Jet Set (16 page)

I
was perusing the racks of leather-bound notebooks embossed with the Van Pelt crest at the school store when I heard Chérie's laughter coming from the register. She was always giggling excessively at whatever the male students said to her, so I usually blocked her out, but this time her hoots were particularly high-pitched so I turned to look. Antony and Rolf were standing next to her, both whispering in her ear.

Just as Antony leaned in to tell her something, his eyes met mine and his face changed.

“Lucy!” he said enthusiastically.

“Hey,” I rasped. It was literally like there was a frog in my throat.

Antony came rushing over, as Rolf and Chérie eyed me curiously. “How are you, darling?” he said, pecking me on both cheeks European style.

“Fine.”

“I was just coming to collect you. Can we go and have some hot chocolate?”

“Um, okay, but I need to pay for this.”

“Allow me,” said Antony, scooping up my notebooks and rushing over to the counter.

“Chérie, it's a charge,” he said coldly. Chérie looked surprised at how frosty he was acting but marked it in her book.

“Come along,” said Antony.

“Catch you later,” said Rolf, who immediately resumed whispering to Chérie.

We walked to the caffè in silence. What was the deal with Antony and Chérie? It was like every corner I turned, there they were. I finally decided I had to say something.

“So what's going on, Antony?” I asked, hoping he would fill in the blanks.

“What do you mean?” he replied.

“I have seen you now several times with Chérie. Do you have, like, a thing for her?”

Antony gave an exaggerated laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Well, it's suspicious….”

“Come on! I would never go for trash like that. Her father is a plumber! No, no, that's Rolf's bird. He just always needs me to cover for him because of Lena.”

Lena was Rolf's Swedish girlfriend. Beautiful, but as cold as the glacier-filled country she'd been born in.

“But why do you have to cover for him?”

He stopped and put his hands on my shoulders. “Because he's my friend. Don't worry, Lucy, I would never cheat on you. And it really insults me that you would think I would go for a harlot like that. And she's from a pitiful family.”

The last part struck me most of all. “Who cares about her family?” I asked.

Antony laughed as if I were a foolish child. “You're even more American than I am, Lucy. But come on, you know,” he said, and commenced walking again.

I remained firmly in place. “No, not really.”

Antony stopped and came back to me. He smiled at me, then kissed me on the forehead. “That's what I adore about you. You are such a good soul. You're not snobby at all.”

“Why would I be?”

“You're right. No one should be.”

“But why did you say that about her family?” I asked again.

“Oh, you know, her parents have three teeth between them. Her mother…” He looked at me and stopped. “They're just not the nicest people. You don't want to spend time with them. I'm
sure your family is much nicer, but that's not even the point. I am wild about you!”

He grabbed my hand and I continued walking with him. We ran into a bunch of his friends and all ended up together at the caffè. But again I felt like there was some sort of disconnect between Antony and me. In the past, he'd made sense to me. But not so much anymore. Did I really know him?

I
t was the night before my match and my heart was pounding. This would be my launchpad into the league's circuit because no one had ever seen me play and I had to either live up to the buzz or fade to anonymous toast. I lay there, thoughts tromping across one another in a confusing collage. What was up with my relationship with Antony? Would I bomb this game? What havoc would Sofia wreak on my life? Was it a mistake to come here?

As all these worries and more fiesta'd in my overactive brain, I
slowly fell asleep. I woke up bleary-eyed and then focused on the clock.
Oh my god, nine thirty?!
I had arranged through the concierge for a wake-up call at eight! Holy crap. I was supposed to be warming up by now! I quickly dialed the front desk to ask what had happened to my call.

“
Je suis désolé
, I'm sorry, but zee record shows you phoned at one sixteen to cancel zee wake-up call….”

At
1:16?
I was long in zzzz's land by then; how could…
Sofia!
That bitch. She was trying to sabotage me on my most important day at Van Pelt thus far. Evil. Serves me right for relying on such a fancy switchboard that the school offered, hotel style.

I bolted for the fastest shower in history and ran at top speed to the courts, which were a world away.

