Pool Boys (2 page)

“Sort of like how she’s striking up a conversation with Marcus now?” Charlotte suggested, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because she feels
so
lost and out of place?”

Brooke gazed at Valerie and Marcus from behind the protective shield of her dark lenses. In Brooke’s experience, there were only two reasons why a busty, blonde, beautiful girl would compliment the looks of a complete stranger:

A) She was genuinely nice and incredibly open-minded or B) She had a hidden agenda.

Well, that’s fine
, Brooke thought mischievously.
I’m glad she thinks I look like Snow White. Maybe I can finally play that pure, sweet image to my advantage. Cinderella versus Snow White, huh?

Too bad I’ll be the one kissing the Prince.

Charlotte was the first to jump in the pool.

Bad move. She immediately resurfaced and splashed around for a minute, her teeth chattering.
CO-O-O-LD!
After a few sputtering gasps, she brushed her soaking red hair from her eyes and launched into her breaststroke, even though she hated that word. She thought about her breasts (or rather, the lack thereof) way too often.

Charlotte von Klaus had been the first to do lots of things. She’d been the first to make out with a boy (Caleb Ramsey, in sixth grade, in a game of Spin the Bottle that had gotten slightly out of hand); the first to sneak into the downstairs sauna at Silver Oaks (on a dare from Brooke); and the first to take a slug of very pricey Pinot Noir straight from the bottle (after her parents’ divorce last year. Luckily, with some brute force, Georgia had managed to wrestle the bottle away from Charlotte and toss it in the recycling bin).

And she was the first of her friends to see a therapist. And still the only one.

The way Charlotte saw it, if you were the first to do something, then you carved out some quality alone time—even if you were in the company of your two best friends.
Or, even if you were in the company of a boy. After all, she hadn’t been thinking about Caleb Ramsey when she’d made out with him. She’d been thinking about her math homework, and walking Stella McCartney—the von Klaus family’s smelly (male) Labrador—and which
South Park
rerun would be on that night.

So as Charlotte plowed through the icy water, kicking her legs and paddling, she didn’t think about swimming. She thought about Marcus Craft.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him. Due to the overabundance of chlorine, he appeared extra fuzzy and dreamlike. He was still languorously draped over the side of his chair, chatting up the Hot New Girl who had somehow snuck in under the radar. How had none of them heard of her before today? Even Ethan Brennan knew about her. It was absurd.

Breathe, stroke, kick…Breathe, stroke, kick…Breathe, stroke, kick…

Actually, what was more absurd was that Charlotte had to practice swimming.

For reasons never made clear, Old Fairfield Country Day school—otherwise known as the Tombs (Charlotte coined the moniker herself after a freakish school trip to Washington, DC, but that was a very long story)—required that their students pass a swimming test in order to graduate. This was now the summer before senior year, and Charlotte was in big trouble. Brooke and Georgia would have no problem. Brooke had been a pool girl since birth. And there wasn’t a single sport Georgia couldn’t master.
Give her a bow and arrow; she’d become an archery champ in days. Hence, all of Charlotte’s friends would say goodbye to the Tombs and attend college, whereas Charlotte envisioned herself flunking out and spiraling downward in a self-destructive binge of steak sandwiches until she became a grotesque tabloid headline:

1,543-LB WOMAN IS NEW GUINNESS WORLD RECORD HOLDER FOR FATTEST HUMAN. “CAN’T LEAVE BED!!!” SHE SAYS.

Breathe, stroke, kick…Breathe, stroke, kick…Breathe, stroke, kick…

Charlotte reached the shallow end and nearly bumped her head on the stone steps.
Ugh.
She was about as graceful as a squid. Was Marcus watching her? She hoped not. On the other hand, if she started to drown, then Marcus would have to dive in and rescue her. But on the third hand (was there a third hand?), that would violate the Second Unspoken Rule of Silver Oaks, which Charlotte had written herself:

Thou Shalt Not Poach Thy Friend’s Love Interest.

