The Daughters (10 page)

“Mine are like that, too, even when I try to write about other stuff,” Todd said, rubbing his hands on his jeans again. He
seemed jumpy. “I don’t know, it’s just the way I write. Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I saw the YouTube clip.”

“You did?” she asked, horrified.

“It really wasn’t that bad, you know. It was kind of cute.”

“Cute?”
she asked, turning to look at him.

“I could tell it just slipped out,” he said. “I don’t blame you. It must be hard, being around that all the time. I couldn’t
do it. No way.” He stretched out his legs and contemplated his feet.

“But it’s funny,” he went on. “I always thought you were prettier than your mom.”

“What?” she asked, almost giving him a deathstare.

Todd frowned. “Sorry, does that offend you or something?”

“No, it doesn’t offend me. I just…” She shook her head. “You
do
?”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong—your mom’s still hot,” he said. “But so are you.”

“You’re a psycho, you know that?” she said.

“Why is that psycho?” he asked.

“Because it is. And you don’t have to say that because of the YouTube clip—”

“I’m telling you this because that’s what I think,” Todd said. “I think you’re prettier than her.”

“Stop it!” she laughed, smacking him on the arm.

In a flash, he caught her hand and covered it with his own. Lizzie froze. Todd held her hand, and then, carefully, turned
it this way and that, examining it, stretching out her fingers, like it was a piece of treasure he’d just found. She watched
him, afraid to move, feeling the warmth of his skin over hers. When he finally braided his fingers with her own, she stopped
breathing. His hand was so warm it sent chills through her body. Her skin tingled. Something was about to happen.

He looked up at her. With the smoothest movement, he began to lean in, closer and closer, his lips headed straight toward
hers, until…

She scrambled out of her chair and up onto her feet. “Where’s the bathroom?” she asked, almost breathless.

A red flush began to spread over Todd’s bewildered face. “Uh, what?”

“Where’s the bathroom? Sorry,” she added.

“Downstairs,” he said quietly. Then he got to his feet and cleared his throat. “I’ll take you.”

She knew that she had just made one of the biggest mistakes of her life, but it was too late. He was on his feet. She had
no choice but to follow him. They walked through the door and trudged down the steps in silence.
You are a moron
, she thought.
A complete and utter moron.

At the bottom of the stairs he pointed to a door. “It’s right here,” he said.

“Great. Thanks.” She threw herself inside as quickly as possible and shut the door. Then she stood over the chrome sink and
turned on the water full blast.

Todd Piedmont liked her. He had just been about to
kiss
her. And she had bolted. For no reason. Well, she knew the reason. She was scared. Scared to death. But why? And most importantly,
how was she going to walk out of here, pretend this never happened, and hopefully get him to kiss her again?

Carina would know what to do,
she thought, reaching for her iPhone. Carina would supply her with a witty retort, a way to wriggle out of this mess.

When she pulled out her phone, she found that she already had a text from her.

HELP!

HUGE FIGHT WITH THE JURG!!

COME OVER NOW!!!!

Without a second thought, she threw the iPhone back in her bag and whipped open the door. Out in the hall, Todd jumped.

“I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” she said. “It’s an emergency.”

If Todd had looked surprised when she walked into the bathroom, now he looked utterly confused. “Okay,” he said carefully.

“It’s Carina. She needs me.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I’ll try and come back later, though.”

She wanted to say
I’m not blowing you off
, but then that would have only made it more obvious that this was exactly what she was doing. Why was she such a freak?

Instead she walked to the elevator and punched the button. “I’m sure the party’ll be great,” she said lamely.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding as if he couldn’t care less.

The elevator doors opened. She stepped inside. There had to be something she could say to explain.

“I’ll see you later,” she said, just before the door closed.
Brilliant
, she thought as the elevator dropped down to the lobby.

She leaned against the wall and sighed. That had been a grade A disaster. Just a few minutes ago he had been about to do something
so incredible that she would probably never have to watch
The Notebook
again for the rest of her life. And now it was gone, as fleeting as the sunset they’d been watching upstairs. And it had
been all her fault.

Lizzie sighed deeply as the elevator coasted to a stop.

