She won’t stop giggling.
Tiffani heaves a sigh. “Where did you really go?”
“Oh my God!” Rachael almost screams, her body shooting upright as she leans across the table. “You were totally hooking up with Jake!”
Tiffani turns to her. “That’s what I thought too.”
My shoulders drop in relief. Thank God that’s what she thought my secret was. I’ve been in constant worry over the thought of Tiffani figuring out it was me that was with Tyler on Tuesday, but she isn’t on to us at all. “Maybe,” I say with a small smile. I look away. I’d rather they thought I was sneaking around with Jake than Tyler.
At this, Rachael almost hurls her body across the table. Her mouth is hanging open as she shakes her head quickly, like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. I can’t blame her; I wouldn’t either. “Was it a home run? Eden, tell us!”
Meghan bursts into a fit of giggles, and all three of us turn to look at her, confused. She bites her lip to smother some of her laughter, but she ends up squeezing her eyes closed and murmuring an apology. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized she’d been texting the entire time.