Brooke was clearly interested in Marcus. Though that didn’t mean that Charlotte couldn’t still check him out. Their parents surreptitiously checked out their friends’ significant others all the time, after all. It was the adult thing to do.

“How’s the water?” a boy’s voice asked.

Charlotte shook out her soaking red hair and turned to see Caleb Ramsey standing poolside, frowning.

Good lord, did that boy need some sun. As always, at this time of year, his lanky body was even whiter than Brooke’s, especially in contrast with his oversized, dark blue swim trunks and his mop of black hair. And as always, at this time of year, he somehow still managed to be completely adorable.

“Freezing,” Charlotte said. “It’s like
March of the Penguins
in here.”

“Seriously, C.”

“I am being serious. The good part is, much like said penguins, I have lots of blubber to keep me warm.” Charlotte leaned against the side of the pool and rested her chin on her dripping arms, smiling up at him. “Unlike you.”

“Will you do me a favor?” Caleb asked, returning the smile. “If you ever fish for a compliment again by claiming to be fat, will you give me permission to chop you up and bury you on the golf course?”

Charlotte stood up straight and saluted, deliberately splashing water on Caleb’s knees. “Permission granted.”

“Hey!” He laughed and scooted away. “Damn. That
is
cold.”

“Once you’re in, it gets better. I’m gonna do one more lap. My shrink says exercise is good for me.” She launched into the water again.

Charlotte hadn’t been able to joke around about therapy at first. She hadn’t told Brooke and Georgia that she was even
seeing
a shrink until after her second session, post-divorce last year. Not because she was worried they would think she was a loon (they already knew that), but
mostly because she wondered if they’d be hurt. After all, who needed a shrink when you’ve shared everything with your two best friends since the age of diapers?

Surprisingly, Brooke had been the first to speak up. “I think this is exactly what you need to do, sweetie,” she’d said, squeezing Charlotte’s hand. (This from the girl whose tenth-grade yearbook quote was:
“Life is far too important a thing to talk seriously about.”
—Oscar Wilde.) And Charlotte began to realize Brooke was right. The difference between best friends and therapists? Best friends could and should constantly surprise you. Therapists couldn’t and shouldn’t. Dr. Gilmore was no exception. He’d worn the exact same paisley bow tie to every single session, now going on number fifty-four.

Charlotte reached the shallow end again, allowing her feet to touch the pool floor. She rubbed the water from her hair and eyes. Caleb was staring at Valerie now, though pretending not to. And Brooke was pretending to read
Elle
, and pretending not to watch Valerie and Marcus as well. Georgia was hurrying into the cabana to change, obviously about to meet Ethan on the tennis courts.

Caleb crouched down beside Charlotte, sitting on the edge of the tile and sticking his feet into the water. He eased them down very slowly, up to his knees, and then cringed, as if it were torture.

“You really are a wimp,” Charlotte teased.

“Well, not all of us can be lifeguards.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “By the way, have you met…?” He didn’t bother to finish the question.

“Sort of. I said hello to him, anyway. I still have yet to say hi to
her.”

Caleb glanced up at the lifeguard chair, and then returned his gaze to the water. He kicked his feet absently. “She seems pretty cool.”

“Really? Have you talked to her?”

“No. This is the first time I’ve seen her.”

“Easy there, Caleb. You’re drooling.”

“That’s because of
you
, Charlotte,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You know, I still haven’t gotten over that game of Spin the Bottle.”

Charlotte laughed in spite of herself. “Funny. I was just thinking about that.”

“You were?” He puffed out his skinny chest. “I was that good, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, stallion. Actually I was thinking about how when we made out, you were the
last
thing on my mind.”

“Thanks,” Caleb said flatly. “I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I was just thinking…I don’t know.”

“Very articulate,” he mused.

“Hey, go easy on me. I got a C-minus in English this year.”

“It’s not your fault. You had Mr. Lowry. The guy’s a sadist.”

“No kidding,” she grumbled. Charlotte stretched out and kicked her feet to keep warm. “Anyway, enough about the Tombs. It’s summer. No school talk.”

