CHAPTER 41
Ana
I’VE BEEN TRYING to follow Zoe’s advice more.
She may just be one of the managers at the diner I work at, but if she’s telling me to go out more—the woman who’s idea of the perfect Saturday night consists of ordering in and binge watching nature documentaries—then perhaps I have hit social rock bottom.
So when Elle invited me to Andre’s birthday party that’s today, which also happens to fall on The Fourth of July, I (hesitantly) accepted her invitation.
She said it’s going to be a pool party, which I’d choose over costume parties any day.
Less itchy clothing and lots of swimming.
I love swimming. As a kid, when I wasn’t at the rink, I’d pretend I was skating in the water.
The buoyancy made for terrible replicas of axels and lutzes, but it helped pass the time until I could reach the ice again.
Plus, one of Andre’s friends on the Faerieladle tennis team, Nick Sanders, is going to be there.
He’s pretty cool, and we’ve casually talked at a few parties while in undergrad.
Troy is going to be there, too. Andre’s one of his close friends.
But I’ve decided, I’m just going to avoid him the way I previously did for eighteen years with success.
I can’t rationalize what’s been happening to my body every time I see Troy lately.
The control I’ve had from a young age, wrapped tightly around my fingers, it’s slipping more and more toward his grip.
It’s weird and I don’t like it. A distraction from a frivolous crush like Nick Sanders is exactly what I need to remind me that nothing’s changed.
Just a month ago, I wanted nothing more than to ship Troy off on a one-way ticket back to Sweden.
Or Greece. Or Belgium. Anywhere that was far away from Faerieladle.
Elle picks me up before we drive over to Andre’s house. I’ve never been, but have heard the pool’s gigantic. Apparently it overlooks the shore. Yup, Andre’s house is literally on the beach, which he shares with his other friend and tennis double, Mason.
We reach the party and the rumors are confirmed, except, the entire house is massive.
A summer beach house, but on steroids. If you can picture a beach house mashed with a modern Country-Style mansion, that’s what Andre and Mason’s house encapsulates.
Crisp white paint, ivory tapestry, and a sideview of the perfectly sparkling East Coast shoreline.
A long, curved driveway connects to the home’s entrance.
Red-white-and-blue party banners and frill decorate along the front lawn that’s perfectly cut and vibrant green.
The tall, white door by the entrance is pushed open, welcoming new partygoers dressed in swimwear and summer attire.
Spotting all the bikini-clad girls, my belly twists with fear.
Ana, you’re doing it this time. You will show your stomach. It’s been two years. You’re a big girl, I chant to myself.
Even the air smells expensive. A mix between sea breeze and fresh barbecue. The equally-as-mesmerizing neighboring homes gain my attention, where the long driveways are filled with confetti-covered bikes that glimmer as the sun beams over them.
Almost every vehicle parked along the clean sidewalks are either sports or luxury cars.
It’s no surprise witnessing the majority of Faerieladle students living in lavishness.
I don’t dwell on my lack of similar luxuries.
But when I’m smacked with the reminder of it this upfront, I do, at the very least, think about it.
Elle isn’t the same level of “popular” as most people at this party, but she’s either too confident to care or too oblivious to the reality of the social standings that glue the town of Faerieladle together.
I, on the other hand, am the outlier, a foot outside the town’s population pool, because Elle—rather her family—is also disgustingly wealthy.
“I’m gonna say hi to a few friends,” Elle tells me as we step inside, “but I’ll meet you by the pool right after!”
“Okay,” I say, already tense.
My friend darts off, blending with the crowd in seconds, while I try to make good use of myself. I don’t really know many people here, and the people I do know, I don’t speak to.
Without Naomi or Donya, I feel like a deer in headlights. I’ve invested my entire livelihood in figure skating that, in this moment, it hits me. I no longer have a personality. At least not outside of skating, or when I’m in social settings this intimidating.
I head to the bar and pour myself a shot, gulping it down in one swallow, hoping it helps my nerves settle.
When I turn over my shoulder, I spot Nick’s curly auburn hair from across the room, near the patio. A smile creeps onto my cheeks as I tidy my loose waves and make my way toward him.
Barely halfway there, I’m stopped by the girl I’d recognize anywhere.
Violet Dupont stands in front of me, her arms crossed over her chest. Her makeup looks flawless, her golden hair perfect, and she’s wearing a sunny blue bikini bra and matching cover-up that’s wrapped around her slim hips.
