Survival of the Fiercest (13 page)

“S
o then Brandon slipped and totally wiped out,” Clay said, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “Puke everywhere.” He reached over Andie and punched Brandon in the arm. Brandon laughed, exposing a row of green braces. His black hair was gelled in the front, forming stiff spikes.

“That's funny,” Andie mumbled. She was trapped between them on the love seat in the den, listening to another one of Clay's stupid stories. This time it was about Brandon falling into a puke puddle on the 6 train. Andie glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was nine twenty. Which meant in just ten minutes Clay and Brandon would be off to the Ludacris concert, and Andie would finally be free.

On the sofa Parker Adams was making out with her Haverford boyfriend, while two other couples faced off in foosball. Shelley DeWitt was perched in the window seat with Fillmore Weitz, whose skin looked surprisingly clear compared to the last time Andie had seen him. Everyone was paired off—everyone
except Andie. She was supposed to be Clay's girlfriend (even if it
was
fake), but ever since Brandon arrived she'd felt like a third wheel. A third wheel on an annoying, fist-pounding tricycle to Dude Land.

Just then Lola strolled in, carrying Heath Bar in her arms. “Lola?” Andie tried to steady her voice. “Where's Cindy? I thought you guys were watching movies in dad's room?”

“I'm bloody bored. Cindy fell asleep twenty minutes ago.” Lola looked around the den. “I can't watch the telly when everyone is down here having…” She trailed off, her gaze falling on Parker and her boyfriend. Parker was sucking on her boyfriend's ear. She was going to say
fun
but that didn't seem like
quite
the right word anymore. Parker made snogging look scary, like her tongue was in a boxing match with her boyfriend's ear.

“What's the deal with your hair?” Brandon asked.

“Nothing…” Lola smoothed down her headband, feeling her face flush. Since the shoot she'd washed it three times but it was still greasy. Even worse, it looked a little green, like it used to get in London, after she spent all day in Abby's indoor swimming pool. She'd spent so much time trying to become one with the gutter, she'd never considered how she'd get
out
of the gutter. All she had to show for her brush with supermodeling was a stringy mop of hair that smelled like her grandmother's olive grove in Tuscany.

“Maybe you should check on Cindy. She might need help.” Andie's heart sped up. Kyle would be here any minute. If Lola was wandering around the house, she wouldn't be able to talk to him, or look at him, without feeling like she was under FBI surveillance.

“She's fine.” Lola tugged on the bottom of her black, long-sleeved T-shirt. It was covered with an inch of orange fur.

“Then as soon as Clay leaves I'll go upstairs with you to wake Cindy up. I just don't want her”—Andie searched for an excuse—“sleeping on my dad's bed.” Even if Cindy had snuck out of her house with a stuffy nose and a bad cough, she was only there because she promised to watch Lola. Cough syrup or no cough syrup, Andie needed her awake.

“Sleeping on the bed?” Lola furrowed her brows. “Mum and Winston won't care.” She held Heath Bar over her shoulder and bounced him up and down like he was a twenty-pound, fur-covered newborn.

On the love seat, Clay and Brandon had started punching each other. They reached behind Andie and in front of her, trying to get at each other. “You're an idiot!” Clay hooted, standing to knock Brandon hard in the shoulder. Brandon pulled the hood of his orange Triple 5 Soul sweatshirt over his head and ducked behind Andie, using her as a shield.

Parker noticed Clay's clenched fist, which was pulled back like he was aiming for Andie. “What's your problem?” she yelled. “Isn't that your girlfriend?” Her red hair was staticky from making out, and it floated up on one side, as though she'd just rubbed a balloon to it.

“Yeah,” Clay said. “I wasn't aiming for her—I was aiming for Brandon.” He sat back down on the leather couch, wrapping an arm around Andie.

“Well maybe you should stop punching your friend and start making out,” Parker said with a laugh, revealing two snaggle
teeth that made her look just a little bit menacing, like a friendly vampire.

“Yeah,” Parker's boyfriend hooted. His face was bright pink from making out, like he'd just come out of a sauna. “Get it on!”

