Waking Up to Boys (11 page)

C
helsea could hardly believe she was actually going to the Keep Tahoe Blue Gala with a date. She had been attending the annual fund-raiser for the League to Save Lake Tahoe every year for as long as she could remember, first with her parents and then with whichever summer staffers found themselves without summer loves by mid-August, but this was her first time ever going with a guy…or wearing a dress that cost more than her competition-only wetsuit.

She reminded herself that Sebastian was worth it. After their fight he had found her and apologized, even giving her a small bouquet of wildflowers he had picked himself. To her surprise, she found herself not only accepting his apology (and his kisses) with open
arms, but asking him to be her date for the dance as well. And she had even told her father that she was taking him. Surprisingly, he hadn’t argued. Maybe, despite the occasional nagging doubts that lingered in the back of her mind, she still had a chance of falling in love with Sebastian. And her father would somehow accept him.

Chelsea took a break from rearranging her wallet, lip gloss, and car keys in her tiny black satin clutch to stare one more time at her reflection in the mirror. The slinky royal-blue halter dress draped low on her back and clung to her legs, making them appear sky-high in her black patent leather Steve Madden peep-toe pumps. She had to admit that she looked fantastic…well, at least from the neck down. Her face and hair were another matter entirely. She had carefully followed the directions for “smoldering evening eyes” and the “classic starlet up-sweep” on teenglamour.com, but even after several passes at each, she was pretty sure she looked more like a raccoon with a Mohawk than a glamorous diva with smoky eyes.

She frowned as she reached for her Neutrogena makeup remover pads, which were half gone even though she had just bought the package that afternoon.

Someone knocked softly on her door as she was wiping at the deep black liner ringing her eyes.

“Who is it?” Chelsea prayed it wasn’t Sebastian. He
had said to meet him at the main lodge, but thanks to her continuous makeup disaster, she was running late.

“It’s Sara,” the voice at the door said.

“Come in.” The door cracked open and Sara appeared, looking more perfect than ever in a ’50s retro-looking baby blue dress with white polka dots and amazing red patent leather heels. Chelsea felt a wave of jealousy when she looked at Sara’s expertly waved retro hair and dewy, fresh makeup, accented with a shade of lipstick that matched her shoes.

“I was just coming to see if you needed a ride,” Sara said. “I’m leaving as soon as Leo gets here.”

“Thanks, but it’ll take me forever to get these eyes right,” Chelsea said.

Sara squinted at Chelsea’s reflection in the mirror, trying not to smile. “Let me guess…you went for smoldering and ended up looking like a raccoon?”

Chelsea couldn’t help laughing. “Like five times now. How did you know?”

Sara laughed. “Been there. I can help, if you want.”

“Really? That would be amazing.” Sara suddenly seemed less like the too-perfect older sister who had been stealing her spotlight all summer and more like an angel of mercy sent to help her just in her time of need. Chelsea felt a stab of guilt. Why had she spent all summer snooping around in Sara’s things and giving her the cold shoulder?

“It’s really no problem.” Sara pulled up Chelsea’s desk chair and rolled over to her, reaching for something in the pile of brand-new makeup crowding her vanity. “The secret is to do it mostly with shadow, not eyeliner. The liner’s too dark and it smudges easily, which is what gives you the raccoon-eye look. Close your eyes, okay?”

Chelsea did as her half sister asked, and the room slipped into a semi-awkward silence. “So you’re going to the gala with Leo?” Chelsea asked, just to say something.

“Yeah, but only just as friends,” Sara said, sliding something cool and damp over her upper lids. “I know he’ll make me laugh the whole time.”

Chelsea recalled Sara’s diary entry and wondered if there was anything helpful she could say without giving away what she’d seen.

“Open your eyes,” Sara instructed. Chelsea turned slowly to face the mirror—and nearly squealed with delight. Sara had somehow transformed her face from “Ashley Olsen after a bender” to “Ashley Judd at a premiere.” Even her irises seemed to have a twinkling, come-hither look.

“Wow,” Chelsea said, her mouth hanging open in shock. She shook her head. “This is…amazing.”

“Thanks,” Sara said, looking down bashfully. “If you want, I can do your hair, too.”

“That would be great,” Chelsea said. She watched
Sara’s reflection in the mirror as her sister began removing pins and brushing out her hair. “Seriously, Sara, you’re great at this.”