She had to come back tonight to the party. She just had to. Otherwise she wasn’t sure if she’d ever get back to that moment
ever again.

When Lizzie walked into the lobby of Carina’s futuristic glass high-rise on Fifty-Seventh Street, Hudson was already waiting
on the bench by the cascading waterfall. An overnight bag was at her feet. They knew from experience that when Carina and
the Jurg had a fight, it usually took a while to cheer Carina up.

Lizzie wanted to spill every detail about what had just happened at Todd’s house, but it seemed more important to ask Hudson
about Carina. “Do you know what happened?” she asked.

“I only know what you do,” Hudson said as she rose from the bench. “They had a fight, and she’s freaking out. But bad this
time. Really bad.” Hudson looked beautiful in a smoke-colored, sleeveless top with sequined straps, and an extra-skinny pair
of purple Genetic jeans. Lizzie could never pull off the skinny jeans look. They made her look like a giraffe.

They got out at the sixty-fifth floor and walked down the hall to the only door. Out of habit, Lizzie glanced up at the security
camera above the door. The Jurg’s apartment was protected by a full-time security guard named Otto, who only buzzed in approved
guests. They heard the buzz, and then the heavy door unlocked. Lizzie pushed it open.

Otto sat behind his desk in his suit and tie.

“She’s in the den,” he said, pointing down the hall.

“Carina?” Lizzie called out.

All they could hear was a Coldplay song coming from the den. Lizzie and Hudson looked at each other. Whenever Carina listened
to Coldplay, she was in trouble.

They walked into the room. The Jurg’s collection of rare Picasso sketches hung on the gold walls, and on the mantel just under
the flatscreen was a display of Fabergé eggs. On one of the leather couches sat Carina, her blond head bent, her tiny frame
shaking underneath a pale blue T-shirt. Her hair hung in damp, ragged chunks around her face. In her hand, she kneaded one
of her dad’s stress balls ferociously.

Lizzie went straight to the stereo and turned down the dial. “Why are you listening to this? No wonder you’re crying.”

“What’s going on, C?” Hudson asked gently, letting her bag drop to the ground and taking a seat beside her on the couch. “Just
tell us. It’s okay.”

Carina kept her head bowed so they couldn’t see her face, but a tear splashed silently onto the leg of her cargo pants. Carina
rarely cried, and when she did it was with a quiet, graceful dignity that Lizzie almost envied.

“He wants me to work for him,” she finally said, raising her tear-stained face. Big red blotches spread underneath her eyes,
which were shriveled from crying. “He says I’m going to inherit his company one day, so he wants me to start
now
.”

“Where?” Hudson asked. “At one of his magazines?”

“Nope,” Carina sniffed, wiping her freckled nose with the back of her hand. “The corporate office. Wednesday and Friday after
school and all day on Saturday.” She sniffled again. “No more soccer. No more surfing on the weekends. No more Model UN. No
more hanging out with you guys. No more anything. Wednesdays and Fridays. Till
eight
. And Saturdays. All so I can watch him and his creepy manservant plot more world domination.”

“Ugh. You mean Ed Bracken?” Hudson asked, visibly horrified.

Carina nodded and tied her damp hair into a sloppy bun. Ed Bracken was the Jurg’s right-hand man and all-around suck-up. He
was so good at sucking up Carina also called him the Anteater. He had slumped shoulders, a weird shuffling walk, and gray
hair that was so thin and greasy that it looked painted on his head. Rumor had it that he lived with his mother, even though
he had to be in his mid-fifties. Lizzie believed it.

“So what’d you say?” Lizzie asked.

“What could I say? You know how he is.” Carina picked at her hemp bracelets. “He’s always wanted me to learn the business,
even though he knows I’m not interested and it’s totally not me. He doesn’t care. He pretty much ran his own newspaper when
he was sixteen. So… it’s my turn now.”

“Did you say no?” Hudson inquired.

“I tried. There’s no arguing with him.”

“But you’re the best arguer I know,” Lizzie pointed out.

“Not this time. He’s got me totally beat.” Carina shook her head, and her hair drifted back around her ears. “And the worst
part is, this is my life. He said I’m his sole heir,” she said, using finger quotes. “Which means I’m gonna do this the rest
of my life, like it or not.”

