Pool Boys (4 page)

“Marcus is the sweetest guy in the world,” Brooke declared dreamily, not caring how corny she sounded. She sighed and glanced up from her untouched dinner. “I finally caught up with him just now. I was about to write off this whole day. I was about to write off this whole
summer.”

Charlotte blinked at her across the candlelit table. “What do you mean,
you caught up with him?”

Brooke arched her eyebrow and giggled. “What do you think I mean?”

Charlotte giggled, too. Georgia, however, could only manage a faint smile as she cut into her tuna steak. “Makes it sound like you were chasing him. Literally,” Georgia murmured.

Well
, Brooke thought, shaking the ice in her glass of Diet Coke.
Maybe I have been.

As soon as Brooke had witnessed New Girl Valerie—she of the big blonde hair and perky, trying-too-hard vibe—shamelessly
throwing
herself at Marcus that morning, Brooke had kicked into high gear. Nobody—
nobody
—snagged a guy before Brooke Farnsworth. But, despite Brooke shooting the sexy lifeguard telepathic
look-at-me
messages all morning and considering actually undoing the strings of her Versace halter bikini, Valerie (in the same bikini) had hogged Marcus’s attention. Finally, Brooke, steaming, flung down her
Elle
and stomped off to the cabana to shower, deciding that nighttime would be the best time to make her move. After all, the staff of the country club were all supposed to attend the first formal dinner of the summer, so she knew Marcus would be there, undoubtedly looking delish in “formal attire.”

She’d dressed carefully, finally deciding on a black, strapless Prada dress. With her silky raven hair flowing down her back and her red-painted toenails peeking out of her black open-toed mules, Brooke knew she was majorly overdressed, even for the Silver Oaks dining hall (true to form, Charlotte was in a floral-patterned vintage Betsey Johnson sundress, vintage cardigan, and flip-flops, and Georgia in Michael Kors capris, a white tank, and beaded flats).

But Brooke’s outfit had paid off, big-time. Seconds before sitting down with her friends, she’d been heading to the bathroom to check on the status of her Dessert lip gloss (flavor: Juicy) when she’d run right into the lifeguard himself. And, as predicted, he looked jaw-droppingly hot in a crisp, blue button-down, silver tie, and khakis, his thick golden hair artfully tousled.

“Hey,” he’d murmured, his lips curling up in a grin. “I know you. Weren’t you at the pool this morning?”

Ding ding ding! Contestant Number One is going home with the big prize!

“That was me,” Brooke replied softly, running her pinkie over her glossy bottom lip. “How was the rest of the day? Save anyone from drowning?”
Make out with any trampy girls named Valerie?

Marcus shook his head, still grinning. “Didn’t get a chance to show off my skills.” Then his big blue eyes traveled slowly up Brooke’s body and he nodded appreciatively, clearly well aware that Brooke was showing off
her
skills.

“Well, we’ve got the whole summer,” Brooke said, stringing her words together slowly, her eyes focused on Marcus’s chiseled face. Understanding seemed to bloom there, because his eyes lit up and he nodded slowly. Then, Brooke—never one to waste an opportunity for playing the flirt—took a step closer to Marcus, breathed in his sweet, clean scent, rested her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him on one warm, slightly rough cheek. “Nice to have you on board,” she’d added, her voice barely above a whisper. She could feel Marcus’s body respond to her nearness right away.

“See you at the pool tomorrow?” Marcus whispered back, swallowing hard.

“See you, Marcus,” Brooke replied, walking backward toward the ladies’ room. “It’s Brooke, by the way.”

“Brooke,” Marcus echoed, lifting one hand, his eyes shining.

And Brooke had stepped into the restroom, her heart pounding like crazy, every inch of her knowing that, in some small way, she’d won over Marcus Craft.

“So-o-o?” Charlotte asked at the dinner table, bringing Brooke back to the present. “What
did
happen with Marcus just now?” Charlotte flashed a grin and shoved a forkful of tuna steak into her mouth. “Did you guys, like, do it in the bathroom?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Brooke teased. She loved letting her friends think that she was naughtier than she really was. She glanced toward the glass patio doors—now made a mirror by the starry night sky—and caught a glimpse of herself. She did look hot, didn’t she? Hotter than the new girl, certainly. She pushed her salad out of the way and leaned forward over the tablecloth. “You don’t think that Valerie girl is coming here tonight, do you?” she hissed.

Charlotte shrugged.

Georgia paused in mid-bite, then placed her fork on her plate. “I…um, I actually think she was planning on coming,” she said quietly.

“How do
you
know that?” Brooke asked, furrowing her brow.

“We, um, we played tennis today,” Georgia explained, studying her dinner. “She’s actually—well, not so bad.”

