Caleb + Kate Read online

  My thoughts return to Kate. We shouldn’t be friends. Distance is best.

  I turn over the engine of the truck. “I doubt I’ll go, Dad. But I’ll see you at lunch.”

  Dad waves good-bye and heads back toward his office in the maintenance building. I catch a look of determination in his expression. Not a good sign.

  KATE

  I am shuffling around my bedroom, still trying to wake up, when someone raps on my door and pops her head in. Without my contacts, it takes a moment to recognize Monica’s face beneath a mess of pink and brown.

  “What are those?”

  Monica carries her dress into my room and hangs it on the garment hook by my closet. I realize her hair is in sponge curlers, like something from our grandmothers’ days.

  “My mom swears I’ll have curls all night if I keep these in my hair for an hour longer. I actually slept in them. Tried to sleep would be more accurate.”

  “I didn’t know they made those anymore,” I say, reaching up to squeeze a pink foam roll.

  Monica shoos my hand away. “Don’t touch now. You should have seen people looking at me when I drove over. I’ve been to the best hairstylists and bought all the gadgets but now”—she sputters—“I’m going old school.”

  I laugh—an unusual sound for me this soon after waking up. Monica never fails to surprise me. We’ve been friends since fifth grade, even though she’s among the most stuck-up people I’ve ever met. Yet she’s quirky and adventurous and fun—things you wouldn’t expect. And she’s been my most loyal girlfriend ever, even last year. Monica might be rude and conceited at times, but I can trust her with any secret and she’s always got my back.

  “By the way, your phone is off,” Monica says.

  I look around and don’t see my phone anywhere in my room. “I forgot to turn it back on last night. I was avoiding someone.” Monica opens my closet door and disappears inside. “Well, there are other people who need to reach you, like me. We’re going to be late if we don’t get moving.”

  I find my phone at the bottom of my purse and turn it on. There are twenty text messages; several from Monica and Ted, the person I was trying to avoid, one from Oliver, and a few about tonight’s prom.

  I groan. “Ted sent me eight texts last night! You’d think he’d get it when I didn’t answer the first one. Or the second.”

  Monica pokes her head out of the closet. “Ted’s persistent. And he always gets what he wants.”

  “He had his chance.” I start making my bed. The white sheets and comforter are a tangled mess, but I know Monica isn’t going to wait for me to straighten up. I glance at the round clock on my nightstand and can’t believe it’s already close to noon. “Let me pack up a few more things and then we’ll head over, okay?” It’s still a forty-minute drive to the hotel.

  “Sure. Can I borrow your black Jimmy Choos for tonight?” Monica asks, then disappears again.

  “Of course. The new ones or the old ones?”

  Monica walks out and holds the shoes up against her dress. “New. The pair I got at Versace in LA don’t look good with my dress after all.”

  I open my travel bag and start packing.

  “So how was last night?” Monica asks as she flops down onto the white loveseat across from my bed. Then she straightens up suddenly and touches the curlers along the back of her head.

  “It was fine, I guess.”

  “Did you see anyone special?”

  I smile. “That was the best part. The art was kind of modern, made from things like toothpicks, soda can tops, plastic bottle lids. It wasn’t for me, but I did see Ryan Gosling and Harrison Ford.”

  “Really! I had such a crush on Harrison Ford when I was a kid. He’s getting kind of old now.”

  “He was old when you were a kid too.”

  Monica gives me one of her condescending glares that I find humorous but most people find intimidating. “Kids don’t realize the age difference. How did Ryan Gosling look in person?”

  “Very good. He smiled at me.”

  “Of course he did.”

  “It might just have been because someone next to me was taking his picture.”

  “I doubt it. But what I really want to know is how was it with Ted?”

  I toss her an annoyed expression as I head toward the closet. I grab my silver Gucci heels, an extra pair of silver heels for emergency’s sake, and my ballerina slippers to use after I’ve danced an hour or so.

