There were only so many times that you could read a text before you went crazy, Isabel thought as she looked down at her phone under the table.
Hey Beautiful. Had to bolt. Maybe we hang this week?
She scrolled down to her reply, which she’d sent a strategic seventy-five minutes later:
Definitely.
That had been yesterday morning, and she still hadn’t heard from him. Had it been the word definitely? The smiley face? It was probably the smiley face, she thought. She’d have to dial it down next time. Mike could probably tell how much she liked him.
Just two nights ago, she’d been sitting next to him in the car, laughing and listening to music, and holding his hand as if their mutual attraction was an assured, understood thing. He’d wanted to kiss her. She was positive of that. And she’d been so close to it. And now, she had no idea if she was ever going to see him again, let alone kiss him.
“Put the phone away,” her father said from across the breakfast table. “You’re going to see everyone at the club in a couple of hours.”
“It’s not someone from the club,” she said.
“Isabel,” he said in a warning voice, and she put the phone facedown on the table with a sigh. Family breakfast on Monday morning was one of her family’s more torturous summer rituals. Her dad had started it as a way to spend more time with them before he drove into the city for the week, but all it did was make everyone edgy and tense with its feeling of forced togetherness. Isabel would have much preferred sleeping in.
“Good morning!” said her mom as she and Sloane walked into the breakfast room. Her mom liked to stay in her yoga clothes for as long as possible after a lesson, the better to show off her toned figure. Sloane, on the other hand, always changed into one of her shapeless tunics and Capri pants immediately. Sloane had been in a battle with the same ten pounds ever since seventh grade, and all these years later, she seemed no closer to victory. Most of the time, Isabel wished her sister would just accept her body shape and find something more interesting to do with her time than diet.
“We had a fantastic class,” her mom said, taking her usual seat. A copy of the New York Times had been left on her place mat as always, along with a glass of thick green vegetable juice. “What a beautiful day,” she said, taking a sip from her glass.
“They said it’s going to be almost ninety,” Sloane said, digging into a sectioned grapefruit, which she ate every morning. “First heat wave of the summer.”
Isabel rolled her eyes. Her sister was so lame.
“I think we’ll stop by the Sagaponack place on our way into the city,” her father said. “Can’t hurt to just show our faces.”
“If you want to,” her mother said.
“Plus the old guy likes Gregory,” her father said.
“He’s just not scared of me the way he is of you,” Gregory said.
“Well, that sounds wonderful.” Her mom opened her newspaper and began to read as if they weren’t even there.
“You know, a little enthusiasm wouldn’t hurt,” her father said. “Especially for sixteen million.”
“But I don’t want to sell this house,” her mother replied, her eyes on the paper. “I’ve told you that. A hundred times.”
“Right,” her father said. “You want to worry about the old plumbing and the beach erosion and the historical-preservation people on our backs all the time—”
“Yes, I do,” her mother said.
“Why are you so attached to this house? It’s a money pit. All the renovations, all the landscaping—”
“It’s mine,” her mother said, with a finality that made her father push his chair back from the table with a loud screech.
“Greg? You ready?”
Isabel studied the untouched stack of pancakes on her plate. She hadn’t missed any of her parents’ bickering. Now she had three more months of it to endure.
Gregory put down his fork and stood up, like the dutiful son he’d been since birth. “No problem,” he said.
Gregory started working for their dad’s company the day after he graduated from Harvard, and a year later, he seemed right on track to turn into Lawrence Rule in every way, shape, and form. Isabel could just picture him in twenty years: married to a wife who couldn’t stand him and the father of four kids he desperately wanted to be friends with but didn’t know how to be.
Sloane was slightly better-looking than Gregory, but she wasn’t the type to go into the family business (or any kind of business, for that matter), and therefore got much less of their dad’s attention. But their father, Gregory, and Sloane seemed to form a little triad, and their common bond and purpose was Isabel—what to do with her, how to control her, how to punish her. She’d noticed this for the first time last summer, after all that business with the fire. Sloane had suggested they send Isabel away to a school in Denver where they put kids in solitary for a night if they broke any rules. Gregory had suggested one of those places that kidnap kids in the middle of the night to take them to a wilderness survival camp. And her dad had gone ahead and paid tuition for her first year at school in California before her mom had even agreed to it. Most of the time, Isabel couldn’t believe that she was related to the three of them in the slightest. At least she had Connor, but for some reason he didn’t feel the same utter dislike she felt toward their oldest siblings. But then again, Connor got along with everybody. She would have to teach him how to be much more of a jerk. Girls were always walking all over him.
“Have a good week,” her mother said languidly as her father exited the room.
Gregory walked over and leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “See you Friday, Mom.”
