Dollhouse (8 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Kass

“I
can’t believe I let you talk me into seeing a chick flick,” Eduardo joked as he and Kass walked out of the movie theater at the Grove shopping center. It was Saturday night, and the place was jam-packed.

“Yeah, well, last time it was that postapocalyptic thriller with naked green space-alien women. So I figured it was only fair,” Kass joked back.

He laughed and draped his arm around her shoulders. The gesture was casual, but simultaneously not casual. In the last few weeks, Kass and Eduardo had entered that gray area, the one between “just friends” and “something more.” They’d been on three outings—Kass refused to think of them as dates—and each time, she liked him more and more.

And he seemed to feel the same. Last weekend, he’d almost kissed her after smoothies at Dlush. But she’d balked, bending down to tie her shoe (which didn’t need tying) . . . and the moment had passed, and she’d started babbling awkwardly about Professor Mueller’s recent lecture on economic indicators. Eduardo must think she was crazy.

What did she want, anyway? Hadn’t she signed up for Lovematch.com to find a love match? Wasn’t Eduardo a prime candidate? He was cute, supersmart, sweet, and funny. They liked so many of the same things—not just movies and high finance but obscure novels, politics, the Food Network, and old TV shows.

And it wasn’t as though she wasn’t attracted to him. She was, big-time. She’d even had a dream about him the other night that was seriously X-rated, involving handcuffs and a Nordstrom dressing room and—

“Hey, Earth to Kass. Are you hungry? I know a great taco stand at the Farmers Market.” Eduardo was smiling at her curiously.

“What? Oh, sure!”

“Awesome. Tacos, it is, then.”

They strolled slowly past the lit-up fountain in the middle of the plaza, which Kass had always loved. Her father used to bring the three girls to the Grove a lot—especially during the holidays, to catch the big tree and the fake snow falling at night. He always made sure to get in line with the other parents to see Santa, who held court for all the spoiled brats dressed in their Armani Baby and Ralph Lauren outfits.

Christmas was coming up in a couple of months. Another Christmas without him.

Kass sighed heavily.

“You okay?” Eduardo asked her.

She instinctively nestled into the crook of his arm. “Yeah. Just hungry, I guess.”

“We’d better feed you right away, then.”

They headed over to the Farmers Market next door. The Farmers Market was another one of Kass’s favorite spots in L.A. There were dozens of food stands under one roof, everything from Korean barbecue to French crêpes.

Eduardo led her to the taco stand and ordered for both of them. “Fish tacos, chips,
pico de gallo,
and a couple of Coronas. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds perfect.”

When they got their food, they sat down at a rickety metal table. The place was packed, with the usual mixed crowd of couples, families with small kids, college students, tourists, and senior citizens. From the other end of the market, Kass could hear the faint strains of a live band playing zydeco music.

“So.” Eduardo squeezed a lime wedge into his beer and took a sip. “I was thinking of driving to San Diego next Saturday, Sunday. There’s this new film festival going on, and my friend has a documentary in it.”

“Oh? That sounds cool. I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

Eduardo grinned. “I was thinking that you might come with me.”

“Oh!”

Kass picked up her fish taco and bit into it. It was delicious, or it would be, except that she suddenly couldn’t taste the food because her mind was racing with this new development. Eduardo was asking her to go to San Diego with him. For the whole weekend. Did that mean he was escalating their “just friends” status? Would they be sharing a room? And if they were sharing a room, did that mean . . .

“I . . . hmm . . . well . . . it sounds amazing,” Kass said finally. “I’ll have to check with my mom about my schedule at the restaurant, though. And I have this killer paper due for Professor Nazari week after next, and I haven’t even started on it.”

Eduardo gazed at her thoughtfully. “Okay. Just let me know. And . . . Kass?”

“Yes?”

“Look, I don’t want to pressure you. But you know how I feel about you.”

I do?
Kass thought. And then she remembered that he
had
tried to kiss her last week.

“Maybe you and I want different things,” Eduardo went on. “I like hanging out with you. But I kind of want more. Do you know what I mean?”

“Mmm.”

“
So.
Anyway, think about San Diego and let me know.”

“I will. Hey, did you catch
Top Chef
the other night? Was that Elimination Challenge insane or what?”

As Kass rambled on about
Top Chef,
she was vaguely aware of Eduardo’s eyes flicking across her face, her long light brown hair, her tighter-than-usual black T-shirt. (Had she washed it in the wrong temperature?) His look was charged with longing, which made her feel kind of warm and tingly, if she had to be honest. But his look was a little sad, too, and mystified, like he was wondering why they weren’t at his place or hers right now, getting naked and doing all sorts of unmentionable things.

Blushing, Kass dropped her gaze to the table and busied herself with the
pico de gallo.

