“In matching short pants. Got it.”
“They’re not matching; they’re coordinated. And why should we be forced to wear tuxes or suits? We’re graduating. We’re sick of rules, and we’re sticking it to the man.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ, Oliver. Look around you. You guys are the man.”
I glanced at my friends and had to admit everyone there was wealthy and privileged, headed for ivy-covered schools where we’d study business or law or politics or medicine, following in our fathers’ footsteps, which would most likely lead us right back here to a big brick house near the water, where we’d live with our first wives and kids and dogs. We’d sail in the summer, ski in the winter, join country clubs, play golf on the weekends, and tennis after work. After a while, some of us would probably get divorced and move into a flat in the Park where our angry kids would be forced to spend time with us. Then maybe we’d get remarried and start the cycle all over again. It was kind of depressing, actually, how clearly I could see it all.
But Chloe was right. One thing we probably wouldn’t be was powerless or poor. Was I supposed to feel bad about it?
“Hey, it’s not my fault my family has money,” I told her. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know, maybe use some of your millions to make a difference in the world? Do something meaningful?”
“We give plenty to charity.”
“Like what?”
I had no idea, but I was sure my mother was on the board of at least three philanthropic organizations. I made some shit up. “The Shriners,” I told her. “Those people with the funny hats that ring the bell outside grocery stores at Christmas.”
Chloe snorted. “I think you’ve got your charity hats confused. The bell-ringing is for the Salvation Army.”
“Oh. Well, I’m positive we give to both. And I’m donating my time to a sailing camp for underprivileged kids this summer.”
“Are you?” She looked surprised. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah.” I’d almost forgotten my mother had roped me into doing it. At first I’d complained because it meant getting up at the ass crack of dawn, and it would seriously cut into the time I planned to spend on my own boat this summer, working on my tan and trying to win back Caitlyn Becker. We’d been together all year until I’d fucked it up by messing around with a sophomore right before prom. Caitlyn found out and dumped my ass last week. Maybe I should tell her about the sailing camp, I thought. Chloe was looking at me kind of differently right now, as if she saw me in a new, more favorable light.
The last time we’d hung out, she’d gotten pissed about some comment I made about her stupid boyfriend, Chuck. I wasn’t sorry, though. That guy was a fucking tool. I don’t even recall exactly what I said, maybe something about him being the reason the gene pool needs a lifeguard, but she’d gone off on me, accused me of being a privileged, judgmental, prep school asshole. A sheep in a navy blazer and khaki pants.
Sometimes I worried she was right.
But I still thought I looked good.
She looked good tonight too. Like the rest of the girls, she had on a long strapless dress and wore sparkly things in her ears and around her neck. Her dark hair was done up, which made her look older and more sophisticated. It also meant her tattoo was visible across her upper back—that was something the other girls in the group definitely didn’t have. It was a line from a book or something, but I forgot which one. She said her parents had been so furious with her for getting it without permission, they’d grounded her for a month. Taken away her keys, her phone, her freedom.
She’d also said it had been worth it. I dug that.
The moms were making the girls line up alone for a photo, and I watched them all smile for the camera. Their teeth were all really, really white but their dresses were all different colors. They sort of looked like a row of frozen yogurt flavors at TCBY. Chloe’s would be key lime, I thought, but even I knew that probably wasn’t something I should say out loud.
She was definitely the shortest girl in the group, but in my opinion, she was the hottest—another thing I wouldn’t say out loud. She’d either take it the wrong way and think I liked her liked her, or she’d hit me. We were pretty damn close, but it didn’t always feel like a choice. Even tonight had been set up by our mothers. And if her dark eyes and dimples sometimes drifted into my head while I was jerking off in the shower, it wasn’t on purpose.
“So what happened with Chuck?” I asked her later as we swayed awkwardly on the dance floor, my hands on her hips, hers on my shoulders.
She shrugged. “We broke up.”
“Good.” Then I couldn’t resist taking a jab. “Even you can do better than that douchebag.”
She glared at me. “What happened with Caitlyn?”
“I cheated on her.”
“With who?”
“Some random sophomore.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I tried to remember why I’d done it. “Caitlyn wasn’t around one night and this girl was cute.”
She shook her head. “You’re a pig.”
“Yeah, it was stupid,” I admitted. “I actually want to get Caitlyn back. At least for the summer. I don’t want to go away to college with a girlfriend.”
“Do you love her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I love the blowjobs she gives me.”
Chloe thumped me on the chest and made a disgusted sound. “You are the actual worst. What am I even doing here?”
“Getting ungrounded.” Her mother had shortened her punishment for the tattoo by two weeks after she’d agreed to be my date tonight.
“Oh yeah.” She grimaced. “I guess I’ll have to suffer through it.”
But actually, we had a pretty good time. Unlike Caitlyn, Chloe didn’t really care if I made an ass of myself doing the worm across the floor. She could talk to anyone, even the adults, and she laughed at all my jokes. It was comfortable and fun being with her, like old times. And she looked so fucking good in that dress. We’d never fooled around before, but I caught her looking at me once or twice, like she might be open to it. I couldn’t decide how I felt about that.
After the dance was over, we went back to my friend Jeff’s house for a pool party, and all of my buddies were drooling over Chloe’s body in her skimpy white bikini. I stayed silent, although truth be told, I was drooling too. Since when had she gotten those curves? Had they been there inside that key lime dress all night long? I wondered what they’d feel like under my palms.
“Pemberton, you don’t mind if I hit that, do you?” asked Lowell, his eyes on Chloe as she lowered herself into the hot tub with some other girls.
“Yeah, I do,” I said, realizing that I minded way more than I thought I would, and not just because I thought Lowell was a dickhead. “So don’t even fucking think about it.”
The guys all gave me shit about my reaction, and Lowell started getting in my face a little, so I left them and went over to stretch out on a deck chair near the hot tub. I didn’t want to get into a fight with my friends on prom night. And actually, I wanted to hang out with Chloe more than I wanted to be with them.