“Good-bye, honey,” she said. “Work hard.”
As they walked out, Isabel felt the urge to leave, too. She always felt like this after her parents had a fight. Maybe she could just borrow the car and go find Mike’s farm stand near Wainscott. It wouldn’t exactly be stalking, because it was probably right on the highway.
“So, what are we all going to do today?” her mom asked brightly. “Go to the club? Or go shopping?”
“I heard there’s a sale at Lilly Pulitzer,” Sloane said.
“Sounds fascinating,” Isabel muttered.
A curly-haired brunette with a perky smile came into the room carrying a bowl of wild blueberries. Isabel assumed that this was the new chef. She never bothered to learn their names—they never stayed very long. “How does everything taste out here?” she asked as she placed the bowl in front of Mrs. Rule.
“Everything’s wonderful, Erica,” her mom said, barely meeting her eye. “Could you send Bianca out here, please?”
“Sure,” she said. Isabel could see the worry creeping into Erica’s smile.
She left, and Bianca entered the room. “Yes?” she asked.
“Bianca, would you please let Erica know that from now on, I will speak to her about the food after we’ve finished eating?”
“Of course,” Bianca demurred.
“And did FedEx come yet?”
“Yes, I’ll have them brought out,” Bianca said, and slipped out again.
“Mom, can I borrow the Prius?” Isabel asked. “Just for, like, an hour. I’ll bring it right back.”
“No,” her mom said, sounding annoyed, spooning some Greek yogurt into her bowl of blueberries.
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t have your license.”
“But I know how to drive,” Isabel assured her.
“Um, no, you don’t,” Sloane put in. “You almost drove us right off a cliff in Vail over spring break.”
“Because someone gave me wrong directions,” Isabel countered. “Plus, I need to practice for my next test.”
“Not by yourself,” her mom said.
Isabel glanced at Connor.
“No way, Iz,” Connor said, holding up his hands. “I tried. You won’t listen to me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Sorry, but I’m not gonna do it anymore,” Connor said.
“Well, if nobody’s going to give me lessons,” Isabel said, “then how am I going to pass the stupid test?”
Rory entered, FedEx envelopes in her hands. She still looked terrified, or at least robotic, and she avoided all eye contact with Isabel as she carried the letters over to Mrs. Rule. “Here you go,” Rory said, handing her the FedEx letters.
“Thank you, Rory,” Isabel’s mother said. “How’s everything going? Is everything all right?”
“It’s great,” Rory said, her eyes on the floor.
Isabel saw her steal a glance at Connor—or was it at her?—and then look away.
“Tell me, you have your driver’s license, right?”
Rory looked up. “Uh, yes.”
“Then maybe you could give Isabel some driving lessons.”
Isabel almost bolted out of her seat. “That’s a really bad idea.”
“Why?” Her mom turned back to Rory. “You passed your driver’s test on the first try, right?”
“Right,” Rory said, swallowing hard.
“Well, there you go, she’s obviously good at this—”
“But she just got her license. She’s not even allowed to teach me how to drive,” Isabel said. “Legally.”
“I seriously doubt that’s going to be a problem,” her mom said, ripping open one of the envelopes. “As long as she knows what to do. Rory will give you lessons in the car a few times a week until you’re ready to take your driver’s test. That’s fine with you, isn’t it, Rory?”
Rory’s face was so pale by now that Isabel thought she might be sick. “Uh, sure,” she said.
“What if it’s not fine with me?” Isabel asked.
Her mom glowered at Isabel.
“Whatever,” Isabel muttered. She looked back at Rory’s pale face. She’d be at Mike’s farm stand in no time.
After breakfast, Rory sat in the passenger seat of the Prius, trying not to let her palms get sweaty as Isabel sped down the center of Lily Pond Lane. The two girls still hadn’t spoken. It had been obvious how Isabel felt about this arrangement, and Rory didn’t blame her. But she needed to say something before Isabel managed to get them on the highway again.
“So, how about we try a three-point turn?” she asked nicely.
“You’re not a driving teacher,” Isabel said. “Just thought I should remind you.”
“I know,” Rory said. “Your mom asked me to do this.”
Isabel threw her a disdainful look and then suddenly turned hard to the left and braked. They were inches away from the curb.
“Great,” Rory said, swallowing. “Now, put the car in reverse.”
Isabel yanked the gearshift up to reverse, revved the gas, and the car lurched backward.
“That’s good,” Rory said, trying to sound encouraging. “Now shift back into drive.”
Isabel yanked the gearshift back down and slammed her foot on the gas again. The car leaped forward, narrowly missing a child on a bike.
“Slowly!” Rory cried.