Andie felt Clay's arm around her shoulder, like a cold, dead snake. This had gone too far. Clay wasn't actually her boyfriend, and she definitely didn't want to make out with him. He'd probably stick his fat tongue down her throat so far it would touch her tonsils. Besides, she wanted her first kiss to be with Kyle—lead singer of the Wormholes, snowboarding, soccer-playing, genuinely nice, silly Kyle. “Right.” Andie laughed, pretending it was just a joke. She inched away from Clay and pulled her polka-dotted Milly blouse closer around her neck.

“Do it! Do it!” Brandon chanted. He glanced around the room for support. The couples playing foosball joined in, raising their arms and cheering. A boy in a vintage Dr Pepper T-shirt even stomped his foot, shaking the flat screen on the wall.

Clay leaned toward Andie, his lips pursed and his eyes closed in concentration. He was so close she could smell his Doritos breath. She didn't want to do this, she couldn't. But she could feel Lola watching her. She was chanting too, her lilting British accent making her voice stand out from all the rest.

Andie ran her hands along the top of her J Brand jeans. Maybe she could kiss Clay—just a peck. She closed her eyes, waiting for Clay's lips to touch down on hers. She could feel his breath getting closer and closer, the Cool Ranch smell stinging her nostrils.

Do it, do it, do it!
echoed in her ears. Her whole body was
tense, braced as though she were about to get hit by a baseball, flying ninety miles an hour at her face. She felt Clay's lips press against hers, their plumpness giving way. She held them there as the chant broke into hoots and cheers. Someone screamed, “Yee-ha!” When she pulled away, her face felt hot, like she had a hundred and one-degree fever.

Across the room, she felt someone's eyes on her. There, in the doorway, was Kyle Lewis. He looked like someone had just put his Fender guitar through a wood chipper. “You're early…” Andie mumbled.

“Kyle!” Lola called, clapping her hands together. “You came!” She bounded over to him, but Kyle stood frozen.

He looked at Andie, then Clay, then back at Andie, his hands clenched together in tight fists. “You're with
him?
” He was wearing a tattered Ramones T-shirt and dark blue jeans.

Andie's hands trembled. What was she supposed to say?
No, I was just pretending I'm Clay's boyfriend, because Lola likes you and would kill me if she knew I was dating you?
There was no way to explain it. She looked at Kyle, chewing the MAC lip gloss from her lips.

Kyle's brown eyes looked wet. “Here,” he said, pushing past Lola to drop a CD case into Andie's lap. On the front of it was a picture of his band under the lights at Arlene's Grocery. Kyle was wearing his headband and aviators. “I made this for you—it's all the new songs you heard on Friday. Enjoy.” When he said
enjoy
, it sounded more like,
Have a nice life
. With that, he stormed out.

Andie stared at the CD, feeling like Kyle had just tossed a bomb in her lap. She'd dated Ben Carter for a month last year.
Their entire relationship had consisted of passing notes back and forth in math class, until she got so bored she broke up with him. And even if everyone else liked Clay, she couldn't spend two hours with him without wishing she had earplugs. But everything with Kyle was different. She would've stayed up all night talking to him online, even if she got detention for falling asleep in first-period history. She would've gone to every one of his concerts for the next two years, just on the chance that he might've written a song about her—
for
her.

“Who's the toolbag?” Brandon asked, watching Kyle run down the stairs. His hiccupy laugh made Andie wince.

You're the toolbag
, Andie thought as she inched away from him. Kyle didn't use the word
dude
in every other sentence, or have punching contests. And he could have a conversation about more than just soccer or pantsing his best friend. He was nothing like Brandon, or Clay, and that was a good thing. Maybe the best thing about him. She turned the CD over in her hands, sniffing back tears. Whether she thought that or not, Kyle didn't know. All he knew was that she was kissing Clay Calhoun, the guy who poured Gatorade over his head at the soccer scrimmage. She could forget being Kyle's girlfriend now—she'd be lucky if he ever talked to her again.

“Seriously, though, Sloane,” Clay whispered. He pulled his arm from Andie's shoulders. “What's the deal with that kid?” For the first time ever, he looked worried.