“Where you been, Lucy?” Coach Sachs demanded. I already saw my opponents—complete with their own water boys—warming up on the outside courts.

“I'm sorry, I…overslept.”

“Overslept! Over
slept
? You think I ever heard Sharapova say that when I trained her? Get the hell out there.”

I rallied with one of the assistant coaches for a while, and then Coach Sachs had us pack it up and head inside. On game days we had the whole tennis staff in full uniform with the Van Pelt crest in gold on the burgundy swish-swish zip-up suits. There were professional ball boys, refs, and ticket people brought in. I hadn't quite understood the need for the ticket systems, but then I heard it. The noise.

“What's that?” I asked. The subtle roar grew louder and louder as we made our way through the labyrinth of underground passages.

“What do you think?” asked Victoria.

Just as I was about to inquire further, we turned into the main door that led to the stadium floor. As the double doors opened in front of me, I was stunned to see and hear that roar burst into focus: it was the wild, unbridled applause of thousands. Not just the whole school, but also members of the community were there, freaking out.

I looked up at the stands, my eyes like saucers. It was huge! I felt like a total rock star. Though the match was an exhibition, it was really going to showcase who had the chops for the spring season and so, as Victoria had warned me, “Everything counts here.”

I heard the announcer say my name over the loudspeaker and I could hardly believe it. In all my life, I'd never played at this level, complete with full stands. Coach Sachs sat beside me at my umbrella station and I caught a glimpse of the girl I'd be playing. In a word:
Uh-oh.
She was a six-foot Aryan Amazon type, with huge muscles and a blond ponytail that hung to her bum. She unzipped her Gagosian jacket and began practicing serves. Gulp.

I tried to stay focused and sipped some water as I looked up into the massive crowd. I didn't see anyone I knew! There was just a blank sea of faces. I scanned my teammates seated in the front row. The higher ranked players had to go first while the others waited. Suddenly I noticed a hand waving at me to snap me out
of my outer-space realm. It was Oliver. He was smiling brightly and I lit up with happiness to have the ice now broken.

I took to the courts. I chose heads for the coin toss. Whoops, it was tails. They literally used an antique gold coin from Rome—apparently it was a school tradition. Amazon took her place and aced me. Right away, the first shot of the day. Darn.

The next one I valiantly returned, only to have her crush it back. The sharp “oohs” from the stadium stands were not helping; it seemed like my whole school was cringing at my screw-ups. She won the game. And the next, though by a smaller margin. After we'd hit 3–love, I looked back to where Oliver was, and he gave me a thumbs-up with an encouraging look that suddenly infused me with more support than the legions of cheering fans. Amazon, already complacent in her assured victory, was cockily waiting for my serve, and not in a ready position, so I caught her off guard when I smashed my serve with the fastest ace of the day. The crowd roared and the boom lifted my ego and serve higher.
Bam
. Crushed the next one, and the next. Over the next six games the rallies were killer and I had to fight for each point, but I'd proven my chops for sure. Yes, it took me a little longer to get in the game, but once I was there…I'd arrived. I'd picked up the first set, much to the shock and dismay of my opponent, and beat her 6–3. I headed into the second set on fire. And the flame didn't burn out. At one point, I faltered at 4–4, noticing Antony and Rolf laughing in the stands, wondering what they were talking about. But then I spied Rioko, Tiggy, and Iman, all clapping for
me. Relieved to see pals, I crushed that ball into the last square centimeter of the serve box, acing her again, and ended up winning the match in an endless point that, when finished with a volley just over the net, sent the crowd to the moon.

I lifted my racket high, amazed that after such a stressful term of insecurity and outsider status, I could send the whole school cheering. I walked over to shake the hand of Amazon, who still seemed sideswiped by my late bloom in the match, and as I was turning away, Antony bear-hugged me from behind.

I was elated, but as we made our way off the court, I looked back at the stand where Oliver had been sitting. Empty. Angelina was there and gave me a thumbs-up sign. That was nice, but I had hoped Oliver would see my win before heading to prep for his match. Did he know how much he'd helped me? Would we get to reconnect and be friends again?

