Great (11 page)

“I don't know, either,” she said faintly, obeying me.

I made a mental note to check my SAT book. That was exactly the kind of trick they'd probably use to make you lose points.

Then I heard the oven timer ding.

“That's the mac and cheese,” I told her. “I've got to take it out to cool.”

“Mac and cheese?” Jacinta repeated, looking confused. “Like Kraft mac and cheese?”

“No way,” I said. “I don't mess with that Kraft garbage. This is the real deal. Homemade with fancy cheeses.”

Jacinta looked a little relieved that I had made a properly pretentious version of comfort food. I left her on the couch and went to the kitchen to get the dish out of the oven. Then the doorbell rang, and it was Jacinta's housekeeper with the snickerdoodles.
Then
I realized I still hadn't set the table on the deck, or made fresh lemonade.

I bustled about, feeling like Suzy Homemaker, and set out what my mother would have called “an exquisite spread” on the table on the back deck. I was so consumed in my activity that I jumped a little when the doorbell rang.

Delilah Fairweather stood on the front porch wearing a red shirtdress that had probably been a gift from Ralph Lauren himself. She looked like the epitome of an all-American girl. Skags would've scolded me for the thought, pointing out that America is a vast mosaic of individuals of different ethnic backgrounds, colors, shapes, etc.—but Delilah certainly had that classic Barbie look down pat.

“Hello there,” Delilah said.

“C'mon in,” I said, ushering her into the foyer.

“Your house is beautiful,” she cooed. “Your mother has perfect taste.”

“She's an expert shopper,” I said. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“You couldn't do a mimosa, could you?” she asked mischievously, her big blue eyes sparkling.

“Sadly, no,” I said. “I know I sound like a nerd, but my mom would flip if she found out I'd opened any of her champagne.”

“Oh, that's no problem,” Delilah said. “I forget that most people's parents actually notice if they steal their alcohol. Merilee isn't the most—attentive mommy.” She giggled.

“I just made some lemonade. Want any?”

“You made it yourself?” Delilah sounded truly impressed. “Of course I'd like some!” Then her eyes widened in surprise. I looked over my shoulder in the direction she was looking, and there in the doorway to the living room was Jacinta Trimalchio, pale as could be in her little dress and elf boots. Delilah instantly generated a friendly smile and looked at me expectantly.

“Oh,” I said, a little confused. “Delilah, this is my neighbor, Jacinta Trimalchio.”

Delilah gave a squeal of delight.

“Oh my gosh,” she said, grinning wide. “I
adore
your site. It's
such
a pleasure to finally meet you.” Jacinta appeared frozen by some invisible force, so I gamely put my arm around her waist and pushed her forward. I may get a case of the Nervous Naomi Babbles now and then, but I don't think I've ever appeared this terrified when being introduced to a new person. Jacinta, on the other hand, was looking at Delilah as if she were a ghost.

“Jacinta,” I said after an uncomfortable silence. “This is Delilah Fairweather.” It was such an unnecessary statement that I immediately felt embarrassed.

“Why don't you sit down and tell me all about the site,” Delilah suggested, and I felt a rush of gratitude toward her. Here she was, confronted with a freakishly silent girl, and she was really making an effort to make her comfortable. Without a word, Jacinta obeyed. The two girls sat on opposite ends of the living room couch staring at each other, while I stood with hands awkwardly clasped in front of me.

“For how long have you been blogging?” Delilah asked politely.

“S-since I was fourteen,” Jacinta said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Four years.”

“Well, I've been a
huge
fan for the past three,” Delilah said, soldiering onward. “I remember the first time you featured me in a Spotlight, when Mom and I did the red carpet for the Whitney Museum benefit. I couldn't believe it. I was so excited.”

“That's lovely,” Jacinta said faintly.

I could tell this was going to be a complete disaster. Jacinta was acting completely out of character. Okay, so it occurred to me that I didn't exactly know her character very well, but she sure wasn't the confident, bubbly girl with whom I'd gone to lunch.

