In Real Life (12 page)

“This is perfect,” she says. Since she's talking, I assume they are done kissing, so I turn back around. She leans against him, where I was a second ago, and I wonder if it's possible to literally choke on jealously. “Now we can take these girls out and show them a fantastic time in Vegas.”

Nick looks at us all nervously. “Well, Hannah gave me the money, so she's the rock star in this situation.” Then he laughs and looks right at me, and it's almost like the rest of the group disappears. “You're always the rock star out of the two of us anyway. Remember our ‘art contest'?” He uses his fingers to make air quotes for those last two words, and when he says them, his voice changes. It's slight, and I don't know that anyone else would notice it. But it sounds so much more like the Nick I talk to on the phone than the one I've been talking to for the last thirty minutes or so. “Here I am with my stick people, and you're freaking Rembrandt all of a sudden. ‘I can't even draw, Nick. Don't judge me!' Such crap, Ghost. Such crap.”

I let out a little half laugh that comes from the back of my throat. “Hey, you challenged me and offered a prize, and I'm going to bring all my skills to the table when a Starbucks gift card is on the line. You know I don't mess around when it comes to coffee.”

“Always so competitive,” he says, taking a step closer to me. “You know I let you win.”

“Now who's full of crap? You told me you got a C-minus in Art your sophomore year. Who gets a C-minus in Art? Bruce Lee could walk over a sketchbook with paint on his paws and get a better grade than that.”

He shakes his head. “You promised you would never mention that again. You were supposed to take that to the grave. You traitor. You want me to bring up what happened when you tried to skateboard? Because I know you haven't told Grace about that, and I'd be happy to fill her in.”

Our eyes lock and we're laughing out loud at our inside jokes and for a second it feels like things are normal between us.

But then, Frankie.

“Come on, Nick. If it's Hannah's money, then give it to her already, and let's get this night going.”

I notice a look crossing over his face. It's so strange that as much as I know every nuance of his voice, I'm not so familiar with these expressions. We video-chat sometimes, but both of us prefer the phone or texting or even chatting online, him because his home Wi-Fi is slow and me because video is a little too real, so his faces are still new territory. This one seems pretty irritated. Probably about being forced by Frankie to give me the money. I bet he wants to use it to take her out or something a perfect boyfriend would do.

He takes her arm and pulls her close, leaning down and whispering in her ear. She shakes her head and says, “That's ridiculous.” She's smiling, so I guess he isn't too upset.

I'm about to tell them both they can have the freaking money, they don't have to worry about the three of us, and they can go off and have their romantic dinner or whatever Nick wants to do with the winnings. I'd pay ten thousand dollars to get away from this barf-inducing little couple session. But before I say anything, Lo leans forward and whispers, “Don't you have to be twenty-one to gamble? Are you going to be able to cash that in?”

I look up at Nick, and he has the panic on his face that probably matches my own. He started playing with the slot machine to distract himself from the uncomfortable turn our conversation was taking. It didn't occur to either of us we would win any money.

“Never fear, minors. I'm twenty-one.” Grace leans over the chair to the slot machine and pushes the blinking
CASH OUT
button, then grabs the ticket that slides out of a slot toward the top. “Stay here,” she says. “I'll go hit up the cashier.”

Grace wanders off into the depths of the casino, leaving Nick, Frankie, Lo, and me standing around, looking at one another. There's still some apparent tension between Nick and Frankie. Well, apparent to me, anyway, because I'm watching Nick's every move like a hawk. He's staring at the
Wheel of Fortune
slot machine like it's trying to tell him a secret, avoiding eye contact with both me and his girlfriend.

The awkwardness … it burns.

Frankie, in what I'm realizing must be her typical Frankie fashion, doesn't seem to notice the weirdness at all. She's pulled out her phone and is texting like a maniac. “Nick, I'm going to text the guys, okay? They're going to be pissed at you for not helping pack up the equipment, by the way. They can make Drew take it all home, though, since it goes in his garage anyway, and I know Oscar'll kill us if we go out without him. And didn't Grace say she knew your brother? Make sure you text him. This is going to be so fun.”