Brooke laughed. “What, you guys are BFFs now?”

Charlotte laughed, too, only her laughter wasn’t as mocking as Brooke’s. “Seriously, G. She seemed like a total bitch when I spoke to her at the pool.”

Bee-BEEP! Bee-BEEP!

Georgia’s cell phone cut Charlotte off, much to Brooke’s
chagrin. She didn’t want to let Georgia off the hook so easily. Tennis with the
new
girl?

“Sorry, you guys,” Georgia said, her cheeks pink. She glanced at the phone under the table, then frowned, then smiled, then picked up and turned from the table. “Hello?”

Charlotte nudged Brooke’s knee. “Ethan,” she mouthed.

“Who else?” Brooke mouthed back, rolling her eyes.

Georgia held one finger against her ear. “I can’t hear you…The reception sucks…What?…Really? Okay. Sure. Where? Um…no. That’s no problem at all. I’ll be right there.” She clicked the phone shut, shoved it back into her sequined Ya-Ya bag, then sat up straight.

“Everything all right?” Brooke asked.

Georgia shook her head, clearly distracted. “Yeah. I just…my dad. I have to meet him. He’s waiting for me outside in the driveway. We have to get my mom at the airport. Her flight from Milan came in early.”

Brooke shot a quick glance at Charlotte. “Your mom’s flight came in early, huh?”

“Yeah,” Georgia answered, swallowing her glass of Pom.

“Face it, G,” Charlotte stated. “You’re a pretty lame liar. Even lamer than me.”

“Look, you guys, my dad
is
waiting for me outside.” Georgia pushed away from the table and slung her bag over one shoulder. “We have to get my mom at the airport. It’s a two-hour drive. She’s flying into JFK.”

Brooke resisted the temptation to snort. “G, tell your dad to get your mom at the airport by himself. You haven’t even finished dinner yet. This is our tradition. We always eat together on the first night—”

“You’re the one who said you didn’t want any more of the ‘same old, same old,’” Georgia interrupted, but in the next instant her face blanched. She knew she’d crossed the line with Brooke.

“Oh?” Brooke snapped, raising her eyebrows.

“Look, I’ve got to go,” Georgia said, standing up and giving an awkward wave. “We’ll meet up tomorrow.” And then she was gone.

For a long moment, Brooke sat there, puzzling over Georgia’s weirdness. Then she decided to, in the words of her idol, Mariah Carey, “shake it off.” She had better, bigger things to think about.

Like how and when she was going to hook up with Marcus.

Charlotte tapped her Mademoiselle-pink fingernails on the tablecloth. Twenty minutes had passed since Georgia’s mysterious departure, and Brooke was clearly still off in Marcus dreamland. Not that Charlotte was
too
worried about Georgia. Obviously, the poor girl had rushed off to meet Ethan somewhere. Which was unacceptable. He could
not
go on torturing her like this. What worried Charlotte more, though, was how Georgia seemed to be championing the new girl. Georgia was the shy one; it wasn’t like her to make new friends quickly—
or
stand up to Brooke.

At the pool that morning, Charlotte had written Valerie off as a typical pampered princess. She’d babbled on about her old school in New York City. (Was it Spence? Or Dalton? And was there a difference?) She’d also talked about how she was sad to leave the city, and how she hoped that Old Fairfield would be a nice change…Blah, blah, blah. Charlotte had tuned her out. The last thing Silver Oaks needed was a girl even more spoiled than, well, Brooke.

But Charlotte had also talked to Marcus. She hadn’t told Brooke her take on him. He’d given Charlotte the once-over—the way Charlotte herself might examine an iffy dress at some pricey boutique. Then he’d turned his attention back to Valerie. And that was a big strike against him. Boys shouldn’t examine either clothes
or
girls that way. Boys should give girls the Stare.

The Stare was another phrase Charlotte had coined (like the Tombs) and all good boys gave it. Not good as in “well-behaved boys” but good as in attractive, sweet, normal. In spite of its suggestive, stalker-like connotation, the Stare wasn’t supposed to give a girl the willies. It was a brief, eye-meeting acknowledgment that you were a member of the opposite sex, worthy of respect—and maybe potential hook-up material down the road.

And Marcus hadn’t given it.

Then again, maybe he
didn’t
find Charlotte worthy of a hookup. But whatever. It wasn’t up to Charlotte to try to dissuade Brooke from going after him. If he
was
an asshole, she’d find that out for herself. Maybe he was just an asshole to redheads.

“You know, I think I’m gonna take a walk,” Charlotte said, pushing away from the table. “If I eat the profiteroles, I think my stomach will explode.”

