Page 5

Five

Before

September 2nd

I can’t bring myself to look away from Claire. All I can think is Contain this as she stares me down from the doorway. Disastrous scenarios play out in my mind: Claire provoking a fight, trashing the house, turning partygoers—or worse, Dylan—against me, using her well of gossip and secrets to cause rifts in friend groups, trash-talking my family with nonsense lies that would one hundred percent get back to my mom come Monday morning… There are countless ways she could throw this night into chaos, and she smiles at me like she knows it.

She steps forward and I feel the weight of fifty pairs of eyes on us as she…wordlessly breezes past me into the throng of dancing bodies, looking like a goddess in leather. Behind me, I hear voices welcome her back with genuine warmth.

Claire was always well-liked at Waldorf. Almost effortlessly so.

The original queen bee. I wonder which of those backstabbers spilled the beans about the party. Everyone should know by now that if there’s one person unwelcome at a Brooke Goodwin party, it’s Claire Heck.

Dylan clears his throat like there’s a golf ball stuck in there. “I’m, ah…going to get a drink.”

And then he’s gone too.

What. The. Fuck. She’s already driving people to drink and she’s only been here two minutes.

Jena appears by my side. “She can’t stay,” she whispers, leaning close to my ear. “We have to get her out of here.”

The weight of the scrutiny isn’t any better. Claire may be mingling, but everyone’s watching to see what I’m going to do about it. “And how exactly are we supposed to do that?”

“Easy, we pull her aside and tell her to go. United front. What is she going to do?”

“Cause a scene.”

“Oh. The. Horror.”

I jab at her side with my elbow, but she dodges it. “Don’t make fun. This is serious.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

I chew on the inside of my lip for a second, trying to think of the best way to handle this. “Maybe she’ll be on her best behavior and it doesn’t have to be a thing?”

Jena blinks at me three or four times, like she’s waiting for a punch line. When it doesn’t happen, she throws up her hands. “Cool, so we’re going the delusional route tonight. I’m sure she’ll be a complete delight. If we’re lucky, maybe it’ll be like the time she jumped into the driver’s seat of the dance team bus and took us all for a joyride around the Western Oregon University campus? And then blamed it on the girl vying for her team position.”

Shit, I forgot about that.

“Or how about the time your dad gave you his debit card to buy a dress for homecoming and she stole it out of your gym bag. Charged up a thousand dollars worth of clothes, and then donated them to the school clothing drive and got special accommodation from your mother for her exemplary volunteer work?”

I look down at the floor. I had to withdraw a chunk from my college fund to put the money back in his account before he noticed.

“Or, or what about the first party you threw out here at the lake? You were so excited to host, and Claire helped you plan the entire thing for Halloween…and then secretly invited everyone to a creepy graveyard party out in the middle of nowhere, over an hour away, knowing full well that nobody would have the time to drive to both. She announced her party before yours, and when you showed up with your adorable little cobweb-themed invitations, she confronted you in front of the whole cafeteria and accused you of trying to steal her idea.”

My hands wring together at the memory of fidgeting in my witch costume, watching the driveway through the front windows. Only Jena and a couple girls from my English class came, and it was clearly out of pity. Claire convinced everyone that her party would be better, and that they should go to hers to show solidarity.

I didn’t throw another party here until after she left school.

“Or how about the time—”

I throw up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it. Claire’s unpredictable. She has to go. We just have to be careful about how we do it.”

“Great. I’ll very carefully tell her to get the fuck out.”

Ugh, my blood pressure. “At least wait until she finishes her conversation and politely get her over here. Tell her…she didn’t put her phone in the basket. If anyone overhears, they won’t think anything of it.”

Jena rolls her eyes but nods and folds her arms across her chest. Her gaze is trained on Claire. She looks like a pissed-off eagle, waiting to claw Claire’s eyes out.

God, if only I could let her do it. The thought of unleashing Jena on this banshee of drama is intensely satisfying.

Someone hands Claire a drink—Beau, I think—and after a few minutes she steps away from the group, scanning the room. Jena’s on her in a flash, tapping Claire on the shoulder and leaning in to whisper in her ear.

