Mom and Tommy had it expanded and redone last year for my sixteenth birthday. It looks like a high-end boutique. Black and white brocade wallpaper. Sleek, black cabinetry. Shoes, boots, and bags lined up in perfect, color-coordinated order. Beneath my feet is a fluffy white flokati rug that is so soft it almost feels sensual. I dig my bare toes in it every time I walk on it. I flip the light switch, and the black-lacquered chandelier lights up the center of the room.
I know exactly what I want to wear tonight. A shimmering, silver Alice + Olivia sleeveless, cowl-neck dress that has a skintight skirt, and a pair of silver glitter, double-banded bootie Jimmy Choos.
I check myself in the mirror and am pleased with how I look. I spritz on some perfume and walk out on the deck.
Cush is sitting on the deck by himself, staring out at the ocean.
“So I’m ready.”
He turns around and looks at me, but doesn’t say a word. He just stares.
I worry that he thinks I look silly.
Finally a big grin breaks out across his face, and I get to see his adorable dimples. “Day-umnnn, girl. You got it going on.”
We have so much fun at the club, and he wasn’t lying when he said I could grind on him all night.
It feels amazing.
The way his hands feel on my hips.
How, if I move too far away from him, he grabs my ass and pulls me back close.
How he runs his hands all over my dress in the name of dancing.
If this is how he usually dances with girls, I can see why they fall into bed with him. Everything he does is just plain sexy. Especially when you make him grin big enough to be treated to those dimples.
Sometimes, he looks at me and then down at my mouth. The way guys do when they want to kiss you. And I am so hoping that he won’t. He knows I like Brooklyn, and I don’t want things to be awkward with us. He’s so fun to hang out with.
After closing down the club, we go to an after-party at Troy’s, then drive to an all-night diner on the beach, have breakfast, and watch the sunrise.
“So we can’t tell anyone about last night, right?” he asks when I drop him off at home.
“That’s right.”
“I may have to blackmail you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you don’t take me with you next time you go, I’ll tell everyone your dirty little secret.”
He winks at me, shuts the door, and I drive home with a smile on my face.
Friday, May 13th
I’m way into her.
1am
“We could have a lot of fun together, if you know what I mean,” Vanessa says to Sander.
Yes, we all know exactly what she means.
My supposed best friend is offering my boyfriend sex.
She doesn’t see me walk up behind her. She’s too busy batting her fake eyelashes and tossing around her long, dark curls to notice me.
I watch as she runs her fake red nails across Sander’s forearm. She’s swaying drunkenly back and forth.
“A guy as hot as you shouldn’t have to wait. I wouldn’t make you wait,” she says.
Sander, who was crowned Prom King earlier, looks particularly handsome tonight.
Black Prada tuxedo. Crisp white shirt. Black tie.
I stand frozen to the spot, trying to figure out what to do. Half of me wants to grab her hair and call her a bitch. The other half wants to tell her she can have him.
It’s a gorgeous spring night, and we’re at a prom after-party held on the deck of a yacht.
I know Vanessa probably won’t even remember this in the morning. She was chugging champagne on the limo ride here, then bragging about how she did cocaine with the latest train-wreck pop star, who was at prom because a nerdy boy from my science class won a date with her.
But still. It’s no excuse.
A drunk senior lacrosse player hit on me earlier. Drunkenly wrapped his arm around my waist and told me I looked like I fell from heaven. Sander walked up behind him and said, Dude, you know she’s my angel. As we walked away, the drunk guy said something to his friend about Sander tapping that ass.
Everyone totally thinks Sander and I have sex all the time. It was just a few months ago when I let it slip to Vanessa that we never have. That I’m still a virgin. At the time, she was sweet and told me she thought it was romantic we were waiting. Not long after, she started making snide little remarks about it. Then she decided to use it against me. She threatened to tell everyone that—and I quote—Your relationship is a sham.
Which isn’t true. Sander is a great boyfriend. He’s super attentive, dresses well, loves to shop, and never even looks at other girls. He’s totally devoted to me.
Now, whenever I disagree with her, she reminds me of what she knows.
And that what she knows would ruin me.
I’m almost to the point of telling everyone myself, just to make the blackmail stop.
But, if I’m being truthful, I am afraid of what people will think. Sander says all the guys at school are jealous of him. That they think he’s so lucky to have me. Of course, they think he is having me. That we’re hooking up. And if you didn’t know the truth, you would think so too. He always has his hands all over me, and he showers me with attention.
But then, when we’re alone.
Nothing really happens.
And I’m starting to wonder if it is a sham.