  My parents—or rather, my mother—insisted I attend the Portland Art Museum charity event. I’d thought my father would help me escape, but he was distracted. Ted and his family were at our table during the artist’s presentation.

  When I walk out, I continue, “Ted was Ted. He acts like he’s already on the campaign trail, going around talking to everyone, shaking hands, talking to my family like they’re his best friends.” Ted plans to follow his father into politics. Some say he could be a future president. That’s laughable.

  “Oh, you’ll marry Ted one day.”

  Her nonchalant words hit me like some kind of prophesy of the apocalypse. I sit on my bed in horror. “Why would you ever say something like that?”

  “Because for one, he’s not as bad as you think—and it isn’t like he actually cheated on you. You two weren’t official. And you’re a Christian so you have to forgive him. Secondly, he’s in love with you, and not so long ago, he was all you could think about. And you’re a sucker for anyone who falls in love with you. Remember Joey Kamps in fifth grade?”

  I fall back onto my pillowy comforter. “I was ten years old! Will you get over that already?”

  “He was a school shooter in the making,” she says. “Whatever happened to him?” Monica puts a finger to her lips. “Oh yeah, he’s at a school for wealthy juvenile delinquents. And you went to the seventh grade dance with Clarence Wingdinger—or whatever his name was. Family owned that chain of funeral homes. Need I mention all the e-mails to that Bulgarian guy we met on the beach in Marseille?”

  “He was Latvian, not Bulgarian. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or make him think Americans are rude.”

  Monica rolls her eyes. “Third, Ted will be successful. The two of you would make a great team.”

  “Sounds romantic,” I say as I walk into my bathroom and start packing my makeup case. Monica follows me and sits on the edge of the marble tub.

  “Fourth, he understands you.”

  I turn from where I’m digging through a drawer of eye shadow. “He does not understand me at all.”

  “He understands things about you that you don’t yet understand.”

  This conversation is becoming more than irritating.

  “Like what?” I venture, unsure I want to hear more. We have prom tonight, and Monica, Oliver, and I are going as each others’ dates. Next year, we’ll take the event more seriously, maybe we’ll have boyfriends, and Oliver a girlfriend, or we’ll bring some family friend from an exotic location and surprise everyone— we’ve discussed this extensively over the years. But tonight is supposed to be easy, fun, and uncomplicated. Monica is starting off our special girls’ day on a bad note.

  “You have a sense of purpose. You need life to have a meaning. He knows this, gets it, and probably thinks his politics and your empathetic personality are destined to be.”

  “It all adds up so nicely. Problem is, I’m not at all attracted to him.” I say this with emphasis on at all, but Monica continues to look at me doubtfully. I know she’s thinking of my former crush on him and our short and completely uneventful kiss from last summer. “Let’s move on from this subject before it ruins my day. How was your Friday night?”

  “Dinner with my mother’s new husband’s family . . . how do you think it was?”

  I smile and put the last of the makeup brushes in the slots of my cosmetic bag. Monica’s mother is on her fifth or sixth marriage. Thankfully, this time she eloped instead of subjecting Monica and me to being flower girls or bridesmaids in another one of her weddin
gs.

  “Did you hear the latest about Katherine and Blake?” Monica asks.

  “If the latest is that Blake is bringing someone to prom and Katherine is hysterical about it, then yes I have.”

  “That’s the latest. I told her that she asked for this. What did you tell her?”

  “I tried to be a little more sensitive.” I smile. “I assured her that Blake really did love her but he’s hurt and trying to hurt her back. But she’s still hysterical and looking for a date. I thought about asking Oliver to take her.”

  Monica glares at me. “No chance. He’s our date and your other best friend. Let her get her own date—she deserves this. By the way, you’ve been avoiding my question.”

  For a moment I think that she’s returned to the Ted subject, then I remember her text messages.

  “Do you think I should do smoky eyes tonight or use this glitter stuff I got in New York?” I hold up the six different shades of glitter shadow.

  “Glitter, definitely. It’s the prom. Now why were you really called to the headmistress’s office?”