Brooke raised her eyebrows. “You aren’t going to chase after Georgia, are you?”

“Of course I’m going to chase after Georgia.”

“We really need to stop spending so much time
together,” Brooke moaned, cupping her chin in her hand. “We’re starting to get like one of those old married couples who don’t even have to talk. It’s creepy.”

“Don’t go looking for any other strange boys,” Charlotte warned Brooke, before standing and heading out the patio doors. Charlotte rubbed her arms through her light cardigan.
Man.
It was chilly tonight. Her eyes roved over the scented torches and the glowing pool water—then she frowned. Robby Miller and his crew were lounging by the pool, playing poker, shirtless and in backward baseball caps. Charlotte wanted to roll her eyes at the preppy fratness of it all.

“Yo, C!” Robby called. “Come here. We wanna ask you sum’m.”

For guys who’d spent their entire lives at Connecticut prep schools, Robby, Mike, Johnny, and Billy somehow managed to converse as if they’d grown up in the Bronx. Charlotte wondered when the white homeboy thing was going to go out of style. Hadn’t it already?

“Yo, R!” she joked flatly. She strolled across the flagstones, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Aren’t you boys worried about pneumonia?”

“Stop using big words,” Robby snorted, and the other guys guffawed.

Charlotte pasted a big phony smile on her face. “Didn’t mean to make you feel stupid,” she muttered, glancing toward the ivy-covered fence and listening for any sounds of Ethan and Georgia. She knew the tennis courts had been
a favorite nocturnal make-out spot for them last summer. Which, even Charlotte had to admit, was kind of romantic.

“So, what’s up with the new girl?” Robby asked, laying his playing cards on his flat stomach. “What’s her story?”

Charlotte shrugged. “NYC rich girl. I thought your family knew her.”

“Who told you that?” Robby narrowed his beady eyes.

“Ethan did, this morning. He said that her family was friends with your family.” Charlotte tapped her foot, bored.

Robby shook his head, puzzled. “I’ve definitely never met Valerie. And trust me, I would have remembered. She’s got it going
on.”

The other three laughed, and high-fived one another. Charlotte briefly considered jumping into the pool again—and staying there. “Hey, have you guys seen Georgia or Ethan?” she demanded over the din.
Stupid pool boys.

“I’m right here, Charlotte.”

She jerked and whirled around. Ethan was sitting off to the side in the shadows at an empty table, still in his tennis whites. She’d walked right past him and hadn’t even noticed.
Yikes.
She pulled up a pool chair and flopped down beside him—very deliberately turning her back on the still-raucous pool boys.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked, eyeing him. “I thought you were with Georgia.”

Ethan shook his head. Something was wrong—Charlotte could tell even in the dim flicker of the torches and pool lights. His face was drawn. His eyes were distant.

She leaned forward. “Hello? Earth to Ethan?”

“What? Sorry. I’m just a little…” He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “I’ll put it this way. I don’t think I’ll be hanging out with Georgia anytime soon.”

“Really?”
Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “Didn’t you call her just now?”

“No.” He fixed her with a curious stare. “Why? Did somebody call Georgia and say it was me?”

Charlotte blinked, suddenly confused. “No. She said that her dad called…” Her voice trailed off. Maybe Mr. Palmer really
had
picked Georgia up in the driveway. Maybe they
were
going to meet Mrs. Palmer at the airport. What the hell?

Ethan sighed. “Well, if you’re looking for her, you might want to try the golf course. I saw her heading out that way, like, five minutes ago.”

“The golf course?” Charlotte asked, flabbergasted. Georgia didn’t even play golf. And at nighttime, the course was swarming with crickets and mosquitoes—well, maybe not
swarming
, but it was buggy enough to rule out as a hook-up spot. Besides, who was Georgia even going to hook up with?

“Yeah, she probably figured it was the one place where I wouldn’t try to track her down,” Ethan mumbled. “She didn’t even know I saw her.”

Charlotte looked him straight in the eye. “Ethan, what is going on?”

“I—I…well, I asked if I could take her to the Midsummer Ball,” he stammered.

“You
what?”
Charlotte asked. She chuckled. She couldn’t help herself.

Ethan’s soft brown eyes hardened. “What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“Um, nothing.” Charlotte ran a hand through her red curls. “It’s just sweet. And it’s sort of an unexpected move, considering the reason why you broke up with her.” She paused, a thought dawning on her. “Are you thinking of quitting or something?”

“No!” Ethan answered—too quickly, Charlotte thought.

“I’m gonna go find G,” she said, abruptly standing. Ethan was acting weird, Georgia had snuck off to the golf course, Brooke was in love with a jackass…the world was off-kilter.

For the first time in recent memory, Charlotte felt like the normal one.