Kristen (10 page)
Oprah and Shakespeare drew back their breath in awe.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a wave.” Bill Gates grin-winked at Layne.
She grin-winked back.
“You’re geniuses!” Kristen hugged them like two giant stuffed animals. At that moment, dressed in a Grecian gown and black bob wig, surrounded by Bill Gates, Einstein, Oprah, and Shakespeare, Kristen had never been more proud to be a part of anything in her life. Not the OCD soccer team, not the competitive scholarship program, not the Sudoku Society, not Students for BO (Barack Obama)—not even the Pretty Committee.
“Shhhhhhhhh.” Oprah pulled them apart. “Look.” She whisper-pointed at the lithe figure wearing a white string bikini, tangles of gold scarves, and a straw cowboy hat. Skye looked around (for Dune? A security guard?), and when she saw that no one was there, she pulled out her phone and answered a text.
Bill quickly shuttled to another screen on his computer and intercepted.
DSL1:
Is he there?
Skye:
DSL1:
U gonna wait?
Skye:
Few minutes.
DSL1:
Bikini?
Skye held out her phone, snapped a quick shot of her torso, and forwarded it.
DSL1:
Luv it! Hope the white’s not see-thru.
Skye:
Hope it is.
Kristen gasped. If
this
was her competition, she didn’t stand a chance.
When DSL1 didn’t respond, Kristen pointed to her screen name, then herself. Bill Gates immediately understood her question and nodded yes.
Kristin slid beside him and he angled the silver keypad toward herself. She giggle-typed as her gifted contemporaries looked on in wonder and amusement.
DSL1:
Jump in and find out. So sexy if you’re already in the pool.
Skye:
Nah. Got my own plan, thx.
With that, Skye threw her phone on a chaise and Kristen’s shoulders rolled forward in defeat. But they didn’t stay that way for long. Skye, the ultimate alpha, had rejected her friend’s advice only because she hadn’t thought of it herself.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to take it.
After another check for security, she pulled off her scarves, tossed them over her shoulder, and walked straight for the pool.
Oprah grabbed Shakespeare’s hand. Shakespeare grabbed Einstein’s. Einstein grabbed Kristen’s. Kristen grabbed Bill’s. And Bill smiled.
They lowered their chins and bit their lips, doing whatever they could to keep from laughing out loud.
When she got to the edge of the deep end, Skye hooked her finger around the back of her bikini bottom and pulled the creeping material from her butt crack.
Now
she was ready . . . but she didn’t move. Instead she stood perfectly still, her pink pedicured toes curled over the concrete and her arms pressed against her sides.
“What is she doing?” mouthed Einstein.
Everyone shrugged.
Flip-flop . . . flip-flop . . . flip-flop . . .
Suddenly they heard what she heard. Dune was getting closer. And, like Massie always said, why take the stage during intermission? In other words, if no one is watching, why bother doing?
“Hey,” Dune whisper-greeted Skye as he got closer.
Skye pretended she didn’t know he was there and jumped.
She bent at the knees (showing off her chiseled dancer’s legs), lifted her arms over her head (like she was the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker), and pushed off with her toes.
Kristen held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut.
Next came the sound of someone slapping a fat man’s gut, followed by the muted shriek of a girl who’d landed headfirst in chilly, jiggling, NutraSweetened Jell-O. Kristen opened one eye. Then another. Bill Gates had shut off the water reflection, and Skye now looked like a mini marshmallow in vat of pink Jell-O. The Witty Committee broke out in laughter.
Flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop . . .
Dune hurried to her rescue.
When he got to the edge and saw the blonde covered in wiggly red chunks, he burst out laughing. “What a sucker punch!”
Kristen picked at her cuticles, unsure whether his laughter would:
A) Bring them closer
B) Drive them apart.
C) Alert Dwight the security guard and get them all arrested.
“Get me out of here!” Skye slapped her arms down. The entire pink pool trembled.
Yes! It was B!
“Is this your idea of a practical joke?” She pulled a red chunk off her clavicle and whipped it at his ah-dorable stomach. It landed with a smack, then fell to the deck with a lifeless thud, making him laugh even harder.
Kristen fought the urge to run out and throw her arms around his giggle-quaking shoulders.
“How am I going to return this bathing suit now?” Skye moaned while Dune pulled her out. “You did this, didn’t you? You and your
jealous
wannabe-member friends.”
“Actually,
you
look like the
Jell-
Os one,” he joked.
The Witty Committee exchanged enthusiastic high fives on his behalf.
Skye searched his face angrily. Had he really just spoken to her like that?
But his amused smile refused to back down. In fact, the more she huffed, the wider it got.
“Ugh!” She grabbed her phone and scarves and marched off into the darkness.
“Skye, wait!” Dune called after her. Yet he stood still.
Kristen’s insides were pushing against her skin, urging her forward, unable to stand one more second in hiding.
She’d fought hard.
She’d fought smart.
And now she wanted her prize.
“Here.” Oprah handed her a clear orange Juicy beach tote. Inside was a can of whipped cream and two spoons. “It’s fat-free.” She winked.
Looking out at her betas, Kristen’s eyes filled with happy tears. She wanted to make a speech to show them how grateful she was for their brilliance and support, but she didn’t have a chance. In one swift movement, Einstein pulled off her Cleopatra wig and Shakespeare playfully shoved her out of the bushes. Intermission was over. And they were dying to see how this love story would end.