“That's Kyle Lewis,” Lola hissed. She squeezed Heath Bar so hard he let out a loud mew. Andie had gone to Kyle's band practice. Kyle Lewis. The same Kyle she'd walked along the Thames
with as a child, watching the salmon jump. The same Kyle whom she'd watched play cricket at London Fields, even when it was raining. And the same Kyle she'd (just last week!) gone on a date with to Madame Tussauds. He was
her
Kyle. And Andie had been sneaking around behind her back, letting her keep on about how he'd been MIA.
Give him some time
, she'd said!

“You bloody liar,” Lola muttered, her nose twitching. She had been right all along. Kyle
was
talking to someone else. But it wasn't Imaginary Girl, with her long silky blond hair and her tiny, perfect ears. It was
Andie
.

“No, Lola,” Andie started, but Lola turned and ran up the stairs. Heath Bar looked over Lola's shoulder, shooting Andie a disapproving look.

The entire den was watching her. Parker Adams's jaw dropped open in a dramatic
O
. Andie let out a deep breath, wishing everyone would just go home. It was useless. Lola was convinced she was a lying, sneaky backstabber, and Kyle was convinced she was a cheating, boy-crazy idiot. And the worst part was, both of them were right.

B
etsy Carmichael followed Cate to the kitchen, a tiny Kate Spade notebook perched in her hand. “Is Myra officially out of Chi Sigma Mu?
Ashton News
wants to know.”

Cate wheeled around. Betsy had been trailing her through the party like some annoying gnat, constantly buzzing in her ear.
Did Myra leave for personal reasons? Why is Stella upstairs in her room? Overall, would you consider the Chi Sigma Mu mixer a success?
It took all of Cate's restraint not to smack her away. “This is the last time I'm going to tell you. No. Comment.” Cate spat each word in Betsy's face. Betsy finally retreated to the living room, where a group of girls from the drama club were now singing along to Lady Gaga. They were using an expensive, delicate glass vase as a microphone, but Cate was too tired to care.

She trudged through the kitchen, the floor sticking to the bottom of her red Katia Lombardo heels. This was supposed to be
her
night. She and Stella were going to toast Myra in the living room and start a dance party on the couch. They were going to
pose for Polaroids in the foyer and walk around together, arm in arm, so Cate could finally have new memories—ones that didn't include Blythe. Stella had promised Myra would be here, primped and primed and ready to be their number three. And Cate had trusted her. Now everything—the makeover, the party, Chi Sigma—felt like a huge mistake.

Cate stared at the Chi Sigma Mu cupcakes on the granite island, each one with three sugar Greek letters set in the icing. Danny Plimpton was hunched over the round cherry table, using pink and purple M&M's to play tic-tac-toe with himself. The poor boy had finally gotten up the nerve to approach Lola, only to discover she'd locked herself in her room. Besides him, the kitchen was empty.

Cate slowly picked the
Mu
off each cupcake, collecting them in her hand. Eli would be there any minute. She could handle the questions from Betsy, or how Paige Mortimer kept shooting her
I told you you should have picked me
looks. But Eli was the one person she refused to be embarrassed in front of. For tonight it was Chi Sigma—no Mu. She'd just pretend that had been the plan from the beginning.

“What are you doing?” a familiar voice said. Cate spun around to see Priya standing in the doorway, fingering her black curls. Blythe and Sophie followed her into the kitchen. Panicked, Cate shoved the whole handful of letters in her mouth. The sugary taste made her gag.

“I'm sorry about what happened with Myra,” Blythe said.

Cate stared at her former best friend. This was the same Blythe she'd met in preschool, bonding over Tinkertoys. The
same Blythe who went to the dentist with her when she had her first cavity, just because she knew how terrified Cate was of drills. But everything felt different now—uncertain. There Blythe was, standing in Cate's kitchen with Priya and Sophie, who just two weeks ago were following
her
around.