“I am going slowly!” Isabel yelled. “See?” She touched the brake slightly. “Everything’s fine. What’s the problem?”
Rory took a deep breath. No wonder nobody in Isabel’s family wanted to do this. “Okay, how about we practice parking?” she asked.
“Why don’t we just drive for a while?” Isabel said, turning off Lily Pond and onto the road that led to the highway.
“Maybe we should stay in the neighborhood,” Rory said. “While we’re still getting the basics down.”
“Nah. I think we should go to Wainscott.”
“What’s in Wainscott?” Rory asked.
Isabel unsnapped the beaded clutch bag at her hip. “Want some gum?”
“What? Uh, no. No, thanks.”
Isabel pulled out a pink pack of bubble gum and unwrapped a piece as the car swerved to the left.
“Watch it!” Rory yelled.
Isabel grabbed the steering wheel.
“Just… pull over!” Rory said.
Isabel pulled over to the side of the road and then calmly popped the gum in her mouth.
“You really are kind of bad at this,” Rory marveled.
Isabel narrowed her eyes.
“I mean, no offense.”
Isabel chewed her gum for a moment in silence. “I’m sorry about the other night. About Mike sneaking into your room. That was really cool of you to take the blame.”
“That’s okay,” Rory said, a little stunned.
Isabel pulled some blond hair behind her ear. She slid her iPhone out from her bag and clicked it on. “I wonder if I should just text him.”
“Who?”
“The guy who tried to sneak into your room. Here, look.” She held up her phone so that Rory could read the text on her screen. “What do you think that means?”
Rory read the three lines. “I guess it means he wants to hang this week.”
“Uh-huh,” Isabel said. “Then why hasn’t he written back?”
“Wasn’t that just yesterday?”
“Yeah, but normally he would have written again by now.”
“What do you mean, normally?” Rory asked.
“I mean, when I’ve been with other guys. You know.”
“So in the past, guys have texted you back right away, every time you text them?”
“Pretty much.”
Rory looked out the windshield. Another thing we don’t have in common, she thought. Among thousands.
“What about you?” Isabel asked. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Well, how many guys would you say you’ve gone out with?”
Rory turned to look at her. “Why?”
“I’m just curious.”
“I don’t know,” she muttered.
“Ballpark.”
“I’m not really sure.”
“Two? Three? Six, seven?”
“I don’t know,” Rory said, dusting the dashboard with her fingers. “Not that many.”
Isabel gave Rory a searching look, as if she were trying to count the number of pores on her face. “You’ve never had a boyfriend, have you?” she finally said.
Rory looked back in front of her and sat up straighter in her seat. “Um… well… if you mean, like in the actual sense of dating someone? Uh… no.”
Isabel sat up straighter. “Oh my god.” She put her hand on the steering wheel to brace herself. “Seriously?”
Rory felt the telltale burning behind her eyes. She was turning beet red. “Yes.”
“Are you a lesbian?” Isabel asked. “Because, if you are, that’s perfectly fine—”
“No, I’m not a lesbian,” Rory said. “I’m busy. I work every day after school. I pay all the bills, I do the grocery shopping, I make sure my mom goes to work and doesn’t drink herself into a coma every night…. I have more important stuff going on, okay?”
Isabel seemed to consider this for a moment. “We need to find you a boyfriend.”
For a second, Connor’s face flashed across Rory’s mind.
“Or at least a fling,” Isabel added. “Have you even been kissed?”
“Of course.”
“And other stuff?”
“Oh my god,” Rory said, starting to fidget. “This is so none of your business.”
“Good,” Isabel said, undeterred. “So, we’re gonna find you a guy. It’s summer. You’re supposed to be having fun right now. And trust me, you really need to have fun.”
“But guys are never just fun,” Rory said.
“What? Of course they are.”
“With my friends, it always starts out really fun, and then it can become really un-fun. They’re just waiting for him to call, or they don’t know how to read him, and then they get all insecure, and then they start to obsess—”
“Because those girls don’t know what they’re doing,” Isabel said, folding her tan arms. “You just need to keep the upper hand.”
“The upper hand?” Rory asked. “How do you do that?”
“Every girl can have the upper hand,” Isabel said, rolling her eyes with the obviousness of it. “If you stay mysterious and you don’t give away too much information and you always keep a guy guessing and never let them know how you really feel, then you’ll be the one in control. And if you’re the one in control, then you’ll never get hurt.”
Rory paused to take this in. “So you’ve never been hurt by a guy?”
Isabel looked out the windshield, chewing her bottom lip as she mulled this over. “Nope,” she finally said. “Uh-uh.”
“Well, my experience has been a little bit different.”
“So you have had a boyfriend?”
“There was one guy, but he wasn’t really my boyfriend.”