“I'm going to get some lemonade and cookies,” I announced in an unusually high-pitched voice. “Be right back.” I turned on my heel and left, and heard someone rush after me.

“I'm freaking out,” Jacinta whispered urgently as we walked into the kitchen.

“What's going on?” I whispered. “You were so excited about meeting her.”

“I'm just—I guess—oh, I don't know,” she fretted as I poured three glasses of lemonade and set them on a tray. “I've wanted to meet her for so long, and now I just don't know what to say. She's so—
her
, you know?”

I tried hard to conceal my growing annoyance. I hate awkward social situations, and it feels like they're
always
happening around me. I put some snickerdoodles on the tray and pushed it toward her.

“Here,” I said in a voice that sounded oddly like my mother's. “She's your guest. You bring her the cookies and lemonade.”

“Don't leave me alone in there with her!” Jacinta pleaded.

“I have to make a phone call,” I said, sounding colder than I'd intended.

Practically shivering, Jacinta sighed and picked up the tray, walking into the other room. I got out my cell phone, walking out onto the deck and shutting the door carefully behind me.

“What's up?” Skags asked when she picked up her phone. “How's everything in the land of moneybags and Botox?”

“Completely weird,” I said. “I had Delilah over to meet this girl who lives next door, Jacinta. She's this style blogger who thinks Delilah is the next big supermodel, and she threw this crazy party the other night with a Ferris wheel and carnival games and fireworks in the backyard.”

“Look at you, socializing,” Skags said. “Your mother must be delirious with excitement. Her little girl's making plastic friends!”

“Ugh,” I said. “I don't think Delilah's going to be my friend after this. This girl Jacinta is acting crazy. It's like she can't even talk because she's so starstruck.”

“Starstruck?” Skags snorted. “Over
Delilah Fairweather
?”

“They're in the living room right now, and it's just so awkward,” I said.

“You left them alone?” Skags laughed. “Yeah, you're a really great hostess, Naomi.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” I hissed. “Jacinta's the one who made me have Delilah over, and I made lunch for us and everything, but I seriously don't think I can suffer through another hour of this weirdness.”

“Dude, I don't know what to tell you,” Skags said. “But I gotta go. I've got a tennis date at two.”

“With that hot girl we met at the courts that one time?”

“Nope.” Skags sounded very self-satisfied. “You'll never guess who I'm playing tennis with.”

“Carter?” Carter was our extremely preppy gay guy friend. He was always trying to get us to play tennis or croquet or some other fancy activity.

“Jenny Carpenter.”

“
What?
” I gasped. “Just the other day she was buying a burrito from you, and now you're tennis buddies?”

“Dude, I told you,” Skags said. “The girl freaking loves me.”

“No way. Absolutely no way. That girl is straight as an arrow.”

“She asked if I wanted to play tennis. It's totally a date.”

“But—but—we're talking about Jenny
Carpenter
. The Queen Beast!” I was thoroughly baffled. “I mean, she doesn't even talk to girls who don't have Louis Vuitton purses.”

“Well, she talks to me,” Skags said a little huffily. “I gotta go. Good luck with Barbie and her Web stalker.” She hung up abruptly, and I felt a little guilty for dismissing her Jenny Carpenter fantasy.

I groaned aloud. I knew I had to go back into that living room, but I really, really, really didn't want to. I stalled in the kitchen for a few minutes, wiping down surfaces that didn't need to be wiped down, before I resigned myself to reentering the living room.

When I returned to the living room, I was confronted by a sight that confused me even more than Jacinta's earlier behavior had.

Jacinta and Delilah had both kicked off their shoes. Jacinta sat on the couch with her feet tucked under her, her head propped up in her hand, her elbow resting on the back of the couch. She was leaning toward Delilah, her eyes rapt with attention. For her part, Delilah had stretched out on the couch and draped her legs over Jacinta's lap. When I walked in, Delilah was laughing gently at something Jacinta had said. The energy in the room couldn't have changed more drastically. The two seemed like the absolute best of friends.

I stood in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity before Delilah looked up and noticed me.