If Cate asked Blythe to let her back in to Chi Beta Phi, things could return to normal. They could all go upstairs to her room right now and sprawl out on her queen-size bed, the way they always did at sleepovers. She could tell them about the wedding, and how her dad had teared up when he'd recited his vows. And she could show them the old pictures she found in Winston's study—of her parents' cross-country road trip, and her mom's baby photos, and the one of her when she was nineteen, acting in the off-Broadway production of
Anything Goes
. Cate rubbed the sapphire ring on her finger. Even if she and Blythe weren't friends anymore, it sometimes felt like Blythe was the only person in the world who understood. Because she was the only person who had really been there.

Her ex-friends were standing together against the wall. Sophie was still humming quietly, barely able to look at her. Things would never be exactly the same as they were before. But nothing could be worse than this. Cate let out a deep breath. “I was thinking—”

“Just for the record, I didn't mean to tell Myra about the challenge,” Blythe interrupted. “I didn't even know she was behind us.”

Cate was wrong. Things
could
be worse. “
You're
the reason Myra stormed off?” She dug her fingernails into her palm. Of course Blythe had told Myra about the challenge. Blythe had
always been terrified of real competition. She'd quit the track team the first time she lost a race.

“Cate,” Blythe said, taking a step toward her, “it was an accident. But honestly, it's for the best. Myra Granberry? Come on. You're better than that.” She pulled her shoulders back. “Come back to us. I'll let you into Beta Sigma Phi.”

“Oh, you'll
let
me?” Cate stared into Blythe's gray eyes. As tempting as it was to think about having her friends back, she couldn't rejoin them as one of Blythe's sheep. It was just too degrading. “No, thanks,” Cate said, standing up straighter. Even if Blythe had ruined Chi Sigma Mu, there was still one thing Cate had that she didn't. “Eli Punch is going to be here any minute.” She let the words sink in. “We have a date.”

“What?”
Blythe's head jerked back, like Cate had just spit in her face.

Right then, Cate spotted Eli in the foyer, moving through the crowd. His J. Crew button-down was wrinkled, like he'd just rolled out of bed. “And here he is now…” Cate singsonged. She pushed past the Beta Sigma Phis as she left the kitchen. “Eli!”

“Hey.” He glanced around the packed foyer. A Haverford boy in an Obama T-shirt jumped back, knocking Cate into Eli's chest. He looked down at her and smiled. “Your party is insane, Cate.”

“Insane in a good way or a bad way?”

He peeked in the living room, where Paige Mortimer and her friend were dancing on Winston's leather club chair to the new Rihanna song. On the floor, a boy in a Haverford hoodie made a poor attempt at break dancing. “A good way.” Eli laughed.

The Beta Sigma Phis were watching her from the kitchen
doorway. Suddenly everything—Myra's makeover, the fighting with Blythe, Chi Sigma Mu—didn't feel as important anymore. With Eli this close to her, it was easy to forget.

Cate pulled him into the kitchen, her eyes locking with Blythe's. “You know Eli, right?” She could relax a little now that her
date
had arrived. Once Eli was her boyfriend she would never be alone, no matter what Blythe said or did. She could forbid Priya and Sophie to look at her, she could pit Myra and Stella against each other, she could sabotage every third member they ever tried to induct. Once Eli was her boyfriend, she would always have someone to stand beside her at parties, or celebrate with her when she got called back for the second round of musical auditions.

“Hi,” Blythe mumbled, glancing at her Juicy espadrilles. “We were actually just leaving. Right?” Blythe turned to Priya and Sophie.

“Yeah.” Priya nodded. “We have another party we're late for.” She grabbed Blythe's elbow and the two walked out, Sophie trailing close behind.

Eli's cheeks were bright red. “That was kind of…awkward.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Do you think we can go talk somewhere—
privately
?” Danny Plimpton paused his game of tic-tac-toe and turned to Cate, mouthing something that looked like
The Eagle has landed
. Then he gave her the thumbs-up.

Cate smoothed back her dark brown hair, excited. “I know the perfect place.” She pushed out the kitchen door. Before the party started, she'd spent a half hour in the garden, staging it for her and Eli's first kiss. Tea lights were scattered over every
surface, making the space look like it was infested with fireflies. There were cupcakes and M&M's on the coffee table, and she'd set up her iPod and portable speakers in the upstairs window. The ivied backyard was now filled with the sounds of Vampire Weekend. Everything was perfect.