“What happened?”
Rory scratched a mosquito bite on her leg. She couldn’t believe that she was having this conversation with Isabel Rule, for one, and now she couldn’t believe that she was about to tell her about Jason Merrick, who’d flirted with her for most of last fall. He’d finally asked her out to see a Ben Stiller movie, then made out with her in his car, only to get back together the next Monday with his ex-girlfriend. “I’d rather not get into it.”
“Fine.” Isabel took out her gum and stuck it in the wrapper she still had in her hand. Then she tossed it out the open window behind her. “But whatever happened, it doesn’t have to be like that next time.”
“But what if you’re not that kind of person?” Rory asked. “What if you just want to be honest with someone? Why does it have to be a game?”
“It’s always a game,” Isabel said, turning the key in the ignition. An earsplitting screech followed.
“The engine’s still on,” Rory sighed.
“And it works,” Isabel said, oblivious to her mistake. “Any girl can have a guy wrapped around her finger. You just need to know how to do it.” She checked her watch. “I guess I should head over to the Georgica. Can you drop me?”
“I’ll drive,” Rory said, opening the car door.
Isabel gave up her seat quietly and walked around the front of the car to the shotgun side. Once behind the wheel, Rory adjusted the mirrors—Isabel had twisted them into all kinds of unusable angles—and pulled back onto the road. Beside her Isabel began to tap out a text on her phone. “Um, where am I going?” Rory asked.
“Oh, just take a right here, then take it all the way down, then make a left,” she said, not looking up from her phone.
Rory drove as Isabel texted. As they glided down the winding back roads, past homes set back behind long sloping front lawns, Rory thought about dating. Isabel was right—for some girls, it was just a game. There were the three or four girls in her class who took turns dating all the good-looking guys in school, trading them with as little emotion as if they were bottles of nail polish. There was her mom, who’d certainly broken her share of hearts. There were the girls at summer camp who practically seduced a few of the male counselors and laughed about it. And there was Isabel Rule, who could say with utter certainty that she’d never been hurt by a guy. So what was wrong with Rory? Why couldn’t she be one of those girls?
Rory drove past an ancient-looking cemetery, with its rows of sun-bleached tombstones sinking into the grass, and then down Main Street, past a cluster of girls walking out of Blue & Cream with shopping bags. Maybe it really was just about knowing how to play the game, and maybe she could learn to do it here, in East Hampton, where nobody knew anything about her. But if all guys were so easily played, then how could you ever fall in love with one of them? Like Connor—he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would fall for all of that.
Connor, she thought, sighing inwardly. Ever since their talk by the pool, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Knowing that he was under the same roof made it impossible to concentrate. She’d had to ask Bianca to repeat the names of the morning newspapers she was supposed to get at Dreesen’s, just because she thought she heard his voice outside the kitchen. In the breakfast room today, she’d almost broken out into a sweat when she had to deliver the FedEx envelopes. And when Mrs. Rule had asked her to give Isabel driving lessons, she’d barely been able to focus because Connor had been at the breakfast table, watching the entire interaction.
But maybe the chemistry she’d felt between them was really just wishful thinking. He was so good-looking, and so smart, and so friendly, that of course she was going to think that there had been some kind of connection when they met. And, really, even if he didn’t have a girlfriend, which seemed impossible, what could a guy like Connor Rule ever see in her? She didn’t know a thing about college or growing up in New York City or living on your own private beach. Not to mention that he was, technically, her employer. Which meant that they couldn’t date anyway.
“Just take this street all the way,” Isabel said.
Rory headed straight for the shingle mansion that lay at the end of the road. The Georgica Club was only slightly bigger than Isabel’s house, and the approach to it was just as grand and intimidating, with a series of empty roads that wound around a pond that sat directly in front of the club like a moat. As they neared the building, Rory noticed a small sign that said PRIVATE PROPERTY MEMBERS ONLY NO TRESPASSING. Well, this place looks friendly, Rory thought, as she drove over the bridge across the pond.
“So, there’s a beach party tonight in Bridgehampton,” Isabel said, reading her phone. “Wanna come?”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah. What, are you busy?”
“Um, no,” Rory said. “But is this just because you need a ride or you’re actually inviting me to go with you?”
Isabel smiled. She seemed impressed with Rory’s honesty. “Yes, I need a ride, but I thought it might be good for you to meet some people. Unless you don’t want to.”
“No, that’d be great,” Rory said. “Thanks.”
“Cool,” Isabel said.
The valet opened her door and offered Isabel a hand as she stepped out of the car. “Bye!” she called over her shoulder.
Before Rory could respond, the valet slammed the door shut.
Then I’ll just be on my way, Rory thought, as she drove off.