  I’ve been waiting for this. Monica can never be taken down a rabbit trail for too long. “She asked me for a favor.”

  “A favor?”

  “No big deal. She asked me to be the escort for the new guy.” Monica sets down an eyebrow brush and stares at me through the mirror. I look down to make sure I haven’t missed any makeup we might need tonight. With spa appointments this afternoon at the inn, we decided to get ready in one of the suites and maybe stay the night.

  “Why did she ask you? She hasn’t punished anyone else this much.”

  “It’s because I have so much potential. Ms. Liberty wants me to learn my lesson until I never make another stupid mistake again.”

  “I thought high school was the only time we could make stupid mistakes without too many repercussions.”

  “Tell that to Ms. Liberty.”

  “Why this, though?”

  “He works at the Monrovi Inn, apparently. He just moved here from Hawaii.”

  She turns so quickly one of her curlers unravels, falling in a long springy curl. “He works at your hotel?”

  “My family’s hotel, to be exact.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He works in maintenance with his father.”

  Her mouth gapes open. “A Gaitlin Academy student is a janitor at your inn?”

  “Not janitor. He’s part of the landscape and construction crew.”

  “This is news. I tell you everything. Why don’t you tell me anything?” Monica steps back to sit on the tub again, shaking her head back and forth. “As soon as something happens, I tell you. But not you, you’re always pulling these shockers out of your hat.”

  “I’m just a more private person than you are.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Or maybe I didn’t think there was much to tell.” But there is more to tell Monica. For one, supposedly my family and this new guy’s family have some long bitter history with one another. When I brought it up to Mom last night, she cut me off and told me we’d talk about it later. We have yet to do that.

  “That doesn’t stop me. I tell you every boring thing in my life.” She’s annoyed at me, I can tell. But the truth is, I didn’t want everyone to know this. Every Gaitlin Academy student will be buzzing about it before the new guy even steps on campus his first day. Poor guy will show up with the wildest stories circulating about him.

  “Monica—”

  Monica is staring at me again. “I know why you don’t tell me. But it’s still annoying.”

  “Why?”

  “You hate gossip about you. And now this cute new guy shows up at school and works at the inn and everyone is going to be talking about it. Plus, you’ll want to analyze every aspect of this before people start talking about it.”

  “Really?” Sometimes Monica—who professes to be completely self-consumed—can be surprisingly observant and intuitive. She tells me things about myself that I haven’t realized. Do I like analyzing every aspect before sharing it? That could be true.

  “You always bring things up after the fact. I blabber about everything right when it happens. You go off and think things over, then you talk. Sometimes.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Just call me Doctor Phil.”

  “I think I’m packed and ready to go, Doctor Phil. Ready to be pampered?”

  We walk back into my bedroom and I pack my makeup bag into my larger bag. Monica slides the Jimmy Choos in before I zip it up.

  “Why do people think spas are all about pampering? Waxing and facials can be quite unpleasant,” I say, thinking of what awaits me today.

  “But don’t forget our massages and body wraps.”

  We carefully lift our dresses and carry them high so they won’t drag on the floor.

  Monica stops short at my door and I bounce off her. “What? I nearly dropped my dress!”

  She turns around and faces me with a hard look on her face. “Don’t you dare fall in love with this guy, this maintenance guy.”

  I stare at her incredulously. “I won’t. Of course I won’t. What are you talking about?”

  “No, I’m serious. It would be just like you to fall for some poor guy. Remember the vow. It doesn’t matter that we were six or something. A vow is a vow. We marry enormously wealthy or not at all.”

  “Yes. Wealthy. Vow. I won’t forget. Can we go now?”

  “I’m serious, are you? I detect a tone of sarcasm and I don’t like it one bit, missy.”

  “I’m serious. And anyway, I won’t fall in love until I’m in grad school—at the earliest. But it would be more convenient after I’ve made partner at some prestigious law firm in New York or whatever it is I end up doing. A relationship does not fit into the ten-year plan.”