Claire looks at Jena and then over at me with a visible sigh, but they both walk toward me together. I hope she exits as calmly. Goodwins don’t cause a scene.

She comes to a stop in front of me, her back to the rest of the party, then takes a long drink from her Solo cup. I won’t let her rattle me. I pretend she’s Jena or Dylan—who I notice never came back—and will some warmth into my smile.

Claire scowls. “Don’t give me your People Pleasing Brooke face. That shit pisses me off. I know you want me to leave, so for once why don’t you act how you feel and be honest about it?”

I hold on to my smile. “I don’t know what you mean. This is my normal face.”

“Liar. Are you going to ask me to leave or what?”

“It’s nothing personal, Claire,” Jena says. “We’re trying to have fun and relax before school starts. We don’t want any drama tonight, and I’m sorry but you’re always the first person to cause trouble. Especially lately.”

Claire steps around me to set her cup on the side table by the door and gathers her long wavy hair up off her neck, flicking it back over her shoulder.

“What do you mean?” she asks, too loud for the foot of space between us. “I’m not here to cause any drama. You know I hate that crap.”

In my peripheral vision, I see people turn to watch us.

“Oh sure, you’re the picture of good behavior,” Jena mumbles.

Claire glares at her, but when she looks at me her smile is alarmingly warm. Fake, but warm. It probably matches mine perfectly. “I only want to hang out. I miss everyone, and I knew you wouldn’t mind if I crashed. You’re always so…inclusive. Honestly, it’s so sweet.”

I’m acutely aware that she’s now facing the party. Up on the raised entryway, it’s like she’s found her stage. And she’s playing the role of the old friend who’s looking to reconnect. How can I kick her out like this?

I fight to keep my hands from flexing at my sides. “I try not to turn anyone away.”

Claire’s smile is blinding. “See? I knew it wouldn’t be a problem. Besides, I miss my girls.” She sends a meaningful look Jena’s way, leaving me with scraps of the same expression. “I’d hate to go into senior year holding grudges. It’s all water under the bridge, right?”

Jena’s stare could bore a hole straight through my head. She wants me to say no. She wants me to tell Claire that it’s not water under the bridge and never will be. That she’s done too many horrible things for us all to simply move on. But Jena has to know if I say any of that, Claire’s going to beg to stay, or cry, turning her watery eyes to the crowd like a sad, shunned girl, while I look like the Regina George tyrant who threw her out on her ass.

I glance toward the party and find Dylan standing by the kitchen island. He meets my gaze, then looks back at Claire, like he’s waiting to see how this plays out. But unlike everyone else, he looks a little sick.

It takes everything in me to reach out and take Claire’s hand. “Of course you can stay. There’s no reason we can’t put everything behind us. Just make sure you leave your phone in the basket,” I say, nodding toward it. “House rules.”

Claire grins like a thief who’s cracked a safe and very deliberately drops her silver iPhone onto the pile and snatches up her drink again. On her way past me, she stops and grips me in a sudden hug that’s almost pinching around the shoulders. Her mouth hovers by my ear. “Goodwins are so accommodating. I’m sure you won’t regret it.”

Before I can react, she’s gone, flouncing off toward the living room again. The dancing resumes in earnest now that the glimmer of impending drama has faded, leaving me with a sour churning in my stomach.

I turn toward Jena. Her annoyance could wither a freshman in seconds. Luckily, I’m not a freshman, and I’m used to her disapproval. “I didn’t have a choice, Jena.”

“Oh, you absolutely did. This is your house. You’re actually the only one who gets a say in who’s allowed to be here.”

I watch Claire floating through groups of my friends. “I know, but until she causes a scene, there’s no way to get her out of here without looking like a total bitch. Particularly after her little speech about friendship and mending bridges or whatever.”

Jena places a hand on each of my cheeks, forcing me to meet her eyes. “One of these days you’re going to have to stand up for yourself. You care more about your image than what’s best for you, and that’s garbage. But when—not if— when she fucks things up, I’ve got your back.”

