Dream Girl Page 15

  “Is that why we had to slum it and fly first class instead of on one of the Shuttleworth shuttles?”

  Becca rolled her eyes and nodded. “At this point we have to run background checks on practically everybody who comes near us.”

  I considered this for a moment.

  “Does that mean—?”

  She nodded. “You passed yours with flying colors.”

  They’d run a background check on me? “That’s supremely weird,” I said, taking out my barrettes and bobby pins. I wondered what kind of dirt they’d uncovered. Had there been a classified file they passed around at dinner one night? Did all the Shuttleworths know about my love of trashy magazines and my complete and utter lack of a romantic history?

  Never before had my entire existence felt so embarrassing.

  “C, have I ever seen your hair down? It’s awesome. Is it naturally that…”

  “Big? Yup…” I had to take my chance at turning the conversation away from my yellow ’fro. “So have you ever run into Soyle trouble?”

  She fiddled with her pillow and breathed in hard. “Last year at boarding school there was this creepy man who’d show up in town and follow me around. My parents pulled me out of school.”

  My mouth fell open. “So you didn’t get the boot for sneaking out like you told me?”

  She shook her head guiltily. “I hardly knew you.”

  “But you haven’t seen him since?”

  “No, not him in particular,” she said distantly. “But somebody’s watching me. You remember that creepy text I got the other day? The one about the headband?”

  “Where they called you Alice?”

  “Yup.” She cast her eyes down. “There have been more of those. A few more.”

  I felt a little queasy. “And you think the Soyles found somebody at Hudson to play on their team?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past them. I’m just hoping that if that’s the case, the point was to find somebody to keep me on edge and that’s all.”

  “Have you told your parents?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not going to unless something actually happens.” She made a pistol with her fingers and pointed it at her head.

  “Becca!”

  “I’m just kidding. They wouldn’t do that. But seriously, I just hope I don’t get so freaked out that I have to switch schools again.”

  My stomach started to turn inside out, but then I thought of something uplifting.

  “Hey. Are all your messages to do with what you’re wearing?”

  She considered my question. “Pretty much.”

  “Well, then it’s Sheila! It’s got to be—that’s what she does, make’s fun of people with her nasty little messages and phone calls.”

  She looked lost in thought. “You think?”

  “Of course. I bet you anything she’s just messing around.”

  “Or maybe they got her working for them.” She looked at me quizzically.

  I pshawed. “Please. If she were really out to get you, wouldn’t she be less obvious about it at school? That girl picks on us all the time.”

  “Maybe.” Becca didn’t sound convinced. “Or…it’s possible they’ve got it all figured out. Why would I suspect that she had anything to do with them if I wrote her off as a garden-variety bully?”

  “Look, I know her pretty well, and she’s not the slickest cat. If I were one of the Soyles and I needed a mole, I think she’s the last person I’d give the job to.” I studied her face and beamed her a comforting look. “There’s no need to worry about Sheila. She’s just a recovering sword and sorcery addict. That’s all.”

  “Yeah?” She inhaled deeply and wrapped her arms around herself. “Okay, I feel a little better.”

  “But how does this whole story tie into what happened today? With the key that you mentioned?”

  “Somebody broke into my grandparents’ farm last night.”

  “The one in England? Is that where you guys keep the key?”

  “I’m not supposed to say.” She smiled coyly. “So yeah, that about sums it up.” She reached above the headboard to turn out the light. “Welcome to my life. Now let’s pray we don’t go home with any broken bones.”

  We might have been at a ski lodge, but I had a feeling she wasn’t referring to any sports-related injuries.

  { 18 }

  An Unfortunate Plus One

  Becca and I woke up around ten the next morning. She went into the bathroom without saying anything, and I could tell she felt a little uncomfortable about how much she’d told me the night before. We got ready in near silence.

