Tidings of Great Boys (2 page)

“Whatever. Doesn’t sound like my thing.” She looked into her fruit cup and fished out the last blueberry.

Something in her face told me what the real problem was. “If you’re worried about the money, don’t. We’ll work it out.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Her dark eyes looked guarded. She may have been dumped by her parents for refusing to go through
with an arranged marriage, but her pride wasn’t dented one bit.

“You don’t have to touch your nest egg. My allowance ought to cover a plane ticket. First class, of course.”

“Hmph.” Shani crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.

I knew she had a cool two million socked away in the San Francisco branch of the Formosa-Pacific Bank, and that one of Gillian’s
dozens of cousins was her personal investment advisor. But she treated that money like it was two hundred instead of two million,
watching over it with sharp eyes that didn’t let a single cent escape without accounting for itself.

Lissa glanced at Carly, who was eating and not talking, like she hoped we wouldn’t notice her. She’s a master of the art of
the personal fade. “And mine can cover Carly’s,” she said.

“Let’s throw mine in and split two fares three ways,” Gillian said. “Easy peasy.”

“For you, maybe,” Carly mumbled. “Brett’s already asked me to spend Christmas with his family. Consequently my dad didn’t
just blow a fuse. He totally blew out the power grid.”

“What is
with
your dad?” I demanded. “I’ve never seen anyone so protective. I’d die if I were smothered like that.”

“She isn’t smothered,” Shani said with a glance across the table at Carly. “Between my dad and hers, I’d take hers any day.
At least he cares.”

“Is it guilt talking?” Lissa wanted to know. “The whole ‘I’m out of town ninety percent of the time, so we have to spend every
minute of the ten percent together’ thing?”

“I guess.” Carly sipped her honey latte. “So if he had that kind of fit about me spending Christmas sixty miles away, guess
what he’d say about going to another continent?”

“Good point.” I refused to take no for an answer, though. “But what about you, personally?” Never mind. I answered the obvious
myself. “I guess if you had the choice, you’d pick Brett.”

“Not necessarily.” She smiled at me, that warm Carly smile that makes puppies and old people and prickly Scots love her. “His
house is nice, but it’s no castle.”

Lissa laughed. “I bet it has central heating, though.”

“Strathcairn has central heating.” I tried not to sound defensive. “In the new part, and the kitchen. And there are fires
in every room.”

“I’m not putting wood on a fire and getting smoke in all my clothes.” Lissa held up a “stop it right there” hand.

“Not a wood fire, ye numpty—a gas fire.” I looked at them all. “In the bedrooms, at least. There are real fireplaces downstairs,
in the sitting room and library. Honestly, what else has she been telling you?”

“Just that it was cold,” Gillian offered. “Forty degrees, I think she said. Inside.”

I pretended to glare at Lissa, maligning my house behind my back. “If you all came, the place would be at its best—I promise.
You’ll love it. And if your parents give you static, tell them to come, too.”

“Ewww.” Gillian looked appalled, and Shani, who has stayed in New York with Gillian’s family before, buried her snort of laughter
in her tall glass of pomegranate juice.

“Wait a second.” Lissa looked as if she’d just figured out a new way to ace a bio exam. She flipped out her phone and pressed
a button. “Hey, Dad, it’s me. Fine. No, nothing’s wrong and no, I don’t need a favor.” She rolled her eyes at us. “When is
the UK premiere of
The Middle Window?
Yes. Wow, you’re kidding. That’s perfect. So you’re going over.” She mimed smacking her forehead. “Never mind, dumb question.
What about Mom? Oh.” She was silent for several seconds, blinking her contacts into place as her eyes filled. She gulped,
then cleared her throat. “Well, I doubt it, but I’ll try. Okay. Thanks. Yeah, I’m at breakfast. Finals this week. Need lots
of protein and antioxidants and stuff to make the brain retain, you know? Love you two times. ’Bye.”

All round us, the dining room rattled and silverware clashed on plates and people talked incessantly. But at our table, several
pairs of eyes watched silently as Lissa tapped her phone off and put it in her glossy Kate Spade tote.

“Are you okay?” Gillian was the only one with the nerve to ask. But then, she and Lissa room together, so they probably share
a lot we don’t know about.