I grip her hands on my cheeks and smile. “You always do. Thank you for understanding.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to find Felix and make sure he’s ready to help break down whatever chaos Claire’s about to create.” She fixes me with one final glare. “For the record, one of these days you’re going to put her in her place, and when that happens, I’m going to cheer.”

She storms off and I take a second to collect myself. I stride toward the front door—Claire left it wide open—and gently shut it.

Jena doesn’t understand. She doesn’t have the same image to maintain. Nobody’s watching her like a hawk. Nobody’s planning out her every move and activity. Nobody put her in a Yale onesie when she was a month old. Nobody cares what events her family attends or sponsors or which boards they sit on. Her name isn’t synonymous with six generations of lawyers and judges. She has the freedom to be impulsive and tell people to fuck off. I can’t.

Being a Goodwin comes with a lot of perks, but it also has a hell of a lot of limitations. Unlike Jena, Goodwins are always in the public eye. And our collective image is why my mom is so successful. It’s why my dad is a top candidate for the open Polk County judge position. It’s why Yale is waiting for my early admission application. Goodwins must exceed the standards set by ourselves and others. Goodwins don’t go to culinary school or live out any dream that’s “beneath” the family’s name.

No matter how much we may want to.

Claire is center stage now. A crowd of suck-ups materializes around her, and I want to gag. Everyone welcomes her back. Everyone tells her how much she’s been missed this summer.

It’s like she’s the sun and we’re all planets in her orbit—even though half these people probably forgot she existed twenty minutes ago. I move closer to keep eyes on her as she gathers an audience.

Everyone talks at once.

“It’s so nice to see you, Claire.”

“I’ve missed you!”

“Waldorf isn’t the same without you!”

“It’s so nice of Brooke to invite you to catch up with everyone.”

That last one is Jena. She stands with her back to the dining room table, grinning at Claire. Only I know it’s an I dare you to contradict me in front of all these people grin.

Claire seems to know it too. She smiles back and plops down on the couch shoved against the wall in the den. The dancing has all but stopped. “That’s Brooke for you. Always thinking of others.”

Beau slithers out of nowhere. His floppy golden hair sticks up at the sides in a way that suggests he’s been making out in a closet. He slides in beside Claire and slings an arm around her shoulders, absolutely beaming. Beau’s always had a thing for Claire—an extremely one-sided thing. “Now it’s a real party, with the Queen of Waldorf in attendance!” he announces.

I need a drink. If I’m going to watch everyone reconstruct a long-crumbled pedestal beneath my archenemy, I’m sure as hell not going to do it sober. I make my way to the kitchen.

Someone yells, “What happened to you anyway? You were there one day and gone the next. Everyone had a different theory.”

Claire lets out this annoyingly musical laugh, tipping her head back like our classmates having theories about her removal from school is the cutest thing she’s ever heard. I pour myself more of Beau’s weird punch at the island and listen with my lips pressed together as she lies through her fucking teeth.

“It’s nothing interesting,” she says. “We just moved out of the district and couldn’t justify the drive to Waldorf. My new school is great though. I really like it there, but I miss all of you.”

She flashes an extra-wide smile at Beau, and I can see his hopes climbing from here. Beau is such a teddy bear. He’d do anything for her, and she knows it. I swear to god, if she uses Beau to make Dylan jealous all night, I’m going to punch her in the face—the second everyone else is gone, of course.

Speaking of Dylan, I look around, but there are too many people. I can’t see him anywhere. Which is probably for the best because Claire’s climbing into Beau’s lap.

“That’s it?” Beau asks her, his voice an octave lower than it was a minute ago. “You moved?”

“Yup. Not all that exciting, is it?”

I take a large sip of my drink, trying not to laugh. Claire didn’t simply move out of the district. Her father was let go from the firm where my dad works for fabricating evidence in a trial. Mr. Heck was disbarred and can no longer practice law in the state of Oregon. After her family lost that cushy lawyer income, the Hecks couldn’t afford Waldorf anymore. Or their house, or their cars. They had to sell almost everything and start over in the next county.

