24. Dallas
DALLAS
Emmi was standing outside Cynthia’s house, trying to find the courage to walk into the party all by herself, wishing Monika was there to go with her.
They’d FaceTimed yesterday, and Emmi was not surprised that within a few minutes, they’d come up with a perfect plan to humiliate Jack Holt.
Jack could run to Germany, but no way could he hide.
Emmi would not, she decided, tell her mother about their scheme, knowing she would disapprove of any involvement.
From across the street, Emmi studied the mansion, intimidated by the sight of fifteen or more cars parked along the curb in both directions.
She’d walked the two blocks from the Holts’ house in a short dress and sandals, her hair blown out and nails done, thanks to her mom, so she wasn’t going to turn around and go back.
Instead she forced herself to walk up to the door and ring the bell.
No one answered. She followed the sounds—of pop music and splashing—to the back gate, which someone had propped open with a brick.
The backyard was crowded and loud, and Emmi almost skulked away. But then she spotted Cynthia getting out of the pool in a pink bikini, her long hair dripping water on the ground.
“Hey,” Cynthia said when Emmi walked over. “You made it.”
“Hi,” Emmi said, feeling shy and unsure of what to do with her hands.
A guy walked by and handed Cynthia a bottle of vodka, his flip-flops slapping on the wet concrete. Cynthia kept her attention on Emmi.
“You look adorbs,” Cynthia said.
“Thanks.”
“Warning, everyone’s pretty shit-faced already, so you’ve got some catching up to do. We got a keg.” Cynthia took a striped towel from a lounge chair and wrapped it around her waist. She looked at Emmi with hope in her eyes. “Any update on Operation You-Know-Who?”
“My friend Monika and I have an excellent plan for him. I’ll text you tomorrow night to tell you how it goes.” Emmi looked down at the pool, where a couple was making out in the deep end.
“That’s Madison,” said Cynthia. “She’s my bestie, you’ll totally love her. And Austin. They’re, like, practically engaged. It’s disgusting. Come on, I’ll introduce you around.” She led Emmi into the crowded pool house.
Someone put a red cup of beer in her hand, and she struggled to catch names over the music. There were two Ashleys, a Harper, a Courtney, and a Winnie. A Steve, a Trevor, and a Hunter. Emmi could not keep them straight. Everyone was beautiful.
“Some of the guys here are idiots,” Cynthia said in her ear, “but I can steer you toward the decent ones if you’re interested in hooking up.”
“I have a boyfriend,” Emmi said, an apology in her tone she hadn’t intended.
A girl in jean shorts staggered up to them and leaned on Cynthia. “I love you, Cyn,” she said.
Cynthia looked at Emmi over the drunk girl’s shoulder and rolled her eyes.
“I love you too.” She patted her on the back. “Are you gonna puke?”
“For sure,” the girl said, sounding thrilled about it. “Yeah.”
“Fuck my life,” Cynthia said, and then yelled, “Coming through.” She put an arm around the girl and guided her through the pool house, clearing people out of the way.
Emmi was on her own. She watched the beer pong for a while, one arm wrapped around her own waist. Four girls were working on the choreography for some kind of dance but kept laughing too hard to get through it.
A group of guys watched and egged them on.
Emmi took a sip of her beer and went outside where it was quieter.
She was considering slipping back out the gate when she noticed a group sitting around a table on the far side of the pool.
There was an empty chair. She bravely walked over and introduced herself.
The girls, she learned, were Allie, a red-haired girl who appeared to be very drunk, Nell, and Becca.
Emmi repeated each name, pointing to make sure she got it right.
The boy was Sam. He was wearing a straw fedora, and he seemed very different from the guys playing beer pong inside.
“Nice to meet you all,” Emmi said as she sat down.
“I love your bracelet,” Becca said.
Emmi put her hand to it, touching the little Tiffany charms her grandmother had given her. “Thank you.”
“And your dress,” said Becca. “Is that Free People?”
“No,” Emmi said. “It’s from Germany.”
“Hollldd on a minute,” Allie blurted out, adjusting her bikini top, which was dangerously close to falling off. “Are you that girl from Paris Cynthia told me about?”
“I don’t think so, no,” said Emmi.
“Yes, you are,” Allie said, wagging a finger at her. “You’re that French girl.”
“I’m from Germany,” Emmi said.
“See,” Allie said to the group. “I knew it!” She took a shot of tequila, slammed the little glass on the table, and shuddered. “I heard all about you,” she said.
“France and Germany aren’t the same thing,” Nell said. She leaned in and moved the tequila bottle out of Allie’s reach.
“Practically,” said Allie.
“Acchhh zo, ze Fraulein eeez from Deutschland, ja ?” said the boy Sam with an exaggerated accent.
Emmi turned to see him smiling at her slyly.
“Nossing to say? Verrrry interesting. Vee haf vays of making you talk.”
“Sorry, what?” And then Emmi understood: he was making fun of her. “Wait,” she said, “is that what you think Germans sound like?”
“Pretty much,” Sam said. “I’m working on my German accent. I’m playing Dr. Einstein in Arsenic and Old Lace this summer.”
“Is it a play?” Emmi said.