Lissa smoothed one hand over her blond hair, making sure her Stacey Lapidus hairband with its little rhinestone love knot
was still in place. “Recovering,” she said. “Stand by for reboot.”

Anyone else would have said, “Give me a minute,” but Lissa isn’t like anyone else. None of these girls are. It’s a bit weird
that we’ve all found each other here, frankly. Or maybe not weird. Maybe inevitable. There’s the Christian thing, of course.
I used to think it wasn’t my cup of tea at all, having quite a horror of Bible-thumpers and mad-eyed conviction. But these
girls aren’t like that at all.

I said they were solid, and what they believe is part of it. When I first met them, I used to try to catch them out. Get them
to make a mistake, blow up, whatever. But I never could—at least, not that they’d let me see. No matter how badly I treated
them—and I can get pretty bad, as anyone will tell you—they didn’t dish it back. Oh, they said a few things. No one is that
good, especially considering the provocation. But we slowly became friends, and I slowly got drawn into their circle.

Which isn’t a bad place to be, since they’re what’s considered the A-list round here. Oh, you have your Vanessas and your
Danis and your DeLaynes, but they’re more bark than bite. They orbit in a different universe—as a matter of fact, they’ve
sort of gone off orbit since Vanessa started going round with the Prince of Yasir. What do you call it when planets lose their
center of gravity and start drifting off into space? That clique is like that now.

Lissa took a deep breath and I focused on her. Recovery, evidently, was complete.

“Thing one: Dad says that the UK premiere is on December 19. Term ends on the eighteenth. Thing two: he’s going over for it,
and the production team at Leavesden Studios, as well as the people from Scotland, are all invited. Thing three: both your
mom and your dad are invited, too, Mac.” I blinked in surprise. Dad hadn’t said a word about it, and I’d gotten an e-mail
from him that morning. “And thing four: my mother says she’s not going. Dad wants me to talk her into it. What do you think
my chances are?”

The hope in her eyes was almost painful. I knew all about hope. Been there, done that, threw away the T-shirt.

“I guess that means at least you’re coming, then,” I said briskly. “Because of course you’ll talk your mother round. And once
you do, your parents are coming to Strathcairn afterward for Christmas. I insist.”

Because if Lissa could talk her mother into coming, then I could talk mine into it as well. For the first time since the divorce.

This was going to be the best, most unforgettable Christmas ever. I’d make certain of it.

T
HE ONLY PERSON on the planet who actually enjoys finals week is Gillian Chang—and that’s only because she swots like she has
finals all the time. I gritted my teeth at her relentless cheeriness and tried to focus on my speech for debate while she
coached Shani and Carly in biology. “Okay, so here’s the deal on amino acid. It’s a molecule, not a liquid. And it has the
general formula H
₂
NCHRCOOH, where R is organic.”

Deep in Lissa’s tote, her phone cheerfully informed us, “You can’t stop the signal, Mal.” Only Lissa would have a
Firefly
quote as her ringtone. While she got up to answer it, the rest of the girls slumped against beds and cushions,
thank goodness
written all over them.

“I’m so glad I finished with sciences when I took my A-levels.” I pushed my notebook off my lap and stretched. “Anyone for
a break?”

“Don’t let her go to Starbucks,” Carly told the room in general. “She’ll never come back.”

“Just keep swimming,” Gillian told them. “We’re over the hump now.” Then she looked at me. “Besides debate, what do you have
tomorrow?”

I tried to think, but my tired brain couldn’t make the leap twelve hours into the future. I pulled my schedule out of my binder.
“French, Global Studies, and U.S. History. Gaaahh.”

“I hear the English essay is brutal,” Carly said with sympathy.

“Thanks a lot. I can hold my own with dead Englishmen, but with my luck, we’ll get an essay on American poets or something.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Shani obviously liked American poetry. “Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson wrote some
of the most amazing poems ever.”

“I’m not saying they didn’t. I just don’t have anything coherent to say about them, that’s all. Of course, the way my brain
feels right now, I couldn’t say anything coherent about what we had for tea.”

“I don’t remember what we had for tea, either,” Gillian put in. “I got the end-of-chapter math review done, though.”

Of course she did.

If I had my way, I’d never look at another equation as long as I lived, but I was realistic. I’d have to take it in university,
but as Carly would say, I’d jump off that bridge when I got to it.