They sat down on the teak sofa, and Eli leaned back against the cushion. She hadn't hung out with a boy since Charlie. They'd met for two days while on vacation in Hawaii, but she'd always known he would go back to Minnesota, and she would go back to New York. It was easier with him, because there was a time limit. He could never
really
be her boyfriend. With Eli she worried she was talking too loud, the way she always did when she was nervous, or that bits of dinner were stuck in her teeth. There was an echo in her head, like she could hear herself saying every word to him, wondering if it sounded rehearsed, or just silly. Sometimes it was scary to like someone so much.

“I wasn't expecting to see Blythe here.” Eli looked adorable in his pale blue J. Crew button-down, but his face was tense with worry.

“I know. She just showed up.” Cate ran her hands along the hem of her Phillip Lim dress, the sequins feeling scratchy against her palms. “It was really weird.” She shrugged, as if to say,
That's just the kind of sketchball she is.

“You were right about Blythe.” Eli sighed, pushing his thick black hair off his forehead.

Cate let out a deep breath. She'd known Eli would see through her. He belonged with someone who could pull an amazing outfit together (even at Marshalls), who was president of the Spanish Honor Society and the French Honor Society, who could play
the lead in Annie while simultaneously organizing the eighth-grade formal at the Puck Building. He belonged with someone
loyal
. Someone like Cate.

“When we were at Jackson Hole she kept talking about her friends and how they're the most popular girls at Ashton Prep,” Eli continued. “She's definitely not for me.” He leaned in close and smiled.

Cate's stomach felt tight, like she'd just looked over the ledge of a forty-story building. All the humiliation she felt at the basketball game and the torture she'd endured imagining Blythe and Eli holding hands on a carriage ride through Central Park felt far away, like something that had happened when she was in fourth grade. Because now she was in her candlelit garden, alone with Eli, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.

She leaned in just the tiniest bit and stared into Eli's dark eyes.
Just kiss me
, she thought, waiting for him to bring his lips to hers. But Eli looked through the window, his eyes searching the kitchen. “Is Stella here?” he asked.

“Stella?” Cate squeaked.

“Yeah.” Eli smiled innocently, like the question was as benign as asking Cate to pass the M&M's.

“No…” Cate trailed off, falling back against the hard wooden slats of the teak sofa. Eli didn't seem to notice.

“What's her deal?” He lowered his voice, as if afraid someone was hiding in the bushes and might overhear. “Does she have a boyfriend?”

Cate could feel a baseball-size lump rising in the back of her throat. When—and how—had Stella and Eli met? She was
dying to know, but didn't want to reveal that Stella hadn't told her about it. Instead, she managed, “Why do you want to know?” She already knew the answer. No one in the history of the world had asked that question unless they liked the person they were asking it about.

“I was just wondering…” Eli was still looking past Cate, inside the lit windows of the town house. “She just seems cool. Please don't mention that I asked, though.”

Cate tried hard to smile, but her face felt stiff. She wasn't going to cry. She couldn't. Not in front of Eli. “I won't.”

“Thanks.” Eli squeezed her shoulder. “You're a good friend.”

Cate turned away, cringing at that word.
Friend
. She knew everything about Eli—how he couldn't pass a dog on the street without petting it, how his mom had been born and raised in Tokyo, how he had a horrible case of mono last year that kept him out of school for a month. It was
his
turn to learn everything about
her
. She wanted him to know that she loved blue roses, even though they weren't real and were only sold at cheap delis along Third Avenue. She wanted him to ask her about the tiny scar on her knee, so she could tell the story of how she slipped climbing a waterfall in Samoa. He needed to know about her mom, and the cancer, and how she hated going anywhere—even into the shower—without wearing her blue sapphire ring, or the locket that contained her picture. She wanted him to know her, as her
boy
friend—nothing less. But when she turned back, Eli was still sitting there, waiting for her to say something else.

“You're welcome,” she said slowly, forcing the words out of her mouth. She looked into Eli's dark eyes. “What are
friends
for?”