W
hen Kass got home that night, Kamille was in the living room, dancing to Madonna’s “Express Yourself.” She was wearing nothing but a red baby-doll nightie and leopard-print mule slippers.

“Ohmigod, where’s Ballboy? Am I interrupting some weird mating ritual?” Kass said, dropping her backpack and keys on the couch.

Kamille giggled. “He’s out with his friends. And stop calling him Ballboy!”

“Okay, so you’re practicing to be a stripper. Are the modeling gigs drying up already?”

“You are
such
a bitch. Shut
up
!
”
Kamille picked up a silk pillow and flung it at Kass.

Kass ducked, laughing. “I’ve got some leftover tacos. Want some?”

“I had a salad. Giles said I have to watch my weight.”

“Why? He’s an idiot, Kam, you’re perfect!”

“Not really. Hey, you want a drink? I think we have a bottle of white wine in the fridge.”

Kass plopped down on the couch and leafed through a stack of unopened mail. “No, thanks. I had a beer tonight. One’s my limit, you know that.”

“Wuss.” Kamille sat down on the couch next to Kass and put her head on her shoulder. “Kassie?”

“What?”

“What do you think of Chase? Honestly? You’ve met him a bunch of times now. But you haven’t said a word about him.”

Kass hesitated. She had seen Chase on exactly three occasions: twice at a Sunday Night Dinner, and once, when Kamille had brought him to Café Romero. There was no doubt that he was very charming and very, very hot.

But.
She’d caught him checking out one of the waitresses at the restaurant when Kamille was in the ladies’ room. And she knew about his tabloid reputation because Kyle had gleefully filled her in. (That girl seriously needed to get off the Internet and get a life.)

Or was Kass being unfair? Maybe she’d misinterpreted that look he gave the waitress? And tabloids weren’t exactly a reliable source of information.

It was also possible that Kass was suffering from a huge case of sour grapes. Kamille’s modeling career was blossoming. She had a famous boyfriend whom she seemed to really like. Kass, on the other hand, was all about work, work, work—and unable to move forward in her relationship with a great guy, for whatever reason.

Kamille was waiting for an answer. “I like Chase. He’s fine,” Kass replied vaguely.

Kamille frowned. “
Fine?
Yeah, that’s like when you say something tastes ‘interesting.’ What you really mean is, you don’t like him!”

“That’s not what I—”

“What is
wrong
with you?” Kamille said, suddenly angry. “And Mommy, too? Chase is the most amazing guy, ever! Don’t you two get it? He’s the love of my life, and when we get married, I want him to feel—”

“Wait,
what
? When did you get engaged?”

“We’re not engaged. Not yet. But we’re in love, and I know he’s the one, and I want you all to accept him as part of the family.”

“Kam, are you nuts? You’ve been dating for all of what? A month? Or not even?”

“What difference does it make? A week, a month, a year, ten years . . . when you know, you know! Besides, who are you to talk? How are things going with
your
new boyfriend, what’s-his-name, Eduardo? The one none of us has met?”

“That’s because he’s not my boyfriend. We’re just, uh, hanging out.”

“Have you guys hooked up?”

“Um . . . no.”

Kamille’s expression softened. “Do you
want
to hook up?”

Kass hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she said after a moment. “I mean, I do. It’s just that . . . what if we go there, and then he dumps me? What if he’s one of those guys?”

“Okay, time out.” Kamille put her hands on Kass’s shoulders. “Sweetie, you’ve had, like, one serious boyfriend your whole life. And you’re twenty-one years old. So Adam Kerrigan dumped you senior year of high school—”

“The day after I finally gave it up for him.”

“—the day after you finally gave it up for him. He was a douche bag. But not every guy is a douche bag. Why don’t you give Eduardo a chance? He sounds supernice, from the, like, one time you told me about him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah, well, don’t spend too many years analyzing the situation like you always do, or you might die a virgin.”

“I am
not
a virgin, I just told you, Adam Kerrigan and I—”

“Whatever. Your chastity belt is on so tight, you might as well
be
a virgin. I’m not saying that to be a bitch. I’m saying that because I love you, and I want you to be as happy as I am with Chase.”

Kamille reached over and hugged Kass. Kass hugged her back. Was Kamille right? Did she, Kass, need to loosen up a little and let Eduardo score a home run with her?

Or at least get to first base?

Chapter Seventeen

Kyle

“S
o you’re going to the party tonight, right?” Ash called out to Kyle.

“What party?” Kyle slid past Ash and Priscilla and opened her overflowing locker. She nudged a pile of textbooks, notebooks, makeup containers, empty Four Loko bottles, and a broken calculator with her foot, trying to stuff everything back inside. She really needed to do a cleanup one of these days. Even her prized pictures of Channing Tatum (shirtless) and Megan Fox (almost shirtless) were ripped and sadly peeling from the locker walls.