Last I heard, Mr. Heck was working at an Oil Can Henry’s, and her mom got arrested for shoplifting. But of course, I can’t say any of that here. Not only would it ruin the vibe, but airing her dirty laundry would only make me look like an asshole.

“Any chance you can transfer back?” Beau asks.

I watch his gaze trail to her boobs and get stuck there. Beau is so predictable.

“Yeah! Come back for senior year!” someone else yells.

Felix walks up behind Jena and wraps his arms around her shoulders. “Is that even an option?”

Claire seems unruffled. She fluffs her hair and grins at her audience. “I could totally come back, but I really like my new school. I can always come to visit.” She locks eyes with me across the room. “I love dropping in and seeing what everyone is up to. And Brooke is nice enough to open up her fancy vacation house. This won’t be the last you see of me.”

The way she says it, insinuating that all this—the party, my friends, the lake house—is fully accessible to her, makes me want to strangle this poor plastic cup. I force myself to relax and tip my drink toward her before I turn back to the island.

I’ve never felt the urge to flee my own party before. But with my luck, the second I left, she’d start a fight club and someone would call the cops. Or she’d set the place on fire because this house symbolizes everything she doesn’t have anymore. As if that’s somehow my fault.

Escape isn’t an option. Not when I have to babysit her.

I don’t have to listen to her fan club though. I toss my empty cup in the trash and go off in search of Dylan. Claire’s distracted, so this is the perfect time to find him and pick up where we left off. Maybe it’ll piss her off to see us talking, and she’ll see herself out.

One can dream.

I check the bathrooms, but no Dylan. I quickly check upstairs, and then the front porch. No sign of him. The driveway is a mess of cars though. I close the door again and frown. Did he leave? I look at the basket of phones, wondering if I’d recognize his if I looked for it, but then the music abruptly cuts off midsong and my attention snaps back to the party.

A collective groan rings out through the room as the unmistakable drums of “Never Gonna Give You Up” pulse through the speakers. Someone has my phone and used it to Rickroll the party.

I abandon my search for Dylan and root through clusters of people until I spot my phone on an end table in the living room, unlocked, and queued up to a full Rick Astley playlist. I must have left it unlocked on the island when I got my drink. Rookie move. I glance around for anyone looking especially guilty, or maybe laughing a little too hard at the song choice. Those three sophomores from earlier won’t meet my eye, and they’re suddenly very interested in their shoes. I wait until the short one looks up and level him with a glare that makes him turn his back on me completely.

Pimple-faced idiots.

I change the music back to the playlist I meticulously curated this morning and look for a place to stash my phone where nobody will mess with it again.

Why can’t people leave things alone?

I’m halfway through the library doors, wondering if the Bluetooth will get choppy if I stash it in here, when I notice two people standing on the other side of my dad’s desk, and jerk to a stop.

Dylan and Claire.

My hand flexes around my phone until my knuckles turn white. How in the fuck…? Does she have a Dylan tracker? How did she find him before I did? And how on earth did she extract herself from the press conference in the living room without being followed by a dozen of her cult members?

Claire’s back is to me as she presses against him, looping her thumbs in his jeans. I can’t read his expression at first. It’s a little like awe, maybe a little pained, but definitely not repulsed.

A familiar wave of jealousy consumes me from the inside out.

“We’re barely broken up and you’re already off with Brooke? Are you trying to hurt my feelings?” Claire asks, all quiet and flirty.

Dylan’s face hardens. “I didn’t realize you had feelings to hurt. You broke up with me , remember?”

“I know…” I watch her shoulders lift and fall. “Maybe I regret that decision. Maybe…I made a mistake. And maybe I don’t want to see you make a mistake too,” she says, gesturing to my house at large.

Because I’m the mistake.

Water under the bridge, my ass.

Dylan stares at her for a long moment, and when he speaks, it’s so quiet I don’t hear his response. All I can see is his confusion as she attempts to sink her claws back into him.

I turn away before I drag her out of the party by her perfect fucking hair. My head spins with all the things I wish I was allowed to do right now.

But…Goodwins don’t brawl.

We do, however, get even.