  Down in the restaurant I spotted Andy sitting with his back against the wall, his arms outstretched to hold up the biggest newspaper I’d ever seen. He flashed me a smile over the top of his paper and, feeling pleased as could be, I followed Becca over to the buffet table.

  I don’t buy it when people say they can’t eat when they’re in love. I loaded up on everything in front of me—muffins, mini and English, not to mention eggs and bacon and perfectly spherical scoops of melon—before prancing back to the seat across from Andy.

  “Hey,” I said in a tone I hoped conveyed that we shared a secret, but not that I was desperately in love with him. “How’s the paper?”

  “You know, the usual.” Andy swallowed hard and looked slightly panicked. I was kind of flattered to see he was thinking about what had happened in the pool.

  “Any good news?” I pressed.

  Andy opened his mouth, but before he could answer, a familiar voice came out from behind the foreign page. “Very good news.”

  I couldn’t believe it. The paper folded back to reveal Rye, wearing a pom-pom hat and sitting next to my almost–kissing partner.

  “You look like you just saw the grim reaper.” Rye laughed. “My undereye circles must be awful.”

  I forced a chuckle. “No, no, I just—” I was speechless.

  “Hey, babe.” Rye smiled affably at Becca. “I love that shirt. Is it Calypso?”

  Becca looked down to check what she was wearing—a long gray top with white embroidery around the neck. “No…I think my mom got it from some catalog…Where’d you come from, anyway?”

  “I got a last-minute ticket on Expedia. I am so exhausted; my flight got in at one-thirty last night.”

  “I thought you had a big school project.” Becca took her time as she buttered her sesame bagel.

  “It took less time than expected,” Rye said, avoiding making eye contact with me. “I’m almost done with it.”

  “She’s going to finish it here,” Andy said. He glanced at me, then looked away.

  How could he! I put my hands on my thighs and dug my bitten-off nails in as far as they would go.

  “I see,” Becca said, then took a bite. “Well, that’s good, then. Right?”

  “Right!” they both chirped. But Andy was struggling to fold the paper, and I detected a few beads of sweat on his upper lip.

  “So you guys psyched to hit the slopes?” I asked.

  “I am,” Andy said. “Rye can’t come out.”

  “I’m nearly done with this paper.” She adjusted her hair.

  “More ‘How-to-Snag-a-Man’ self-help manuals?” I intended it as a joke, but it came out sounding bitter.

  Rye shook her head, as if in dismay at my stupidity. “It’s actually on women’s rights in western Africa. And it’s due first thing Monday morning. Totally stressful. I need a good massage.” She turned to Andy and I had to look away.

  Once their make-out session was over, Andy’s cheeks were magenta and he opened the paper to hide behind it.

  A little while later, after he had deposited Rye in the hotel’s business center, Andy came clopping back into the dining room. He was sporting a puffy white cap and a bright red parka. I couldn’t help thinking that he looked like a walking bottle of Soul Sauce—albeit a very attractive one.

  As he came our way, we locked eyes for ten of the slowest seconds I’d experienced in my life
. Was he trying to tell me something? I didn’t blink until he stuck out his tongue at me.

  “What do you say we hit the slopes before the snow melts?” He gently tugged his sister up by her ponytail. I followed a few steps behind, trying to think of the best way to break the news to the pair about my inability to ski. If I didn’t speak up fast, I’d end up communicating it via my full-body cast.

  “Um,” I said when we reached the door, “I can’t go out with you guys today.”

  “Like you can tomorrow?” Andy asked through a grin. “So you can’t ski, big deal.”

  I was completely shocked, and slightly relieved.

  “When you tried on my skis at the airport yesterday, you stepped into the bindings backward,” he explained.

  “I did?” I gulped.

  “Afraid so.” He patted me on the shoulder, his hand lingering for a pleasing extra few seconds. “Priceless stuff.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Becca said. “The best part of skiing has nothing to do with skis. Why don’t you meet us for hot chocolate at Ernie’s? At four?”

  My confusion must have showed.

