1:25 P.M., PST
“Hot coffee, hot coffee, coming through,” Monty bellowed. He offered his cardboard box full of to-go coffees to everyone behind the table. “Sam?”
“Thanks, Monty.”
“I live to serve,” he said cheerfully, offering the coffee box to Mrs. Breckner. “Very sweet of you,” she said. The teacher grabbed a cup and two sugars.
“Hey, it’s New Year’s Day; I figured everyone could use it. So what’d you do last night for New Year’s Eve, Mrs. Breckner?”
“Not much. A small voodoo ceremony with close friends,” she deadpanned, sipping her coffee.
Sam chuckled. She liked Mrs. Breckner, who, frankly, was the best English teacher she’d ever had. Sam could almost see a To Sir, with Love thing going on if Sidney Poitier had been white, Jewish, and dumpy, clad in a deeply awful peach pantsuit.
“Dee?” Monty held out the coffee box.
“No thanks. Coffee is very bad for you, Monty. It’s processed with known carcinogens. It can give you cancer and make you grow extra toes.”
Sam gawked at Dee. “Where do you get these things?”
“Organic Living Today magazine. I’ll pick one up for you next time I’m at Whole Foods.” Dee placed a scoop of caviar onto a paper plate and passed it to the wild-eyed woman in rags who stood before her, then craned around to their teacher. “We’ve served three hundred meals, Mrs. Breckner,” Dee called. “How many more do we have to do?”
“There’s still plenty of food left and plenty of people,” Mrs. Breckner said. “Knock yourself out and hang in there for a while, Delia. Think of all the points you’ll get in heaven. You too, Sam.”
“God doesn’t keep a scorecard, Mrs. Breckner,” Dee said solemnly.
“Can we just finish, Dee, without you picking a fight with her?” Sam hissed to Dee. “I need her recommendation to get into Princeton.”
Dee stopped serving and turned to Sam. “What do you mean, Princeton? Since when are you going to Princeton?”
“I didn’t say I’m going; I said I’m applying.”
“You’ve got like a 4.3 average, Sam. You’ll get in.”
“Not necessarily.”
“And you did 800 on your verbal SATs.”
“And 650 on math,” Sam reminded her. “Other negatives: I’m rich. I’m white.”
Dee shifted her weight and blocked the sun with her hands so she could see Sam better. “So why do you want to go there?”
“Last I heard, it was a really good school.”
Dee knew that. But what if Sam wanted to go to Princeton because Ben went to Princeton? Or was she just being Little Miss Paranoid? Her eyes slid over to Anna and Parker, who’d just rejoined them. Anna was wearing Parker’s jacket. Dee nudged Sam. “Unbelievable.”
“What?”
“Anna. Look at her. She was with Ben last night and she had his jacket, too. That innocent act is such a crock.”
“She had Ben’s jacket because Cammie ripped her dress off,” Sam reminded Dee.
“It was an accident. Right, Cammie?”
“Would I do something that nasty?” Cammie asked, bringing another stack of paper plates over to Sam and Dee.
Dee let that one slide. “So, how late did you stay at the party last night?”
Cammie shrugged. “Who knows?”
“You should have come to Sam’s. We went skinny dipping.”
“Big whup.”
“Shut up. It was fun.”
Cammie almost smiled. “Who’d you end up with, Delia?”
“Oh, you know …,” Dee said evasively.
“Parker,” Sam filled in.
“We made out in the pool, that’s all.” Her eyes cut to Parker and Anna again. “That Anna is like a man-eater or something!”
“Literally,” Cammie said smugly. “She must be very talented, considering Ben’s reaction. And now she’s your new friend, Sam. I could weep.”
“I only invited her to pump her about her date with Ben on your behalf,” Sam protested.
Cammie pushed some strawberry-and-gold curls off her face. “Or maybe you’re hoping some of her East Coast WASPy perfection will rub off on you.”
Heat came to Sam’s cheeks. Sometimes Cammie scared the hell out of her; it was like she was inside Sam’s head. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I know,” Cammie agreed. “But it’s also true.”
“Hey, guys, do we have any seltzer or anything like that?” Parker asked, coming over to the girls. “Anna’s stomach is kind of upset.”
“Gee, don’t say hi, Parker,” Dee said pointedly.
He looked at her blankly. “I said hi to you before, Dee. Get any sleep?”
“You know I didn’t,” Dee replied. “And I know you didn’t.”
“My bad,” Parker said, pointing at himself cheerfully. “Last night was fun, huh? So, we got seltzer for Anna?”
“Go buy her some if it means that much to you,” Dee suggested through clenched teeth.
He looked at her curiously. “You pissed about something, Dee?”
“No.”