“It’s an American classic,” said Sam, like he couldn’t believe she’d never heard of it.
“I got a lead role,” said Becca.
Becca was a show-off. She had one hand on her collarbone, the other on Sam’s knee. “You should come see us,” she said. “It’s going to be hilarious.”
“But it’s dark humor,” said Sam, nodding wisely, “if you’re into that.”
“No, hang on, y’all.” Allie was shaking her head, clearly struggling to place Emmi. “She’s the girl who’s staying in Jack Holt’s house.”
Sam looked up at her from under the brim of his fedora.
Did these kids hate Jack too? Because Emmi certainly didn’t want to be associated with him. “I don’t know Jack,” she said quickly. “But yes, my parents are staying in his family’s house.”
“Really?” Sam asked. “Why?”
“My dad is working here, so he and my mom—”
“Where are the Holts?” he said.
Emmi did not want to say. “They’re away, at least until the end of the summer.”
Sam nodded, narrowing his eyes. “What a coward. I knew he’d taken off.”
“Wouldn’t you run away if you were him?” Becca said.
“What’s the deal, Sam?” Nell said, sitting forward in her chair and facing him.
Nell didn’t have the same Instagram look of Cynthia and so many of the girls at the party, with the long, thick lashes, arched eyebrows, injected lips, and impossibly white teeth.
Nell seemed more mature somehow, and Emmi liked her style, her barely buttoned, sheer cotton shirt and wide, high-waisted jeans.
Her fingers were curled around a vape pen. “Isn’t Jack, like, your best friend?”
“No,” Sam said.
“You aren’t in touch with him?” Nell said.
“Why would I be?” Sam said. “The guy’s a loser.”
Emmi hated that word. It was a bully’s word. She took a sip of her beer and looked away.
“ Loser? ” Nell said. “Seriously? What happened? The four of you were inseparable.”
Sam shifted in his chair.
“Drew’s such a sweet guy,” Nell went on. “Rosie’s brilliant, and Jack—”
“Drew’s got zero rizz, and Rosie’s basic,” Becca said. “Girl needs a makeover.”
Emmi had always thought her English was pretty decent, but her lack of comprehension around people her own age made her feel like a beginner.
Nell ignored Becca. “I figured you were upset Jack got expelled,” she said.
Sam’s face had turned red. Emmi saw him swallow.
“Upset?” Becca said with a laugh. “Sam’s the one who showed me the list. And I showed it to Cynthia, and her mom went absolutely ballistic—”
“You?” Nell said to Sam. “You’re the one who got Jack in trouble?”
“He thought I should know what that asshole was saying about me and all of us,” Becca said. She leaned over and kissed Sam. “He’s my hero.”
Nell rolled her eyes. “I don’t buy it,” she said. “Jack was my lab partner in bio all junior year, and he was always so decent to me. No one becomes an asshole overnight.”
Emmi was intrigued; Jack had a defender in this girl.
“It’s pretty simple actually,” said Sam. “Jack is bitter because he’s never had a girlfriend.”
Nell was shaking her head. “He never came across like an angry guy. He was always nice.”
“Maybe you should date him then,” Sam said.
“I’m not saying I want to date him,” Nell said. “It’s just confusing to hear you talk bad about him.”
“According to Jack’s list,” Becca said, “I’m worth a small Mercedes while you’re worth, like, a Starbucks Frappuccino. You’re the one who should be the most pissed off at him.”
“And yet I’m the one telling you,” Nell said, her voice strong, “Jack liked me. We got along.”
“The only good thing about Jack Holt,” Becca said, “is that he’s the reason Sam and I got together.”
“You’re wrong about him,” Nell said. “Everybody is. I even went to the principal, the disciplinary committee, and my teachers, and I told them I thought Jack should get a chance to show and explain the math he did. I assumed you stood up for him too.” No one at the table said anything.
“You’re seriously wrecking my vibe, Nell,” said Allie. “No more talking about that asshole. Shots! Let’s do shots.”
Emmi turned as three shirtless guys wrestled a fourth, who was fully clothed, into the pool.
Nell got up from the table and walked away. Emmi watched her cross the lawn and go out through the gate.
Like anywhere else, there were mean kids mixed together with the nice ones. In Berlin Emmi was pretty sure she knew who was who. Here she wasn’t entirely sure. But she could make a good guess.
She got up then as well and followed Nell out of the yard.
Half an hour later, Nell dropped Emmi off in front of the house. Before she even went inside, Emmi tried calling Monika to tell her to slow the plan down, or maybe even cancel it altogether before they punished a boy who maybe wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Monika didn’t pick up.
The dogs—Jack’s dogs—ran to meet her at the door.
She loved being welcomed by them, being visited at night, being greeted every time she walked into a room.
They followed her to the kitchen, where she got them treats from a glass jar on the counter.
She looked up and happened to spot her mother outside, pacing by the pool, a lit cigarette between her fingers. Emmi’s mom did not smoke.
She backed away from the window, wondering whether she’d gone too far in pointing out her dad’s accidental sexism and feeling like things she knew nothing about were afoot in the family.
She went upstairs to her room—possibly Jack’s room—and tried calling Monika again and again, unsure of whose version of the story she should believe.