  “Just take the gondola to the top of the mountain,” Andy said. “Cell phones don’t work that high, but it’s the only restaurant up there. And if you get there on time, I’ll show you how to put skis on the right way.” His tone was calming, and I felt easy all over.

  I’d been eyeing the lobby’s huge couches ever since we got there, and as soon as my friends were out of sight, I curled up on one of them. Its leather was soft and brown, like an old baseball glove. I felt lulled by the grandfather clock’s ticking, and I slept straight through the rest of the morning.

  When I woke up I was discombobulated. I needed some fresh air, so I pulled myself off of my new favorite couch and exited the hotel for the first time since I got there.

  Downtown Aspen was like a Disney version of the Wild West, with rows of perfectly maintained brown buildings tucked into the base of a mountain range. I didn’t get the sense I was going to run into any cowboys or Indians, though; behind the restaurant windows sat lovey-dovey young couples and groups of wealthy older women catching up over white wine.

  I was a little hungry, but most of the places I passed were too expensive for somebody with eleven dollars and change in her pocket. About five blocks from the hotel I found a diner. There were even a few normal cars along with the BMWs and Range Rovers parked out in front.

  I sat at the counter and ordered a Western omelet. It seemed like the right thing to get, being in Colorado and all. Almost immediately the waitress brought my plate. But when she came closer I didn’t see my lunch; instead, I realized I was looking at the fruit salad of my dreams. And no, by that I don’t mean the perfect fruit salad—I’m talking about the ridiculous fruit sculpture I’d dreamed about making once upon a time. There were even the same heart-shaped strawberries, except now they were red instead of muddy gray.

  Oblivious to my stare, the waitress walked straight past me and to the back of the restaurant, and directly to—of all people—Andy’s girlfriend, who was reading an issue of Cosmo, the one women’s magazine I never pick up at the newsstand. Was it possible they’d started running articles on the plight of women in western Africa? I’d have to check it out the next time I got a chance.

  She must have eaten only three bites of fruit before balling up her napkin and throwing it on her plate. And then, as soon as the waitress carted it away, she went outside to make a phone call, dialing the number and screaming “Baby!” into the phone before the door swung shut. It was hard to tell for sure, what with the clinking of plates and the jukebox going at full-blast, but I was pretty sure I heard her say it in a vaguely English accent.

  My heart was beating even faster than it had when I’d first seen her that morning. In as nonchalant a manner as I could muster, I swiveled around to face the window and keep an eye on her.

  Making sure to pull on my sweater hood and push my sunglasses down onto my nose, I watched her lean against a lamppost and cuddle the phone, smiling dreamily whenever the other person was talking. At one point, she brought her index finger to her mouth and ran it over her lips; then she squished her face up to make several kisses before getting off. My head was spinning—Andy had told me that his cell phone didn’t work from the top of the mountain. I guessed it was possible she had caught him at the exact moment he hit the bottom, but that seemed a little unlikely.

  I couldn’t believe my dreams were pointing me to Rye. And, more specifically—and even more unbelievably—to the fact that she was two-timing Andy. How could she?

  The door swung open, and Rye shot back into the diner.

  Fast as I could, I whipped around and faced the way I should have been facing.

  Please please don’t let her see me.

  My omelet had been delivered, and as bewildered as I was by what I had just seen, I dug in. There’s nothing like omlettey goodness to ease a girl’s mind. Other than chocolate, that is.

  Aspen was wasted on me. I was so disturbed by the Rye sighting, I barely noticed the majestic view on the gondola ride up the mountain. And when Andy kicked me under the table, my first reflex was to apologize. I didn’t catch on that he’d been flirting with me until a few minutes later, when I realized he was telling me about some documentary about New York that he loved, and he made a point of noting that my neighborhood used to be full of thugs and fallen women. “Some things never change,” Becca said. In jest, I hope.