“So just tell him that you don’t want to inherit his business. Tell him there’s other stuff you want to do,” Hudson counseled,
taking an elastic band off her wrist and putting Carina’s hair in a ponytail.

“Like what? Lead Outward Bound trips?” Carina’s chin quivered with a building sob. “Stuff like this just reminds me that he doesn’t even
know me. I’m just this kid who lives in his house. He doesn’t have a clue who I am. He doesn’t see me. He looks at these paintings
more than he looks at me.” She continued to knead the stress ball. “And now I just have to do what he says. Like everyone
else.”

Hudson threw her arms around Carina. “We’ll figure this out,” she whispered, hugging her. “Don’t worry.”

Lizzie crouched down next to Carina, too. “You’re going to be okay, Carina. You really are.”

Carina sniffled and got to her feet. “Well, if he’s gonna make me do this, I’m gonna get back at him. That’s for damn sure.”
She shoved her feet into a pair of Havaianas. “All right, you guys, let’s go. Time to get out of here.”

“Where are we going?” Lizzie asked, alarmed.

“Montauk,” Carina said. “We’ll have the place to ourselves. My dad went to LA. And it’s my last chance to go there till I
start indentured servitude.”

“But—” Lizzie started.

“What?” Carina asked, wiping her puffy eyes. “You can’t go?”

Lizzie felt Hudson watching her tensely. Of course she had to go. She couldn’t desert her friend now. Not even to go back
to Todd’s house and try to rescue her evening. “No, that’s fine, I mean…”

“Oh my God, Todd’s party!” Carina realized, grabbing her arm. “I forgot! If you want to go back, Lizbutt, you totally can.”

“No, let’s go. It’s not a big deal.”

“You sure?” Carina held on to Lizzie’s arm.

“Totally. Let’s go.”

When they reached the lobby, the Jurg’s massive black Range Rover was waiting for them in front of the building. Carina could
summon it whenever she wanted, along with Karl’s driver, Max. As Lizzie followed her friends into the backseat, she reached
into her bag for her phone. She’d have to just send Todd a text. She didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t desert her friend.

Can’t make it back to the party, but have a great time! I’ll explain later…

Clearly, she wasn’t going to get into Carina’s drama with him in a text.

For that night and most of Sunday, the three of them walked on the beach, watched an entire season of
Project Runway
, and swam in the Jurg’s lagoon-shaped pool. Little by little Carina began to show progress. By Sunday she was almost back
to her old, bossy self, criticizing Nina Garcia’s comments and pointing out how much better her version of a dress made from
car parts would be. But Lizzie couldn’t get her mind off Todd. She played the scene on the roof over and over in her mind.
She checked her iPhone every five minutes.

On Sunday afternoon, she couldn’t take it any longer. During a break in the
Runway
marathon, she stole into the Jurg’s office and wrote Todd a message on Facebook.

How was the party??

For the rest of the day, she checked her e-mail inbox frantically. He never wrote back.

Lizzie sat on the edge of her desk in homeroom, her eyes locked on the doorway like a Marine-trained sniper. It was Monday
morning, and Todd still hadn’t written her back. A thousand possibilities had begun to race through her head, but only three
seemed likely. He a) was offended by her bizarre last-minute exit, b) thought she was crazy because of her bizarre last-minute
exit, or c) had suddenly moved back to London.

Madame Dupuis stood at the front of the room in one of her heinously authentic pantsuits from the seventies. Her clothes were
so bad that sometimes you could barely look at her. Why were teachers so clueless?

“Allez, allez,”
she called out in her French Canadian accent, furrowing her unibrow over the class list. “Lisa Angelides.”

“Here.”

“Bryan Buka.”

“Here.”

“Lizzie, relax, he’ll be here,” Carina whispered on her left. She had made a full recovery since Friday night, and was now
doing her geometry homework at the last minute. Hudson was reading a copy of
Teen Vogue
.

“Ava Elting,” Madame droned.

“Here!” Ava yelled from her corner, lifting her auburn head. Then she went back to whispering with the Icks. The bunch of
them had been in a huddle since homeroom had started. Something big had gone down this weekend, that was for sure.