“Ahhh, the mysterious Alex.” I feel like I know him so well from Nick's stories. On one hand, he's the guy responsible for us becoming friends, so I'd like to meet him. On the other hand, all Nick ever does is complain about him, and I know they aren't exactly best of friends. How could Frankie not know that? And I don't know how Grace will feel about hanging out with him, since she pretty much never called him again after they got me and Nick talking, but whatever. It's Grace's fault I'm in this mess; I'll enjoy watching her squirm.

“Fine.” Irritation is thick in Nick's voice, but he pulls out his phone and starts texting.

“Aww, look how cute the two of you are on your phones,” Lo says.

That's all it takes for the jealousy flood to rush back over me. I glare at Lo, and she shrugs and mouths
“Sorry.”

Frankie doesn't look up from her phone, but she laughs. “I know, right? Nick texts like it's his job.”

Nick's eyes meet mine, and he points at me and mouths,
“Texting
you
.
”
I smile, and Frankie, not noticing our exchange, just rambles on.

“And I have a blog, which I pretty much run from my phone and my tablet.” Her tablet and her camera peek out of a black Moxie Patrol tote bag slung over her tiny shoulder.

“Oh yeah?” Lo asks. “What kind of blog?”

The opportunity to talk about her blog seems to pry Frankie's attention from her phone. “Oh, it's no big deal,” she says in a tone that indicates the exact opposite. “It's a Vegas scene blog for teenagers. Like, all-ages shows, flash mobs, arcades, street fashion, fun things to do here when you're underage, stuff like that.”

“She's practically a local celebrity,” Nick says, quiet pride in his voice.

“Ah. Is that why you went for her, Nick? Trying to tap in on that fame?” Lo asks it in a joking way, but I want to kiss her for asking how they got together. That's why she's my bestie.

“Yeah, right!” Frankie starts laughing and has a hard time stopping. “Nick hates my blog. Hates. It.”

“What? Why?” I'm surprised to hear this about Nick. As far as I know, he doesn't hate much of anything except yellow mustard, spiders, and eating food directly off a bone. And hatred definitely contradicts that pride I just heard.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” he says to Frankie, poking her playfully in the side.

“They asked,” she says, throwing her hands up in surrender.

“She's putting words in my mouth. Her blog is awesome. She gets recognized everywhere we go.” He shakes his head, smiling. “Don't let her act like this is some little thing, either. It's a full-time job. She makes more money from this blog than Alex makes bartending, and she has hundreds of thousands of followers. It's insane.”

“No way,” says Lo. “So you really are a celebrity. That's amazing. How can you hate on that?”

“Stop, you guys.” Nick, looking ganged up on, adjusts his glasses. “I swear. I. Don't. Hate. It. I think it's fantastic. Truly. She's unbelievable.”

She smacks his arm lightly, then leans into him. “Don't lie. You hate it.” She breaks into a singsongy voice. “You don't like to sha-are me-ee.”

This new information about Frankie annoys me even more. Not only is she adorable and all punk rock, but she's also successful and ambitious and mildly Vegas-famous and let's not forget how freaking nice and welcoming she is. Gah. I'm trying to hate her over here, and the fact that she's thwarting my hate at every turn is making me want to hate her even more.

“There's a guy in L.A. with a blog like that,” Lo says. “He does videos, too, and Grace says she sees him sometimes at—”

Frankie's face drops faster than the lever on the slot machine, and she holds up her hand as if she can physically stop this conversation. “OMG, don't even talk to me about Jay Bankar. That guy is the worst. He's—” She's interrupted by her phone making a noise, and the lightness pops back on her face as fast as it went away. She says, “Oooh, hold on, it's the sister of one of the roadies from the Killers,” to us, and walks a few feet away to answer it.

“I can't believe she's Internet famous,” Lo says.

Nick smiles, but there's something insincere about it. Before I can ask him for more information, though, Grace returns from the cashier with a handful of cash at the same time my phone vibrates in my pocket.

“We're in the money,” she sings.

“
We
aren't,” I correct her. “Nick is. That's his money.”