  After hot chocolate, Becca and Andy returned to the slopes, and I spent the remainder of the afternoon in our hotel room, tweezing my eyebrows according to Elle’s instructions for heart-shaped faces while taking in part of a cable marathon of The Twilight Zone. When the episode ended, I called Dad and left a message letting him know that I was still alive. Then I left a message for Louis saying hi and flaunting the fact that for once I was the one on the schmancy vacation. Finally, I rushed through my French and global studies assignments.

  We had dinner that night at the Hamlet, the hotel’s supposedly “fancy” restaurant (as if the place we’d eaten in the night before was Applebee’s). Rye was in Andy’s room, still working on her paper. Everyone else was at the table and in a great mood, especially Becca’s parents, who had gotten over the previous day’s troubles by spoiling themselves rotten. Her dad had just come out of a two-hour hot stone massage session, and her mom had treated herself to a pedicure as well as a solar-powered pepper grinder from one of the luxury stores in town.

  “Ever heard the term shopaholic?” Andy whispered to me. “Mom once went to a shrink about it and at the end of a few sessions he told her that she shouldn’t come back—he said it was clear shopping gave her a ‘sense of empowerment’ that therapy could never provide her.”

  “He sounds normal. Not like any of the shrinks I know.”

  He looked at me with interest. “You know a lot of shrinks?”

  “Just from my building,” I said quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “All the psychology professors also have private practices, and at the holiday party the Freudians and Jungians stand on opposite sides of the room and refuse to mingle.”

  “Are you serious?” He scratched his thigh. “That’s friggin’ hilarious. Next time I go to a party and don’t feel like schmoozing I’m going to say I’m a Freudian.”

  “Jungian,” I corrected him. “The Freudians are friendlier.”

  “Seriously,” he said. “I’m dying to come check out this nutty-professor complex.”

  “Fishing for invitations?” Rye piped up, bearing down on us and taking a seat on Andy’s other side.

  “There you are,” Becca’s mom said. “Do you want to order something?”

  Rye shook her head. “I had some fruit in the hotel room, thanks.”

  What a liar. I turned away and spent the remainder of the evening talking to Becca’s grandfather about his memories of Hudson, his alma mater, back when it was an all-boys school. I tried to pay attention to hi
s stories about the mandatory electrical engineering classes and not think about the fact that I’d seen Rye eating fruit not in her hotel room and blowing kisses into her phone earlier in the day. Now she and Andy were barely an inch apart, doing Lord knew what under the table.

  But I couldn’t keep ignoring Rye when she reached over to tap me on the shoulder. “Hey, Carrie, you weren’t at the diner today, were you?”

  “Me?” My knees were knocking together. I was so nervous it didn’t even occur to me to remind her that Carrie isn’t my name. “Um…yeah…why? Were you there?”

  “Barely. I spent most of the time outside talking to my dog, Pickle. He waited until I went out of town to come down with a bug. He puked all over my dad.” She frowned.

  Call me self-sabotaging, but a huge wave of relief rolled over me. There had never been a second when I was particularly delighted that Andy was going out with her, but I would have been even less delighted to know she was running around on him. It would have been the wrongest thing on earth.

  So she’d been phone-kissing her dog—not the weirdest thing I’d ever heard of. A lot of people were grossly intimate with their dogs—I once saw a woman in Washington Square Park use a straw to blow water into her poodle’s mouth.

  As for the whole fruity dream connection? It had to be wishful coincidence. Or, as Kiki would say, piffle.

  A smile broke out on my face.

  “I know,” Rye said, smiling back. “Gross.”

  Then, as if I were no longer sitting there, she abruptly turned to Andy to tell him about the diner she had “discovered.” “It was so cute,” she said. “Everything was out of the 1950s. They had a jukebox full of country music, and those old place mats with scalloped edges. We should go there tomorrow, for an après-ski snack.”

  “Sounds good.” Andy nodded.

  I wanted to gag.

  “And how was your afternoon, dear?” Dixie asked me after a fortifying sip of wine.