“Agreed. May the Tombs rest in peace. So what’s with Brooke? She seems bummed.”

“I think it’s because—” Charlotte bit her lip. She was about to say:
This new girl is stealing her thunder
, but that wasn’t fair to Brooke. Besides, Brooke may
not
have been bummed, she may have been deeply involved in an article in
Elle
, a brilliant piece about the
“25
Most Creative Ways to Wear Swarovski Crystals!”

“Because of what?” Caleb prodded.

“Because Ethan said the three of us are like a street gang,” Charlotte replied, mostly because it was the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re a lousy liar, Charlotte von Klaus,” Caleb said with a laugh.

“He did say that!” she insisted, trying not to smile. “What? You don’t believe me? Ask him.”

“No, I believe you. And I agree. I’d say you three are exactly like a street gang. Except, you know, that you’re socialites from Connecticut who spend all your time at the country club. That’s the only difference.”

“Is that what you really think of us?” She stopped kicking and stood, rubbing her wet arms. She wasn’t sure why, but Caleb’s jab had struck a chord inside her.

“Actually, no, I think that’s what everyone else here thinks of you,” he said, withdrawing his feet from the water. He made air quotes. “‘Brooke, Georgia, and Charlotte,’” he proclaimed in a deep voice. “‘The Princess, the Jock, and the Clown.’”

“Oh, God,” Charlotte murmured, aghast. “That’s even worse! Who thinks that?”

“Nobody. I’m kidding. If anything,
you’re
the princess.” He stuck his big toe in the water and splashed her playfully. “Look, I should run. I have to escape before my parents get here. Are you gonna be around later?”

Charlotte nodded. She shivered and stared at the sunlight sparkling off the tiny pool waves.

“Hey, are you all right?” Caleb asked. “I was just messing around.”

“I know, I know.” She pushed back into the water. “I’m just in a weird mood. I guess we all are. End of school and everything. And in August we’re getting officially inducted into Silver Oaks, and all that crap.” Silver Oaks policy dictated that when members’ kids turned eighteen—as Charlotte, Caleb, Brooke, and Georgia had—they were inducted as official members of the Club, complete with a glam, glitzy ball and freakishly stuffy “ceremony.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my world,” Caleb said wryly. “The world of weird moods.” He sighed and turned, disappearing into the pool cabana.

Charlotte watched him go. What was she so upset about, anyway? And why should she care what anybody said about her and her friends, or, least of all, care about Caleb Ramsey?

Maybe because she was scared that this summer
was
going to be more of the same old, same old. More hanging out by the pool. More of the same old banter with the
same old pool
boys:
Caleb, and Ethan, and Robby Miller—a recent Old Fairfield Country Day graduate—arrogant and in training to be a frat boy this fall. And Robby’s fratty friends, Mike and Johnny and Billy, who were all pretty much interchangeable, and were also headed off to college at the end of the summer.

So maybe it was time to mix things up a little. Maybe somebody just had to make the first move.

Charlotte leaped out of the pool and marched right over to Marcus and Valerie, dripping water on the flagstones.

“Hi, again!” she said. “You’re Valerie, right? Great to meet you.” She extended a wet hand. “I’m Charlotte von Klaus. C for short. Welcome to Silver Oaks.”

It was déjà vu. Georgia Palmer could still anticipate Ethan’s every move out on the tennis court. After fifteen minutes, she’d already fallen into the same comfortable rhythm: start slowly with a couple of easy volleys, then drag him from side to side with a few lobs until he was frantically dashing across the baseline—then
WHAM!
Rush the net and slam when he was least expecting it. He hadn’t won a single point yet. Just like last summer.

“Are you sure you want to keep playing?” Georgia called.

“Yeah, yeah. Absolutely!” Ethan panted, wiping his sweaty forehead.

Oh, Ethan
, Georgia thought. She bounced the ball, trying to appear calm and casual, like it was any old game with any old guy—not the first game she’d played with her ex-boyfriend since he’d dumped her more than nine months ago.