W
hen I rolled over the next morning I thought I would die. I felt sore everywhere. My arms, my legs, even my teeth hurt! After the tennis match, I had gone to the caffè in town and danced the night away to celebrate. I had thumped and bumped to crazy house music until three in the morning with Antony and Rioko and even the Diamonds. Everyone in the school was there partying, and I was a little bit of a celebrity since I had beaten a Gagosian.

But this morning I was in agony. The worst part was that it
was the night of the ball. Like, the most important social event of the year! And I was going to need a bottle of Advil to get me out of bed.

“Lucy, you awake?” Rioko shouted from the hall.

I opened my door to find her standing there in her robe, holding two jewelry boxes.

“Sorry if I wake you, but what do you think, red or blue necklace?”

She snapped open both cases and revealed the most gorgeous ruby necklace and an exquisite sapphire necklace that took my breath away.

“Wow, Rioko, those are drop-dead!” I said.

“I know, I know. But which one with the dress? I don't want to look like the cheesy romance novelist who wears gobs of jewelry.”

“Why don't we wait and see when you are actually trying on the dress?”

“Good idea; I didn't even think of this,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Hey, do you want to get ready together?”

“Sure,” I said. “Let me just hop in the shower.”

By the time I was done with the shower, the “team” had arrived and Rioko was already getting ready. The “team” was a personal hairdresser for each of us, a makeup artist, two manicurists, and a reflexologist to make sure any unwanted anxiety was rubbed away. When I'd tried to protest that I didn't need any help getting ready (because seriously, how could I afford it?), Rioko
didn't want to hear it, and paid for it as a surprise. It was totally decadent, but this was a tradition at Van Pelt. They took these events
beyond
seriously. I mean, extra security was called in to guard jewels, and Europe's top chefs were flown in to make us an incredible meal. The band for the ball had played at Charles and Camilla's nuptials, and there was to be a special “surprise” entertainer who would bring down the house at the end of the night. Last year it was Jennifer Lopez. The year before? Elton John. Even the Rolling Stones had played when one of Mick's kids attended Van Pelt. Insanity.

“This is the life,” I said as I leaned back on my bed and let the reflexologist massage my feet. I was in heaven.

The previous night I'd had a lot of fun with Antony. He was so thrilled that I won the match, and I think he was also proud that he was
with
me. All night people kept coming up to me and congratulating me, and every time he would put his arm around me, like I was his trophy. And it felt nice. Well, most of the time. There was one moment, when Oliver came over and gave me a peck in that polite British schoolboy way and told me I was “brilliant on the court,” that I wished Antony was not hovering around. Oliver's eyes darted from me to him and it looked like he wanted to say something more, but then Antony burst into his rant of how awesome I was, his “little cutie,” and then Oliver left quickly. I didn't see him for the rest of the night.

And now I was going to the ball with Antony. I was excited, but I still wished I were going with Oliver. I felt terrible about
that. But the heart wants what it wants.

“Hello? Lucy?”

Rioko's voice woke me from my daydream. I sat up.

“Huh?”

A big smile flashed across her face. “Thinking about your man?”

“Yeah,” I said. I almost wanted to tell her. To confide in her that I wasn't into Antony, that I wanted Oliver, when suddenly something caught my eye out the window. And that something was Oliver. He was walking across the lawn toward our dorm. My heart started beating faster. Had my prince come for me? I sounded like such a loser. But what if? Then, as quickly as my thoughts had appeared the bubble popped, and I saw Angelina walking toward Oliver. He smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek, and then handed her a small white rose corsage. They both laughed as if he had told a joke, and then parted. My heart sank to the bottom of the ocean. Like that heart thing the old lady chucked into the water in
Titanic
.

“Are you okay?” asked Rioko, noticing my grimace.

“Yeah,” I said softly.

She looked at me curiously, and before I could explain there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” I yelled as the hairdresser tugged at my hair and the manicurist filed away.