  “That sounds good. Stay with that.”

  My brother’s little terrier mutt comes racing up the stairs. She tries to grab the hem of my dress, wagging her tail excitedly.

  “Jake!” I call for my little brother, holding up my dress. “Get Allie! Allie, get down.”

  Allie bounces around like I’m playing a game with her.

  Monica holds her dress high in front of me, trying to escape Allie’s excited jumps. “Exhibit A right there. Who gets a dog outside the grocery store?”

  “Dad brought her home, not me. Jake!” I call again, trying to push the dog away with my knees.

  “He’s not coming to prom, is he?” Monica whirls around so fast that Allie becomes attracted to her dress like it’s a new toy. “Allie, get down!” I yell. “Who’s not coming to the prom?” “The new guy.”

  My brother’s bedroom door swings open and he races out of his room with his Wii controller in hand.

  “Hi,” Jake says to Monica as he scoops up Allie. “In the middle of a game. Bye!” He races back to his room with a slam of his door.

  “I doubt the new guy is coming,” I say, remembering how Ms. Liberty wants me to keep an eye out for him.

  Halfway down the stairs, I hear Monica mutter, “I have a very bad feeling about this.”

  Chapter Three

  I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee.

  WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

  Romeo & Juliet (Act 2, Scene 2)

  KATE

  Monica drives up the wide brick entryway toward the front of the Monrovi Inn. I see a girl rushing toward us, nearly knocking over the valet.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. Who let the freshman out?” Monica says, locking the car door. “We could be across the Canadian border in six hours.”

  I don’t move either. “Jessica volunteered to take over the refreshment booth for me so that I can enjoy the prom.”

  “She’s not following us around like a lost puppy. This is girls’ spa day, remember.”

  “I still have to coordinate a few details, that’s all. She’s making it possible for me to have girls’ spa day inst
ead of dealing with the booth.”

  Monica shakes her head, unconvinced, then unlocks the door of her Mercedes so we can get out.

  “Oh my gosh, Kate!” Jessica squeals, jumping up and down as I get out of the car. “This is so amazing. I’ve never been to your hotel.”

  “Actually, it’s not mine. It’s my family’s.”

  Monica walks to the trunk, opening it with her keychain remote.

  “Which means it’s yours!” Jessica’s exuberance is the kind that drains instead of invigorates.

  “It’s just one of many,” Monica says, rolling her eyes as we pull our dresses from hooks above the back seat.

  “Oh, and your dresses. Can I see? I can’t wait until I get to come to prom! I mean, I’m here this time, and I am technically going, or rather working, but I can’t wait till junior year when I can attend like you two, you know?”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “Oh, I’m so excited.”

  “Hi, Antonio,” I say as the head valet walks up to take Monica’s keys.

  “Hey, kiddo. Exciting day, isn’t it?” Years ago, Antonio was a competitive dancer in South America. When I was younger, he often taught me dance moves during his breaks from work.

  “I suppose.” Then I see Monica giving me an annoyed look. “I mean, yes, it is. Very exciting. I have the best date on the planet.”

  The bellhop on duty, Barney, wheels the luggage cart up. “I heard you have a very demanding date.”

  “You are so right,” I say, laughing with him as Monica shakes her head and stomps toward the entrance. Since childhood, Monica has come to the inn with me regularly. The staff treats her like family, even if she treats them like servants. Barney takes our bags and hangs our dresses on the luggage hook.

  “Oh my gosh!” Jessica says as she follows me through a giant wood doorway and beneath a chandelier made of driftwood and crystal. The wall of windows behind the check-in counter shows all sky, sea, and the rocky Oregon coastline.

  For a moment I can see the Monrovi Inn through Jessica’s eyes. This isn’t easy, since the hotel is my second home. Built by my grandfather sometime in the 1950s, the Monrovi Inn is considered one of the architectural treasures of the Pacific Northwest. My grandfather hired some famous architect to create a wonder that rises from the sheer cliffs, with various levels and rooms built into the rock.