“Oh, it’s just something I learned to do,” Sara replied. “I used to go out a lot.”

“You’re lucky,” Chelsea said.

“Eh. It gets old after a while,” Sara said. She didn’t sound very happy, and Chelsea couldn’t figure out why. She would do
anything
to have guys pay as much attention to her as they did to Sara. Her half sister clearly didn’t know how good she had it.

“You’re lucky to have Sebastian,” Sara said, twisting Chelsea’s hair into the style she’d been struggling with for hours with just one easy flip. “He’s nice, and he’s obviously crazy about you. It’s not easy finding a guy like that.”

Another wave of guilt rolled through Chelsea. She couldn’t believe she’d just been thinking about how annoying Sebastian could be. “Leo’s great, too,” she offered.

Sara sighed. “Leo is
just
a friend,” she reminded Chelsea. “And a friend is
all
I want right now. I am officially taking a break from boys this summer.”

And I’m just waking up to them,
Chelsea thought.

She was about to ask Sara more, but was interrupted by her phone beeping to tell her she had a text message.

At lodge,
the text from Sebastian said.
Where r u?

“Wow, I’m totally late,” Chelsea said. “I better run and meet Sebastian.”

“Do
not
run in those heels,” Sara cautioned, and they both laughed.

“Hey, Sara,” Chelsea said as she hurried toward the door. “Thanks for fixing my hair and face.”

“No problem,” Sara said. “Thanks for listening to me rant about guys.”

“Anytime—and that was hardly ranting.” Chelsea threw her wrap around her shoulders. She headed out into the night air feeling sultry and glamorous…and thinking that maybe having Sara around the resort wasn’t so bad after all.

As Chelsea ascended the steps of Ponderosa Manor, the sprawling Victorian mansion where the Keep Tahoe Blue Gala was held each year, she felt like she was walking into a fairy tale. The stately porch was adorned with thousands of tiny blue Christmas lights that twinkled like stars, and she could already hear strains of music and laughter coming from inside.

Sebastian offered her his arm as they made their way through the sumptuous lobby with its velvet wingback chairs, large potted ferns, and sweeping mahogany staircase. When they reached the entrance to the ballroom,
an actual butler in a tuxedo helped Chelsea off with her wrap and whisked it away.

“Wow,” Sebastian breathed as they entered the ballroom. “These people really know how to throw a party!”

The large parquet-floored ballroom glimmered in the subtle light of the crystal chandeliers overhead. Long blue candles burned in candelabras that reflected against the floor-to-ceiling windows, and tea lights floated in water bowls, illuminating the blue balloons and silver streamers strung festively about. A band played onstage on one side of the room, and a table piled high with punch bowls, crystal goblets, and dainty finger foods occupied the other. Most impressive about the ball, though, were the partygoers: a selection of the Tahoe region’s wealthiest and most influential families, from resort and casino owners to old money dating back to the gold mining days, all the men in dapper evening jackets, and all the women wearing gowns in various hues of blue in honor of the lake that had brought them all together.

“Why, Chelsea McCormick!” Deirdre LaClaire, chairwoman of the gala, exclaimed, rushing up to them. “Don’t you look fabulous! But whatever happened to your arm? Wakeboarding accident, I suppose—you daredevil, you! You know, I practically didn’t recognize you. You look about twenty-five and like you just stepped off the pages of
Vogue.
And
who
is this young man you’re with?”

Deirdre’s double chin wiggled as she reached out to take Sebastian’s hand. Sebastian brought it to his lips as he introduced himself, and Mrs. LaClaire nearly melted into a puddle of royal blue sequins at his feet.

“I’ve known her since I was a little kid,” Chelsea whispered to him after Deirdre had waddled off. “I’m not supposed to know this, but she and her husband are some of Glitterlake’s key investors.”

“Ah,” said Sebastian. “Well, she’s right: You do look like you just stepped out of
Vogue.
In fact, you look better. I’m glad I’m your date.”

“Thanks,” Chelsea said, forcing herself to smile at the compliment. She knew it was supposed to make her happy, but for some reason it just made her feel anxious and slightly oppressed.
Why can’t I just appreciate him more?
she wondered.