“Yeah, you are.” He came around the table and tipped Dee’s face up to his. “Hey, you upset? Because I care about how you feel.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Wow.” Parker put his hands to his heart. “You misjudge me, Dee. We’ll talk later, okay?” He headed off to find seltzer.
“That boy is such a player,” Sam said.
“You realize he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about you, Delia, right?” Cammie asked.
“So? I’m not into him, either. But he had his tongue down my throat last night. I don’t appreciate being ignored.”
“Good for you, Dee,” Sam cheered. “Stick up for yourself!”
“Well, I’m not jealous, anyway. Parker and I fooled around, that’s all. There’s another guy I like.”
“Really?” Sam asked. “Who?”
Dee looked away. “Just someone.”
Fifty feet away, Anna felt her stomach churn dangerously. She took off Parker’s jacket, since she’d gone from freezing to a cold sweat in about thirty seconds. Something was definitely wrong with her. She walked behind the buffet table. “Is there a glass of water I could have?”
“All we’ve got is orange juice and it’s probably warm by now,” Sam said, noting that Anna really did look a little sick. “Parker went to get you seltzer. You want the juice?”
The thought of warm orange juice almost made Anna gag. “No. Thanks.”
Mrs. Breckner frowned at Anna. “You’re not one of my students.”
“She’s a friend of mine who just moved here from New York,” Sam explained, introducing Anna to the teacher.
“Will we be seeing you at Beverly Hills High?” Mrs. Breckner asked.
“No. I’ll be doing an internship at Randall Prescott.” I hope, she added mentally. Suddenly Anna’s legs felt rubbery. I hope. She really needed to sit down. But there was nowhere to sit other than some stone benches quite a ways down the boardwalk.
“So Anna, how was the rest of the evening with Ben?” Dee asked. “We missed you at Sam’s!”
Anna’s face betrayed nothing. “Fine.”
“Dee,” Sam chided. “That’s really none of our business.”
“But you said you invited her to—”
Sam shot Dee a warning look. It took Dee a beat to catch on. “Oh. You’re right,” Dee admitted. “Whatever you and Ben did last night is your business. That was a real invasion of your personal space, Anna. Sorry.”
“Not a problem,” Anna said graciously, feeling worse by the minute. Sweat beaded up on her forehead. Maybe Ben had given her the flu.
“So when are you and Ben going out again?” Sam asked brightly.
“I thought you just said—,” Dee began.
“I’m asking as a friend, not prying,” Sam explained. “There’s a difference.”
Ben again. When would it end? Anna wished she could just banish him from the planet.
“I don’t really know,” Anna replied.
“He’s such a great guy,” Dee said in her little girl voice, sighing.
Anna felt like yelling, No! He’s not! He’s an asshole and a player and I fell for his line of shit.
“Hickey alert,” Cammie said, pointing at Dee’s neck. “I didn’t notice it before. How funny. And just where did you leave your mark on Parker last night, Delia?”
Parker and Dee? Anna wondered. But at the wedding, hadn’t Parker been with that girl Skye? These people were like sexual pickup sticks: Throw them in the air and they land in a whole new configuration.
“Thank God, no more chicken,” Sam said, shoveling the last piece onto a paper plate. “Monty!” she yelled. “We need more garbage bags!”
“Seltzer,” Parker pronounced, trotting over with a cold plastic cup and handing it to Anna. “At your service.”
“Thanks.” Anna sipped it. It didn’t seem to help. Her stomach felt queasy again, worse than before. She concentrated on deep breathing and willed the feeling away.
Sam peered at Anna more closely. “Seriously. You look like shit.”
“I’m not feeling very well, actually,” Anna admitted. “I really think I need to leave. I wonder if Monty could—”
“Say cheese, everyone!” Monty ordered as he aimed a camera at the group. “Move in closer. This one’s for the yearbook!”
Before Anna could protest that she shouldn’t be in the photo because she, thank God, didn’t go to their school, and before she could say again how truly, deeply awful she felt, the group was pressing in on her: Sam on one side and Cammie on the other, one big, happy group of really keen friends.
“Please, I have to—,” Anna groaned, but everyone was talking and mugging for the camera. Monty begged for one more shot. Cammie “playfully” leaned in, blocking Anna from the shot.
“Cammie!”
Something about the distress in Anna’s voice made Cammie turn toward her. Anna opened her mouth again to explain that she felt like she was going to be sick. But before she could say it, she was it and puked all over Cammie.
Just as Monty snapped the photo.
Vomit dripped from Cammie’s red curls onto her lemon-yellow silk Marc Jacobs camisole. It oozed down her gold Calvin Klein leather jacket and landed on the toes of her fawn-colored Gucci suede boots. Cammie cursed hysterically.
Anna would have been terribly humiliated, except that she passed out and missed the whole thing.