“This is good for me, G,” Ethan added, using the hem of his polo shirt to wipe his chin, and revealing a flash of flat, olive tummy. “Go ahead. Serve.”

Georgia hesitated. Did she detect a hostile undertone?
She couldn’t tell. Ethan wasn’t exactly the hostile type. This was the same guy who had grinned (yes, grinned) when he’d dumped her. Then he’d said, “I’m sorry, G, but this isn’t my fault. I like you. A lot. But I don’t want to lose my job. I love this job.”

That was a direct quote.

Thanks, Ethan!
Georgia had wanted to shout. (Or scream. Or sob.)
I’m so happy you like me “a lot”! How sweet. And I’m so glad you “love” your job. Thanks for choosing between us.

Of course, Georgia hadn’t said any of it. She’d just nodded. She’d just accepted it, as if a million other country clubs wouldn’t swoop Ethan up in a second. She knew this for a fact: Kenwood, just down the road, had been looking for a new tennis pro ever since their last one ran off to Bali with the owner’s sixty-year-old wife.

And sure, maybe Kenwood wasn’t as nice as Silver Oaks—maybe their courts were clay instead of grass, and maybe you didn’t have to adhere to a thousand rules (unspoken or not) to be a member or employee—but it was still a place where you could earn decent money hitting balls with dinosaurs. Ethan Brennan could be a pro at a club within
bicycling
distance, and he could still go out with Georgia Palmer. He’d still be able to have lunch with her every day. It would be romantic. Even better, it would be a big “screw you” to Silver Oaks.

“Are you sure you want to keep playing?” she called to him one more time.

“Hell, yes!” Ethan yelled.

Georgia juggled the ball. Ethan always looked especially cute in the morning, with his light-brown hair a mess.
Asshole.
“Let’s be friends,” he’d said, and he’d been saying it ever since the breakup. It made her cringe.

“Um, G. You can serve any time you want. I’m waiting.”

“Sorry.”

She tossed the ball in the air and…
THWAP!
Straight down the center: an ace. The ball slammed into the fence behind him. Ethan didn’t even bother to try to return it.

“Wow,” he said. “Nice one.”

“Thanks,” she answered.

“You know, I think you’re right,” he said with an embarrassed smile. “Maybe I should save some energy for my lessons.”

“You’re playing great,” Georgia lied.

“Don’t even try it,” Ethan said, twirling his racket and approaching the net. “But hey, time out. I want to talk to you about something.”

Georgia frowned at him from the baseline. “About what, your game? You’re just a little rusty, that’s all.” She stared down at her yellow Adidas sneakers. She hated herself for being such a dork; she should be ragging on him. She should be telling him that he was predictable, and how that was never a good thing in tennis. It wasn’t really a good thing in life, either. But maybe that was more her problem than it was his.

“Come on, G.” He beckoned to her. “This has nothing to do with my game. It’s kind of private.”

“Ethan,” she said, suddenly very uncomfortable. She shifted on her feet. Her navy-blue eyes shot back toward the pool. “What are you doing? I don’t—”

“Could I be your escort to the Midsummer Ball?” he interrupted.

Georgia gaped at him. She nearly dropped her racket.
“Excuse
me?”

“You know, the Midsummer Ball?” he said. “When you ‘officially’ become a member of the Silver Oaks Country Club?”

“I know what the Midsummer Ball is, Ethan.”

He climbed over the net and sauntered over to her side of the court. “So what do you say? Don’t you think it’ll be fun?”

“Ethan, I…” If this was a joke, it wasn’t a very funny one. Worse, as Ethan drew closer, Georgia caught a whiff of that stupid Walgreen’s sports deodorant he wore, a pungent mixture of baby powder and aloe—and, for a second, a wave of nostalgia overcame her, and she almost burst into tears. That deodorant was just so
last summer.
As ludicrous as it was, it conjured up a swirl of fleeting images: their many games (his losses), their long walks around the grounds…their kisses.