“Want to dance?” Sebastian asked. He took her hand and led her to the middle of the dance floor, where several couples and a gaggle of preteen girls were already moving to the beat. Chelsea was pleased to discover that, as long as Sebastian held on to her hand, she actually felt okay dancing in her new heels.
Maybe I can sort of get into this,
she thought, looking around the room.

After returning Sebastian’s encouraging smile, Chelsea scanned the room for people she knew. She saw Sara in a corner by one of the candelabras, laughing at something Leo was saying, with one hand on his shoulder. And over
by the punch bowl Mel and Sienna were talking with two handsome, yuppie L.A. types who had probably flown in to play around on Jet Skis for the weekend. She even saw her parents circling the dance floor, her mom’s arms around her dad’s neck and her upturned face alive and happy in the sparkling light from the chandelier overhead.

Sebastian turned slightly, giving her a view of the long bank of floor-to-ceiling windows on the ballroom’s east side. Her eyes skipped over a sea of faces and stopped on one that was staring directly at her: Todd. Before she had a chance to slide her gaze away, they had locked eyes, and her heart jumped. He looked more devastatingly gorgeous than ever in a simple navy blazer and light blue shirt that brought out the mountain-lake hue of his eyes, and his gaze seemed to be punching her in the stomach.

“Are you okay?” Sebastian’s asked, his breath warm and moist in her ear. “You just made the strangest face.”

“I’m fine,” Chelsea lied as Todd finally looked away and down at the floor.

Sebastian pressed in closer to her. “Sure?” he repeated.

“Positive,” Chelsea said, her voice sounding fake even to her. Not that it mattered…all she’d done was
look
at Todd. Last she’d checked, looking at someone wasn’t wrong or illegal. Even if it
did
make her body feel like it was made out of syrup.

“Want to take a break?” Sebastian asked. “You don’t seem very into dancing right now.”

“That would be great,” Chelsea replied with relief. She glanced back toward Todd—he was staring at her again! Her throat went dry.

Sebastian took her arm and they began heading toward the punch bowl—only to be waylaid by Deirdre LaClaire, wobbling toward them with her BFF and gala co-chair Nadine Monteague in tow.

“Oh, just the young man I was looking for!” Deirdre squealed, grasping Sebastian by the arm. His mouth widened in surprise, then closed quickly into a gracious smile. “Sebastian, you simply
must
meet my dear friend Nadine. Nadine, Sebastian here is a tennis instructor…
from Brazil
. Sebastian, darling, I wanted to talk to you about perhaps teaching a private clinic just for Nadine and myself….”

Chelsea tuned out as Deirdre went on. Her throat was so dry, it hurt. She gently touched Sebastian on the shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, trying for her best apologetic smile. “I’ll just be over at the drinks table if you need me, okay?”

Sebastian kissed her cheek haphazardly, clearly engrossed in whatever Deirdre & Co. were plotting, and Chelsea picked her way through the sea of dancers to the relatively safe haven of the drinks table. She gratefully
ladled herself a goblet full of pale pink punch garnished with clouds of creamy sherbet and turned away from the table, intending to find a quiet corner. Instead, she found herself face-to-face with Todd.

“What are you, following me?” She hoped her words were strong enough to cover up her trembling.

“Hardly,” Todd snorted. “What’s your deal?”

“What’s my deal?” Chelsea’s voice rose with hysteria and several heads in their immediate vicinity swiveled to stare. “Can we talk outside?” she hissed.

Without speaking, Todd grabbed her arm and practically dragged her out onto the balcony. Twinkling lights festooned the grand columns and stars twinkled in the clear sky overhead, but Chelsea and Todd were too focused on their argument to notice.

“So?” Chelsea asked casually, breaking free. “What do you want?”

“
Excuse
me?” Todd asked, getting in her face. “It’s more like what do
you
want!”

It was the same question Sebastian had asked her on the lodge’s porch nearly a month ago. But instead of making her sad and confused, hearing it from Todd just made her mad. “What do
I
want? I want to know why you keep looking at me like that. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m not looking at you,” he answered, turning his head to stare angrily over the edge of the balcony.

“So, what, I’m just making it up?” Chelsea could hear herself getting loud, but she couldn’t help it. He was doing this on purpose to drive her crazy. And it was working. Instinctively, she reached up and turned his face so that he was looking at her. “You’ve been giving me the evil eye all night. I just…I just want to know what the hell you want from me.”