“No,” he says. “You gave me the five dollars and you spun the wheel. It's your money.”

I know I should want my share, but I'm so annoyed with this entire night. If Nick and I aren't going to have a chance to talk this out, then all I want to do is go back to the hotel room, crawl under the covers, and try to forget about this debacle until it's time to drive home.

“Well, according to the State of Nevada, it's my money.” Grace winks, but she divides the stack in half and hands it to each of us. “And Frankie's right. We should do something super fun with it. You won money in Vegas. It's a sign. What do you guys want to do?”

I remember my text alert and pull out my phone. It's from Grace, who must have sent it when she was walking back from the cashier.

I KNOW THAT LOOK ON YOUR FACE. I'M NOT LETTING YOU GO BACK TO THE ROOM.

Oh, how I hate my sister sometimes.

“The guys are on their way,” Nick says, “and then, um, I guess we can figure out a game plan for the night.”

“I bet she knows all the fun things to do, huh?” I give a friendly nod in Frankie's direction. I should get a freaking gold medal for the effort I'm making.

“Oh yeah,” Nick says with a humorless laugh. “We can count on her to have an itinerary for us within the next ten minutes.”

We decide to walk over to the diner and get a table there while we wait for everyone else to show up. In the end, everyone else turns out to be just Oscar and Alex.

Alex saunters into the restaurant, still in his trucker hat, looking so much like an older, dirtier version of Nick. Grace's face lights up when she sees him, and I don't even think she realizes that the first thing she does is tuck her Tiffany key necklace into her shirt. “Still hitting on girls at shows, Cooper?” she says in this flirtatious voice I've never heard her use. From the look on her face, I know there will be none of the squirmy awkwardness or “sorry I forgot to text you for the last four years” between the two of them I'd been hoping for. He sits down at the table, and she practically jumps into his lap.

Trailing behind Alex is Oscar, who yells, “You guys are paying for this dinner, right, moneybags?” He put on a hat—thank God he covered up that hair—and he slaps hands with Alex and Nick. Then he looks right past me and Grace and zeroes in on Lo, who is drooling over him like he's a walking, talking T-bone steak.

Now there are seven of us. Nick and Frankie, who is recognized by our server and given a free cheesecake. Alex and Grace, who haven't spoken in four years, and even then only knew each other for, like, three hours, but now look like they are about to tear each other's clothes off within minutes of being reunited. And Oscar and Lo, who attaches herself to him the instant he sits down at our table whether he likes it or not.

And me.

The cheese stands alone.

This is going to be such a suck-tastic night.

 

CHAPTER

13

The first thing everyone in the group can agree to do tonight is the roller coaster at New York–New York. Well, not the whole group. I don't want to go, obviously, but no one listens to the lonely single person when apparently Alex has been, like, dying to ride this dumb thing his whole life but has never actually come over here to do it and Frankie wants to write about it on the blog. Nick tries to stick up for me when I give a pretty enthusiastic, “Oh
hell
no!” but we're quickly outnumbered. So, we're headed for the stupid roller coaster, but I'm still planning my sneaky exit. There's no way I'm getting on that thing, and I'm out of here as soon as I find my opportunity.

New York–New York is not far from where we are, so we catch two cabs at the front of Mandalay Bay and have them take us up the Strip. “We should get a limo for the whole night,” Oscar suggests as I slide in the cab with him and Lo. I was going to try to squeeze in with Nick and Frankie, but I figure being in a separate cab might give me a chance to get myself together and come up with an escape route from this nightmare. With how far off the deep end this trip has gone, I need a Plan G.

“We didn't win
that
much money,” I say, even though I have no idea how much limos cost to rent for a night. Oscar already guilted us into paying for all the food at the diner; I wonder what other plans he has for what's left of our winnings.

“Nick doesn't care about the money,” Oscar says. He and Lo moved to the back row of the van cab, leaving me alone in the middle seat. It looks like he isn't minding that attention from her one bit. Go, Lo. “And besides, Frankie's loaded. I bet she even knows some limo company that'll hook us up with a free ride if she mentions them on her blog. I'm gonna text her right now and suggest that.”