Ash and Priscilla exchanged a glance. “At Graydon’s,” Ash said, running a hand through her short, spiky hair. She dyed it a different color every week. This week, it was fuchsia. “Graydon Garrison? He’s a senior? His parents are in Prague or Ibiza or wherever.”

“I went to one of his parties once,” Priscilla added. “I hooked up with these two rich Russian guys. They were
so
old, like thirty? They thought I was a ho, and gave me like five hundred dollars afterward.” She twirled her long, straight-out-of-a-bottle platinum hair around her finger and giggled.

“I was at that party, too. It was sick. Everyone was doing coke and E. And whippits,” Ash added.

“Those skinny little dogs?” Kyle said, confused.

“No, retard. Cans filled with that gas, nitrous something. You put it in balloons and inhale,” Ash clarified. “God, are you totally out of it?”

“Where have you been lately, anyway? You haven’t gone out with us in, like, forever.” Priscilla pouted.

“My parents are making me do like six hours of homework every night. I have to improve my GPA or they’re going to send me to a convent,” Kyle explained. She knew she was kind of exaggerating with the “six hours” and “convent” part. But that was the only kind of talk Ash and Priscilla understood, especially when they were stoned out of their minds. Which they obviously were, judging from the bloodshot eyes and the smell wafting from their matching white blouses and green-and-black-plaid skirts, aka the suck-ass school uniform.

“Bummer,” Priscilla sympathized.

“Yeah, bummer. Hey, isn’t that your brother?” Ash said suddenly.

Kyle glanced over her shoulder. Benjy was walking down the hall with a couple of guys from their literature class, Colt Reichert and Javier something.

“He’s not my brother,” Kyle said irritably.

Ash shrugged. “Step, half, whatever. He’s kind of hot. Like that dude who’s really Batman when he takes off his glasses.”

“You mean Superman,” Kyle corrected her.

“Same difference. You wouldn’t mind if I hit that, would you?” Ash puckered her lips and blew a loud kiss at Benjy.

But Benjy didn’t seem to notice. He was looking at Kyle.

Kyle turned away, feeling confused and pissed off at the same time. She had managed to ignore Benjy successfully since That Day, and she wasn’t about to change that now.

That Day. They had made out for a while, almost going all the way, then stopped at the last minute when Kyle had suddenly freaked out and stormed off without a word. He had texted her later, apologizing and asking if they could talk. She had texted back, saying that she didn’t want to talk and didn’t want to continue the tutoring sessions with him, and if he had any ideas about narking her out to the parents, she would kill him. He’d never responded, but she hadn’t gotten chewed out by Kat and Beau either, so he was obviously complying.

Problem was . . . it meant she actually had to study and do her homework all on her own, so she could reach-slash-maintain a 3.0 average and make it
look
as though Benjy were still tutoring her.
God.
Of course, it wasn’t that hard for her to get decent grades. Her classes were actually a piece of cake. It was the principle of it, though. She hated her school, and the idea of school in general. She hated having to follow other people’s rules and expectations of who she was supposed to be. An obedient, good-girl, straight-A student? That wasn’t her. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t the opposite of that either, not entirely. But she felt she had to be that badass rebel, just to broadcast loud and clear to her teachers, parents, society,
everyone,
that she was her own person.

As for Benjy . . . well, the whole thing was just too weird to even process. To be honest, she had
liked
making out with him. But that was demented, right? And maybe even illegal? As in, incest? All she knew was, her mother and Beau would totally lose their shit if they found out. They might even send her to a convent, after all . . . no exaggeration there. She enjoyed pissing off her mother, but not
that
much.

Suddenly in a foul mood, Kyle glared at the photos of Channing Tatum and Megan Fox stuck on the back of her locker door and tore them down. She crumpled them up into angry little balls and tossed them over her shoulder.

They hit some random girl in the head. “What the fuck?” the girl cried out.

“What’s the matter with you, Kyle? Channing and Meggie not doing it for you anymore?” Ash teased her.

“Hey, speaking of . . . have you seen the new dude who just transferred here? From New York? He could be Channing’s twin,” Priscilla gushed.

Ash raised her hand. “Dibs!”

“I called it first! Or, hey, maybe we could three-sixty-nine him . . .”

“I’m late for history,” Kyle said, slamming her locker shut. “Later, bitches.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder and started down the hall.

“What about tonight? Graydon’s party? You want us to pick you up?” Ash called out after her.

“I don’t know. Sure. Let me think about it,” Kyle replied.

Maybe an out-of-control party was just what she needed to sort out her bad mood and put things in perspective?