All at once, Georgia was remembering their first kiss from the summer before. It had been late afternoon, all dappled sunlight, and warm wind. They’d been flirting steadily, volleying compliments back and forth over the
tennis net, for a month then. That afternoon, after a tough game, they were heading back to the cabana to change. Georgia had never noticed how amazing Ethan’s body was. She’d seen him with his shirt off before, but this time she found it hard not to stare. His muscles were defined in all the right places; his skin was tan and smooth. Their bare arms kept brushing together.

Right outside the cabana they bumped into each other. They’d laughed awkwardly, and Ethan had said, “After you,” and Georgia had said, “No, after you,” and their eyes met, and the next thing she knew, he’d leaned in and kissed her on the lips, ever so gently.
It’s not allowed
, Georgia thought weakly. But all notions of rules flew out of Georgia’s head as she felt his warm, soft lips move against hers, and she tasted his sweet tongue in her mouth.

Before she knew what she was doing, her arms were wrapping tight around Ethan’s waist and she was drawing him even closer, their bodies pressing together. As their kissing deepened, they moved farther into the cabana, and Ethan backed Georgia up against the wall, right next to where the monogrammed pool robes hung.
There’s no going back now.
The phrase echoed in Georgia’s head as she felt Ethan’s lips slide down her neck, and his hands grip her hips. Her skin flushed hot, so hot she thought they might both catch fire. Ethan pulled back to look at her, catching his breath, and his eyes were bright and hopeful. By way of answering his unspoken question, Georgia reached over, took his head in her hands, and kissed him again, relishing the feel of his curls beneath her fingers, his stubble
scratching her chin, and yes, the scent of that stupid deodorant…

Jesus.

Now, Georgia gripped her racket and fought to compose herself. Her skin felt as flushed as it had that long-ago day in the cabana, and she wondered if it was possible to faint from the heat. Where had she learned that the sense of smell was the most powerful trigger for memories? She was pretty sure she once saw an
E! True Hollywood Story
about how an unstable celebrity went on a rampage after smelling her ex-husband’s aftershave on a pillow…

“You’re not going to accuse me of being stoned, are you?” Ethan teased gently.

“No—I just wasn’t expecting that,” she finally managed.

“Don’t you see?” Ethan said. “It’ll be perfect if I take you to the ball, G. It’s
the
big summer event at Silver Oaks. Everybody will be there.”

“Yeah, like I just said, I
know
what it is. Especially since, as you mentioned, at this particular Midsummer Ball, I’m supposed to be inducted as an official member of this club. So if you
aren’t
stoned, let me ask you something.” Georgia’s normally soft, shy voice picked up a few decibels. Her muscles tensed. She stared hard into Ethan’s wide brown eyes. “Don’t you think you might be putting your job as tennis pro in jeopardy? If we go on a date where everybody at this place is actually
obligated
to judge me—out in public—as opposed to judging us in secret, don’t you think that might be a risky call?”

Ethan blinked at her.

Georgia took a deep breath.
Wow.
She wasn’t quite sure where that little tirade had come from. It felt pretty good, though.

“But it’s not a date,” he murmured.

“What is it, then?”

“We’d be going as
friends.
That’s the whole point. You’ll prove to your parents and everyone else that you can rise above the dumb Silver Oaks rules. You know, that even though you
accept
the rules, you’re better than them.” Ethan flashed a big grin, as if he were trying to sell her an SUV with less mileage than the one her parents had given her for her sixteenth birthday. “Get it? We’ll go as friends.”

Friends.
Georgia’s eyes smoldered. A dozen possible responses churned through her mind. Among them:
No, I don’t get it…That makes no sense.…That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard…If we wanted to rise above their rules, we should have never broken up in the first place…You’re an ass…
But the one she settled on was: “Well, I will say this, Ethan. You actually managed to surprise me just now. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible anymore.”

He laughed. “You sound more and more like Brooke every day. So is that a yes?”

“I’ll get back to you. I have to weigh my options.”

His smile faltered. “Oh, come on. You’re not thinking about going with one of those guys who hang out at the pool, are you? The Robby Miller posse?”

“No, I was thinking more along the lines of the new lifeguard,” Georgia replied, even though she didn’t mean it. “If I’m even gonna go at all, which I probably won’t.”