“Oh, Naomi!” she exclaimed in her sweet girly voice. “We're having the
best
time. I can't believe I
finally
got to meet the girl behind
The Wanted
.” She shot Jacinta a look I couldn't read, and Jacinta appeared to stifle a giggle.

“Oh, um, that's great,” I said, waiting for Jacinta to look at me and say something. But she remained facing Delilah, her expression blissful.

“Did you guys want lunch?” I asked lamely.

At this, Jacinta turned and smiled at me. “I was just asking Delilah over to see my house, love,” she said. Then, almost as if an afterthought, she added, “And you're welcome to come, too. But then, you've already seen it.”

“Not the whole place,” I said. “Like the non-blue bedrooms. Maybe after that we could come back and have lunch?”

“Of course,” Jacinta said, and she and Delilah rose to their feet.

We walked over to Jacinta's mansion, the girls murmuring and giggling conspiratorially in front of me while I trailed after. It wasn't hard to feel left out, though my feeling of exclusion was trumped by my absolute astonishment at the 180-degree turnaround in the girls' attitudes. “I
must
see the pool first,” Delilah announced, and Jacinta obliged her by leading us out back to the river pool. Delilah squealed with delight at the waterslides, the footbridges, the whole setup.

“It looks like it's got a
current
,” she said with wonder, looking at Jacinta.

“It does,” Jacinta said. “You should come over to swim. Or just to float.”

“I'll come
every day
,” Delilah said, and she almost sounded as if she really meant it.

Then it was time for the tour of the indoors, which took quite a while because the place was so huge. Turns out I'd only seen part of the house. On the first floor, I was familiar with the bathroom, main kitchen, dining room, living room, foyer, slightly smaller second living room, cigar room, billiards room, and library. But I hadn't seen the home theater or the greenhouse attached to the far side of the house, the side not facing my mother's place.

That greenhouse was really something. When we walked in, I heard Delilah gasp. The whole place was blooming with red and white rosebushes. She looked at Jacinta in wonder.

“It was empty when I got here,” Jacinta said by way of explanation. “I put in a big order at the nursery.”

“It's
beautiful
,” Delilah whispered reverently.

“Better than the snickerdoodles?” Jacinta asked. I cast a curious glance at her. One thing didn't seem to have much to do with the other.

“I don't know . . . the snickerdoodles were
pretty
great,” Delilah said.

“Would you call them ‘scrumptious'?” Jacinta inquired. This cracked Delilah up for some reason. I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was a truly unnecessary addition to this little social gathering—a real third wheel.

“Oh, but you haven't seen the upstairs yet, love!” Jacinta suddenly cried, and Delilah clapped excitedly. Delilah held her hand out to Jacinta, and Jacinta's eyes widened. When she took the proffered hand, you could fairly see the electricity crackle up her rail-thin arm. Together, she and Delilah floated in some invisible cloud out of the green room, down the long hall and into the foyer, where they ascended the stairs as if by magic. I couldn't have been less a part of their world if I'd actually left the house and gone home—something I was strongly considering.

Upstairs, we went through the rainbow of rooms and bathrooms in reverse order—indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, and finally red.

“This is my favorite part of the entire house,” Jacinta said proudly, pointing to what looked like a closet door.

“Is it a walk-in?” I asked, trying to reinsert myself into the conversation. Both girls looked at me with surprise, as if they'd completely forgotten I was there.

In response, Jacinta flung open the door to reveal a set of display shelves, dramatically lit from above. On the shelves was a series of similar-looking handbags in a rainbow of colors. They didn't look too impressive to me, but Delilah seemed bowled over. She stared at the bags, her blue eyes filling with tears.

“They're—they're so beautiful,” she said softly, her voice catching a little. “They're all Birkins, aren't they?”

Jacinta nodded.

This was unprecedented. I'd never seen Delilah cry, ever. I'd never even seen her get teary-eyed. And suddenly it occurred to me that I was an intruder in a private moment I hadn't been meant to see, and though I couldn't imagine why or how it had all come to this—Delilah Fairweather crying over handbags in the bedroom of some blogger—it was time for me to go.