Diana Peterfreund - Rites of Spring (Break)

I grabbed blindly at the canister and dumped some on my grapefruit. “Thanks.” I shoved it back at him.

“You look tired.”

And now I did turn my face to his, eyes blazing. “That’s a hell of a compliment to give a lady .”

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

But I just clucked my tongue and turned away. Were all men as daft as that?

I felt his gaze on me all the way back to my seat.

After yesterday’s debacle, everyone in the club decided to keep it low-key that morning. We packed a cooler of food and drinks and headed out to the closest beach. I floated the idea of returning to the crescent beach because the lagoon was shallow enough for me to splash around in, but since it meant going back on the path, no one wanted to take the chance of seeing (or smelling) the mess they’d made. Nevertheless, I gathered every scrap of courage in my system, and played, knee-deep, in the surf for a full ten minutes.

One SoBe, two issues of U.S. News & World Report (the most recent grad school guides), and a bag of pretzels later, it was time for lunch. Maybe this was what Spring Break was supposed to be. Forget romantic dramas or society intrigue. All you needed was a beach blanket and some junk food.

“Wow, you got some sun!” Malcolm said as I passed him on the path back to the main house.

“Did I?” Someone should hire Malcolm for some sort of skin cancer prevention squad. Dude was obsessed. I examined my arms. Crap. Sunscreen. I pressed my fingers against my skin and lifted them away, watching as the oblong white marks darkened to a decidedly pink tone. Not so bad. It would fade, but not peel. I hadn’t quite hit lobster territory yet.

Lobster. That reminded me. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I said to Malcolm as the rest of my club passed me and headed up the steps to the rec room. I waved them away.

His face fell. “If it’s about what I think it’s about, then no.”

I grabbed his arm and steered him away from the others. “It’s not, but if it were, I’d have every right to be pissed with you.”

“And I wouldn’t have the right to be pissed at you?” Malcolm replied in a low voice. “I told you all that stuff in confidence.”

“And I kept your secret!” I said. Like always. “Tell me how I broke my promise.”

He ran his hands through his blond hair and looked at me incredulously. “Are you kidding me? You… acted on it. You made your choices based on the private information I gave you.”

“So?”

“So, you promised me you wouldn’t do anything.”

“No,” I corrected. “I promised I wouldn’t humiliate him.”

He snorted. “Well, you haven’t done that, have you?” He patted his shirt and shorts. “Where in the world did I put that gold star?”

“What is your problem?” I asked. “Aren’t you the one always encouraging me to hang out with him?”

“A mistake I won’t be making again, I assure you. I don’t offer my friends up as sacrificial lambs.”

“Oh, no?” I said. “Isn’t that exactly what you’re known for doing, you and your string of fake girlfriends? You even wanted me to join their ranks.”

“That was different.”

“You bet it was!” I crossed my arms. “You used people terribly. I never lied to anyone, and what’s more, I was having fun, too.” Which was more than I could say for Malcolm and his beards.

“Oh, so because you lay down all your parameters in advance, that makes it okay? Guess George Prescott taught you a lot after all.”

My mouth dropped open. “How dare you try to take the moral high ground with me? You broke Genevieve’s heart. Willingly. Cavalierly.” I shook my head. “Are you saying the difference is that she wasn’t a Digger, and so wasn’t supposed to have the same courtesy? Is that why you didn’t tap her?” Is that why I was standing here right now?

Malcolm was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, all the anger was gone from his voice. “I regret so much what I did to Genevieve. I cared about her a lot, and you’re absolutely right. I hurt her, and I shouldn’t have. It was a cruel thing to do and I will never do something like that again.” He scrutinized me. “So you see now—”

“No,” I said. “It’s not the same.” And it didn’t matter anyway. Poe and I were through.

He sighed. “Fine. Screw it. You don’t listen to me, he doesn’t listen to me. I’m not a fucking babysitter. What was it you wanted to ask me?”

“If Jamie’s a vegetarian.”

He stood there for a second, blinking at me. “Yeah, you clearly care for him so much. You don’t even know something like that?”

“I thought I did.” And in my defense, he wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming individual on the planet.

“He is. Why?”

“Did he eat the lobster last night?”

Now Malcolm stepped back, eyes wide, face a mask of disbelief. “What the hell is your problem? Let it go already! So you all got food poisoning. What’s the big deal?”

“Did he?” I pressed.

“I have no idea! I don’t calorie count other people’s plates.”

“Try to remember,” I said, urging.

Malcolm threw his hands in the air. “Probably not. Vegetarians don’t tend to go for things with faces, remember?” At least that was something we had in common. “Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. “Because he told us all that he had been eating it. Last night when he was busy insisting we were a bunch of paranoid freaks. Curious, don’t you think?”

And I walked away.

I don’t know if Malcolm talked to Poe before lunch, or if the seed I planted had any effect at all on my big sib. But, as I lingered over my grilled-cheese-with-tomato and chocolate milk, I noted the following:

1)Malcolm and Poe were sitting on opposite sides of the room.

2)Jenny and Harun were the only knights of D177 who hadn’t made it in for lunch.

3)Frank and Kadie Myer had not yet left.

The dining room was packed to the brim, as if no one wanted to miss out on a hot lunch and be relegated to fending for themselves with questionable deli meat for the rest of the afternoon. They’d planned an island-wide barbecue for dinner, and Salt had only recently returned from the mainland, the small boat packed full of ribs, steaks, burgers, and fixings. Even Darren Gehry was present again, having apparently recovered from his bout with food poisoning as well. I watched him finish his third cupcake—iced in Eli blue frosting—and proceed to sweet talk Cook into letting him into the kitchen to lick the bowl. I chuckled when she capitulated. Apparently, she had a soft spot for boys with attitude problems.

“Change your mind?” I overheard another patriarch ask Frank toward the end of the meal. “I’m so glad to see it!”

“Nah,” Frank said. “We’re just having a little bit of engine trouble and I want to take a look at it before we sail out. Just in case.”

Engine trouble? Why in the world would Demetria do something to the Myers that caused them to remain on the island? And even if she had a good reason, it seemed a bit beyond her to dismantle a ship’s engine. When I looked back at Demetria, her grin had vanished, and as I watched, she excused herself from the table. I pursed my lips. Could no one in this organization be trusted anymore?

(Yes, okay, fine, it’s not like I haven’t kept my own secrets.)

“Dee, wait up,” I said to her on the porch. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said without looking at me.

I took the steps down to the path. “This is going to sound crazy but…you didn’t sabotage the Myers’ boat, did you?”

She stopped and looked at me. “Amy, please, like I’d want them here any longer?”