“Oh, come on,” Ethan pooh-poohed her. “Of course you’re gonna go. And you wouldn’t ask Marcus. You hate hanging out by the pool. That’s what makes you different from Brooke and Charlotte.”

Georgia scowled at him. Somehow, he’d made that sound like an insult. Yes, she was different from her friends, but not all
that
different. Or was she?

Before she could respond, the gate swung open behind them.

The new girl, Valerie, stepped out onto the court. She must have tired of Marcus and the pool pretty quickly, because she’d changed out of her skimpy designer bikini into an equally skimpy designer tennis outfit in less than half an hour. The skirt barely cleared her underwear. Her blonde curls swished in a long ponytail that hung down from under her tennis visor.

Georgia tried not to stare.

The problem was, Valerie wasn’t just beautiful, she was
sexy
, and she knew it. The telltale sign wasn’t her clothing; it was her racket. She carried a Prince Turbo Shark Oversize. The same racket Maria Sharapova used. And
she
must have known that only serious tennis aficionados would appreciate that. Like Ethan, for example…

“Hey,” Valerie called over with a friendly wave. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Even her voice is sexy
, Georgia thought dismally.

“No, you’re not interrupting anything at all,” Ethan replied.

Georgia shot him a disapproving glare. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, good. It looked like you guys were done.” Valerie paused. “I was wondering, could I play with you?”

Ethan smiled. “Well, I should save my energy—”

“Actually, I didn’t mean you, Ethan,” Valerie interrupted. “I’m sorry, that was rude.” She laughed clumsily and pointed her racket at Georgia. “I mean
you.
This will sound embarrassing, but see, I was watching you play, and I was totally blown away. My name’s Valerie, by the way. Valerie Packwood. My parents just joined Silver Oaks.”

Georgia arched her eyebrow at Ethan.
Take that! Advantage, me.

“I’m Georgia Palmer,” she said, stepping forward. “And thanks, I’d love to play. Ethan’s a little winded, anyway.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Ethan, you wouldn’t mind tightening up the net, would you? It’s loose.” Georgia felt sick for how she sounded, a caricature of every grown-up snoot at Silver Oaks, treating Ethan like he was “the help”—but she couldn’t stop herself. It was Ethan’s fault. He was the one who’d put her in such a mean mood to begin with.

“This place is so great,” Valerie said, shaking Georgia’s hand.

“Is it?” Georgia mumbled.

“Yeah. It’s ten times more fun than the club I belonged to in New York.”

Georgia snuck a quick peek at Ethan out of the corner of her eye as he furiously turned the winch on the side of the court, stretching the net so tautly that she wondered if it would snap. “I guess it is all right,” she replied. “It’s just sort of hard to see if you’ve been coming here your whole life.”

“Okay, you guys!” Ethan called. “The court’s all ready. Have fun.”

He waved at the two of them, glassy-eyed, and disappeared out the gate.

Valerie leaned in close. “The employees aren’t half bad, either,” she whispered.

Georgia’s muscles clenched. But thank goodness, her lips were stuck in the upright-and-locked smile position. It was a familiar sensation: smile while quelling the insecurity; hang on for the emotional plunge.
Mayday! Mayday! Fasten your seat belts!

“I guess we do get our fair share of cute employees here,” she heard herself say.

“I think I’m gonna love it at this place,” Valerie went on. “Your friend Charlotte is really cool, too. I met her just now. She’s so funny!”

“Yeah. She is.”

“She and that girl Brooke seem really tight,” Valerie remarked.

Georgia almost replied,
We’re all really tight.
But she
stopped herself. From the other side of the fence, she could hear Brooke and Charlotte whispering and giggling by the pool, something about a rumor of how Robby Miller had been doing keg stands in the billiards room that morning. The fact of the matter was: Brooke and Charlotte’s obsession with the same old idle chatter not only bored Georgia, it even pissed her off sometimes.

“Uh…so what do you say we play?” she asked instead, loudly enough to drown them out.