“Delivery!” boomed the voice on the other side of the door.

“Maybe it's a corsage for you!” said Rioko with excitement.
Rioko was genuinely happy for me that I had a date. She knew that I had my concerns about Antony, as did she, but she was such a positive person that once I said he was okay, she had chosen to look favorably on him. She even said she was living vicariously through me because her date for the evening was the oboeist from her orchestra, a large German boy who unfortunately resembled Augustus Gloop from
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
.

“Come in!” I yelled.

The door opened and a deliveryman with a large wrapped bouquet stood on the threshold.

“Delivery from Antony for Lucy Peterson,” he announced.

I couldn't help but smile. So, Antony had come through and sent me flowers. That was so nice. Okay, maybe they weren't from Oliver, but hey, what girl will turn down a boy who sends her flowers?

“I'll sign for you,” said Rioko, hopping up from her makeup chair. “This is so fantastic!”

For the first time I felt a flutter of excitement for the night's festivities. Rioko handed me the package, and I carefully started unwrapping the flowers.

“Come on, just rip it open!” said the hairdresser.

“No, she wants to savor it,” said Rioko. “That's smart.”

I felt like I was peeling the paper from a delicious ice-cream cone. I swirled the paper round and round until I finally reached the flowers and…gasped.

“What the bloody hell is that?” squealed the makeup artist, a
chatty British woman who had just been on tour with Christina Aguilera and was full of gossip about her makeup habits.

The flowers looked like dead weeds. They were painted black and had that sickening stench of rotting plants.

“It must be a mistake,” said Rioko.

“Let me look at the card,” I said. It must be, I thought. Then I read the card:

 

I would never go to the ball with you, slut. Antony.

 

I thought I would throw up. I jumped up, handed Rioko the card, and threw the flowers in the bathroom garbage.

“This can't be right,” said Rioko.

My eyes were stinging with tears. This was humiliating! Horrible!

“Why would he do this?” I asked, the tears starting to flow.

“Don't cry, love, I just did your makeup,” said the makeup artist, attempting a joke.

Rioko came into the bathroom with me and closed the door.

“Did something happen last night?” she asked carefully.

“No, we had a great time. Everything was good.”

I went through the entire night in my mind. We danced, he walked me back to the dorm. We made out, and that was that. Maybe he wanted to get more busy with me? Had I rebuffed him? But I thought we had an understanding. And why would he call me a slut?

“You have to call him,” advised Rioko.

“Are you high? There's no way I'm calling him.”

“Then let me.”

She started to pick up the phone and I stopped her. “Please! Don't do that. It's humiliating.”

“But we have to find out why.”

“Okay,” I said, relenting. “But you call and, like, pretend you want to find out what time he's picking me up. Pretend the flowers haven't gotten here yet.”

“Okay,” said Rioko.

She dialed his number on her cell phone and we waited as if we were contestants on
American Idol
trying to find out if America had voted for us. Finally Antony answered.

“Hey, Antony,” said Rioko. She held the phone out so that we could both hear him. “It's Rioko.”

“Who?” he asked—in my opinion, somewhat rudely.

“Rioko—you know, Lucy's friend?”

“Oh, right-o. Hi.”

“I was wondering what time you're picking Lucy up?”

“Oh, we planned on seven.”

We planned on seven! Rioko shot me a look. He didn't sound like he was about to bag.

“And are you planning on getting her flowers?” asked Rioko. I shook my head, not wanting her to proceed, but she shushed me.

“Of course. I'm bringing a lovely corsage. Don't you worry,
Rioko, it's all taken care of.”

“So you didn't send her flowers today?” asked Rioko.

“No, should I have?” asked Antony quickly. “I didn't know that was the tradition. God, did I flub it all up? Shoot, do you know who I could call last minute?”

My eyes widened as I looked at Rioko. So they weren't from him! I signaled for Rioko to hang up.

Rioko quickly reassured Antony that he didn't have to get me additional flowers and got off the phone quickly.

“There's only one person who could have sent those,” I said, arms folded.

“Who?”

“Sofia.”