Kristen would have liked a moment to collect her thoughts. Or rehearse her opening line. Or gloss. But Dune noticed her the instant she flew out of the shrubs.
“What are you doing here?” He lifted his head and lowered his phone mid-text.
“Sweet tooth.” She held-swung the bag of whipped cream as she flip-flopped toward him, suddenly aware of the silky white Grecian dress against her illegally shaved legs. That, and the way he was beaming, reassured Kristen that gloss wasn’t necessary. With the Witty Committee behind her, the warm summer breeze around her, and Dune smile-waiting for her just ahead, Kristen felt perfect just the way she was.
“Did you do all this?” Dune’s light brown eyes looked like they had been sprinkled with glitter.
“I had a little help.” She casually put her hand behind her back and flashed a thumbs-up to the Witty Committee.
“How’d ya know I’d be here?” Dune asked, with the amused confusion of someone who had just walked into his own surprise party. “How did you pull it off? Why did you do it?”
Finally, a question she wanted to answer.
“I thought we were going to get revenge. And when I saw you at the pool today, I figured you were casing it, you know, so we could do this,” she lied. “I didn’t realize you were into Skye. I didn’t think she was your type.” She let her voice trail off like a seasoned soap actress. “Sorry if I ruined things between you guys,” she lied again.
“You didn’t.” Dune took the bag out of Kristen’s hand and pulled out the whipped cream. “The whole reason I came by tonight was to tell her I only wanted to be friends.” He pulled the red top off the can of Reddi-wip. “And now I’m not sure I even want that. That OCDiva can’t take a sucker punch. How lame!”
“Yeah, I guess you must have met, like, a million pretty girls on your surf trips you’d rather hang with.” Kristen widened her eyes, trying to look cheery about it.
“Yeah.” He got down on one knee and began drawing a whipped cream heart on the pool deck. “But none of them have it all.” He paused. “Like you.”
A muted mini
awwww
whined out from the bushes behind them.
Suddenly, Kristen’s insides felt like they had been filled with helium. And if she didn’t grab hold of something soon, she’d float up into the starry sky and never see him again.
“What do you think?” Dune stood and waved his tanned arm over his masterpiece. Inside the heart he had written KG & DB.
The whipped cream would probably melt in less than an hour, but the memory would last forever.
“I see them!” shouted a man’s voice from somewhere in the darkness. “Freeze!”
It was Dwight.
Panic instantly chased the floaty feeling from Kristen’s body. Her heart was no longer thumping to the beat of love ballads. It was more like the theme from the TV show
Cops—Bad boys, bad boys whatchu gonna do /
whatchu gonna do when they come for you
. . . .
“Come on!” Dune grabbed Kristen’s arm and pulled her under a chaise. They lay side by side on the warm deck, panting and squeezing each other’s hands. If she hadn’t been at risk of being punished for an entire year, this would have been the best moment of her life.
Suddenly, a static-soaked voice bleated out over a walkie-talkie, “Three suspects just ran from the bushes but one is still there gathering up some computer gear.”
“Can you get a positive ID?” Dwight asked.
“Um, well, it kind of looks like Albert Einstein.” The other guard chuckled.
“Layne!” Kristen mouthed to Dune.
“This is no time for jokes, Karl. Apprehend! I’ll head over to the fence and nab the others before they crawl under. Maybe
now
Garreth will take my security memos more seriously.” He huffed as he took off toward the green.
“Come on.” Kristen began wiggling out from under the chaise. “Now’s our chance!”
She took off toward the main entrance of the club. With the guards running in the opposite direction, it was the perfect place to slip out.
“Where are you going?” Dune whisper-shouted.
Kristen stopped and looked back. He was heading toward the bushes, straight for Karl.
“That’s the wrong way,” she insisted. Then mouthed, “Karl.”
“Don’t you want to save your friend?” he asked, his body still turned toward the bushes.
“I can’t! I’ll be grounded for a year if I get caught.” As she said the words, her eyes filled with tears. Getting caught meant no Dune, no sleepovers at Massie’s, and no soccer until the ninth grade! The stakes were too high. Even for a member of the Witty Committee.
“You can’t leave a buddy behind!”
“I won’t be able to see you until next summer.” She squeezed the billowing material of her dress with suddenly sweat-slicked palms.
Dune studied her face as if he had just woken from a coma. “You’re not going to see me anyway.” He quickly turned and raced toward Layne.
But it was too late.
“Ahhhhhhh!” she shouted as Karl crept up behind her and blinded her with his industrial-size flashlight.
Tears began rolling down Kristen’s cheeks as she struggled to decide between:
A) Saving her friend.
B) Saving her relationship.
C) Saving herself.
Her head chose A. Her heart chose B. But her legs chose C.
THE ROOF
Thursday, July 23
10:58 A.M.
Kristen pulled her phone from the pocket of her white cotton dress and stared at its screen.
The envelope icon on her black Razr wasn’t there, just like it hadn’t been there the last eight times she’d checked.
Each time Kristen thought about last night she kicked her soccer ball as hard as she could. And each time, it slammed against the cement wall that surrounded the roof of her building with a
thwack
.
How could she have left Layne behind?
Thwack!
How could Dune have left
her
behind?
Thwack!
Would she rather be punished for a year and have Dune’s respect?