A sudden bubble of tension in the air made me look up. Lissa had her back to us and her hair shaken forward to hide her face,
but with one hand on her hip and her legs stiff, body language said it all.

“Mom, please,” she said in a low voice that made us all gaze at our papers while we listened intently. “You were so supportive
of Dad on the red carpet last month. What’s so hard about doing that again? Or was it all just a show? I’m not being combative—I
want to know. Okay, I get that. Yeah. I am
not
too young. I’m seventeen and I’m not completely clueless about relationships.” She was silent long enough for me to take
a breath. “But the reason you’re drifting apart is because you’re… apart. Can’t you do this one thing for me? It’s just a
holiday. Just ten days at Strathcairn, which, trust me, is big enough that if you wanted to be apart, you could spend a week
there and not see a soul. Mac says it has fourteen bedrooms.” She glanced at me as if for confirmation, and I nodded. “Please?
At least say you’ll think about it. That’s all I’m asking. Yes. Okay. Talk to you later. Love you, too.”

She disconnected and put the phone away with a sigh. Then she looked up. “She won’t come. I just know it.”

“Mothers.” I tapped a stack of binder pages together and snapped them in where they belonged. “The most stubborn race on earth.”

“The stupid part is, they used to be crazy about each other. Jolie and I used to get so embarrassed at the PDAs.” Lissa sat
on the bed and picked up her textbook, then put it down again. “I don’t get how you go from that to separate houses.”

“Or separate countries.” The words popped out of my mouth by themselves. “Like my parents. I know there’s never been anyone
for my father but Mummy. And yet,” I waved my hands about two feet apart, “there they are, like this.”

“You are so lucky, Gillian,” Carly said. “At least your parents are together.”

Gillian raised her eyebrows, glanced at Shani, and said nothing. Which, for her, is unusual.

“Well,” I said briskly, “let’s not obsess about what we can’t fix. Who’s for a walk down the hill and a gelato?”

“Me,” Gillian said. “I’m starting to read things twice. I’m done.”

The studious mood was officially broken.

So what if it was December. La Dolce Vita was bright and warm and the gelato was to die for, imported straight from Italy.
I let the tart flavor of raspberry slide down my throat and sipped a hot chai latte with it. “This beats biology and debate
any day.”

“We should study here,” Shani agreed, spooning up bright green pistachio. “I bet I wouldn’t get brain cramps if I ate a different
flavor every hour or so.”

“You’d get a bunch of poundage, is what you’d get.” Lissa gazed into her blueberry cheesecake gelato. “I’m sure there’s like,
five thousand calories in here.”

“And I’m enjoying every one.” Shani licked her spoon with satisfaction.

The door of the shop opened and Brett Loyola and Tate DeLeon cruised in. Somehow I was not surprised.

“Great idea.” Brett kissed Carly on the temple and we shuffled chairs to make room. “Thanks for the text.”

He came back from the counter with a big pile of something with ribbons of caramel through it. Tate got black licorice and
somehow managed to insert his big, unwelcome self between Shani and me.

Traitor. I gave her a glare for moving her chair over, but she ignored me.

“Hey,” he said. “What did you get?”

“Raspberry.” Some people love licorice. The smell of it makes me ill. Or maybe it was the company. Earlier this term, Tate
stalked Lissa for a month before she finally got through to him in words of one syllable that she wasn’t interested. Whereupon
he transferred his attention to me, being the only unattached female in our group at the time.

Not that there’s anything wrong with him, really, if you leave out the licorice. He’s got great shoulders because he’s on
the rowing team, and there must be something upstairs or Brett wouldn’t hang round with him. But a boy who wants a girlfriend
that bad just makes me want to take evasive action.

And my coming in second to Lissa didn’t help his case, either.

“I think I aced the math test today. How’d you do?”

“I’m not taking math.”

“Huh?” Again a gust of licorice as he stared at me. “How’d you manage that?”

“I’m an exchange student, remember? I don’t have to take math under the American system. I wrapped it up last year in sixth
form.” Blank look. “What you’d call eleventh grade.”

“Oh. Lucky you.” His spoon tapped the waxed cardboard of his size-large bowl as he hunted down the last of his gelato. “So
once the torture is over on Friday, what’cha got going? Big plans?”