With effort, I force my thoughts to the kids and their impending performance, Deb and the chal enges of residency, my col ege checklist, Nick. Dad’s waterproof watch on my wrist wil beep when it’s time to go inside. If I could get it to zap me when my thoughts wander to Reid, I’d be golden.
Forcing him from my mind isn’t working so wel . I think I need an exorcism.
When I’m finished for the day, I scrol through my texts. A couple are from Aimee and Kayla, friends from school I’ve only seen twice since graduation. The two of them have been BFFs since junior high. They al owed me within the circle of their friendship during the first month of tenth grade. I’ve never been as close to either of them as they are to each other, but that’s okay. Neither of them have a sister like Deb.
Aimee: so when were you gonna tel us about REID
ALEXANDER???
Kayla: Srsly, there are pics al over the internet of you two at that habitat place and you are ful frontal ON TOP OF HIM
I cal Aimee, knowing there’s a ninety-nine percent chance she’s with Kayla after their coordinated texts. At school, everyone cal ed them the twins because they did everything together. They took the same classes, joined the same groups, dated boys who were friends—or brothers. In a few weeks, they’re starting at UCLA.
Rooming together, of course.
“Dori!” Kayla answers Aimee’s phone. “Are you friends with Reid Alexander? Are you more than friends?
Ohmigod, the parties we could get into… you will take me and Aimee, right?”
“We aren’t actual y friends, and we’re certainly not more than friends.”
“But that picture! You’re stretched across him like he’s wearing you!”
Ugh, I can’t believe she just said that. Can the photos be that bad?
The phone jostles and Aimee’s hyper no-punctuation voice takes over. “Dori I know you don’t real y trust guys and Reid Alexander is the last guy on the planet to trust but honestly this is not a trust or not trust sort of moment this is a once in a lifetime sort of moment!”
I don’t trust guys? What?
I sigh, knowing they would strangle me with their bare, perfectly manicured hands if they knew what happened in private a few minutes after I landed on top of Reid yesterday. “You guys know how the press manipulates things to look a certain way…”
“Dori need I repeat myself you were on top of him!
Unless you are suggesting superb photoshopping that was not press manipulation.”
Wow. This is not good. “I fel . He caught me. That’s al that happened.”
She sighs, as though I’ve just confirmed a passionate affair. “That’s what the stories are saying—that you tripped off the edge of the patio—freaking brilliant by the way! And then he caught you. So romantic…”
My head stil feels bruised, my knee is abraded, and I’m pretty sure I got felt up when we were going down, even if Reid wasn’t aware of doing it… not exactly my idea of romantic.
“Dori.” Kayla has taken the phone back. “You honestly aren’t friends with him?”
“No, I’m real y not.”
“Wel , crap.” I hear Aimee saying something in the background, and then Kayla’s voice returns. “Could you make friends with him?”
I can’t help laughing. Aimee and I grew up with Hol ywood down the street, and Kayla moved here when she was a kid. We should al be a little less easily starstruck. “I’m not even going to be there again until next week, and I leave for Ecuador the week after that. Besides, he’s a bigheaded celebrity. He’s not interested in ordinary girls.”
“Hmph.” Her tone is sul en. “I guess we’l just have to look forward to regular col ege boys, then.”
This is particularly funny, considering the fact that I’ve listened to the two of them wax poetic about col ege guys for the past three years solid.
Chapter 15
REID
The paparazzi swarm has bal ooned. George is fielding hourly cal s from journalists proposing in-depth, exclusive, one-on-one reporting of my rehabilitation. We both know they’re far more interested in digging up juicy info about my possible hookup with a member of the peasantry.
I wasn’t shocked when Dori didn’t show up yesterday, between our little interface in the bathroom and the fact that my fansites were going crazy over photos of the two of us looking like we’re making out in the back yard. I’m accustomed to groundless rumors and misinterpreted photos. You have to laugh that shit off or you could end up in handcuffs after decking some ass**le photographer or stalker weirdo… or turn into a recluse, hiding from public scrutiny.
Stil , I was sure Dori would bounce in today, sporting a tshirt proclaiming her loathing of some vice I’ve reveled in at one time or another, if not on a regular basis. But Roberta just told me she won’t be back until next week.
“Was she that shaken up by al the photos online…?” I gesture vaguely to the surrounding yards ful of photographers after grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler. What I don’t say: Or was it the attempted kiss that freaked her the hell out?
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Roberta frowns, uncertain. “She’s working with her church’s VBS program, and they needed her this week.”
“VBS?”
Roberta looks at me like I’m an alien because I don’t recognize the acronym. “Vacation Bible School?” she prompts.
No help. Those three words don’t go together in any way in my experience. “So what’s she doing there that’s so important?” I twist the cap off the bottle and drink as we move towards the line for lunch.