Her French braid swoops to her shoulder as she says, “I think you’re lost. The science geek club party’s a few blocks down. ”
Ignore her.
“Is that it?” I muster.
“Did you come in another one of your grandma one-pieces?” she says, smiling.
I feel the tears stinging into my eyes, but I blink them away rapidly. “Nope, I’m wearing a bikini.”
I know I should walk away, but my legs suddenly feel like they’re plants, rooted deep into the soil, and I can’t escape.
“Hm, that’s a shame,” she tsks. “At least the one-piece made your legs look a bit more proportionate. But cute shorts, I guess.”
Violet walks away, and I mentally slap myself for not saying something to her. For not standing up for myself. Again.
I glance at Nick, who’s now talking to a girl. I sigh. It didn’t matter, anyway. After that, there’s no confidence taking up space in my chest as I walk away, my shoulders deflated.
_________
I’m in the bathroom.
I ran off like a little girl after my run-in with Violet.
Lifting up my white tank top, exposing my skin, at the corner of my right hipbone, I land on my scar. I focus on it, really stare at it. All of its greyish purple streaks, the skin that still looks and feels bruised, but isn’t.
I knew I should’ve worn my one-piece.
I haven’t worn a bikini since my hip injury, embarrassed what people would think. But there was also the greater fear of receiving a sea of questions about the scar, when the public is still under the impression that it was my ankle that took the fall two years ago.
One day the stripe wasn’t there. Then overnight, boom. Marked forever.
My fingers begin to tremble as I glance up, registering my frazzled expression in the reflection.
Spinning. The room, it’s now spinning. I smack the faucet on with one hand, and with my other, I force my weight against the counter, trying to regain my balance.
Once the water is ice cold, I splash my face with loads of it to wake me up from the attack.
Several deep breaths later, I exit the bathroom. Calm.
_________
Elle’s laying on her stomach atop a lounge chair by the pool when I finally reach the backyard.
She slips off her sunglasses as I approach the seat next to her. “Hey, what happened?” she says. “I texted you just to make sure we were still meeting here.”
“Yeah, I just ran into someone,” I say. “Sorry, I didn’t see your text.”
“No worries. And was it Nick?” She rolls onto her back, sitting up eagerly.
“No, not Nick. I wish.” I smile, shaking off the tension still lingering on my skin.
“Ana, go talk to him,” she nudges. “You look hot, and that bikini is lethal.”
“Uh, I dunno.” Guilt pangs at my chest. “I don’t think I’m going to swim, anymore. My stomach hurts a little so I’ll wait a little bit before I decide.”
Her eyes widen with concern as she springs off her towel. “Oh no, I’ll go get you some ginger ale. I’ll be right back.”
“No, Elle, it’s fine.” I gesture for her to sit. “Thank you, that’s really sweet. But I’ll just go look for some, myself. You should have fun. Go and find Dimitri.”
She blushes. “Okay, but hurry back.”
“I will.”
_________
I know I’m being stupid, but I feel stupid right now.
This is why it would’ve been better if I just stayed home and focused on the one thing I’m good for. Ice skating.
I pace toward the perimeter of the house in hopes of finding a secluded spot where no one will be present to judge me.
Stumbling upon a corner piled up with packets of barbecue charcoal and smores supplies, I remove my tank top.
A test run for my nerves. Rolling back my shoulders, hoping it magically gives me the confidence to walk back to the pool in the same form, my breath catches in my throat when I hear the familiar deep voice from behind me.
Just my fucking luck.
“Are you planning on showing up at every party I go to from now on?” Troy teases.
The costume party, of course he’s bringing that up.
I snap around to face him, strategically resting my tank top over my right hip so that he doesn’t see the giant mark.
Look, you already failed the test, Ana!
Troy’s in a white t-shirt and blue swim shorts, his hands full with trays of food. This is probably where the storage shed is. Great.
For the first time today, I feel the blood rush back into my body, and agitation replaces my prior weariness.
“If that bothers you,” I toy, “then absolutely.”
“Never knew you had this much of a crush on me.”
“I do not—” Don’t fall into his trap. That’s what he wants. “Eloise invited me, if you must know. I was this close on not coming when I thought about it and realized you’d be here.”
“You’ve been thinking a lot about me, lately,” he says, lifting a brow.
If that was a reference to when he basically caught me admit to panting out his name, during self-climax, well,
Ugh...
“Oh, I have,” I quickly divert, “and it mostly involves you dying at the end.”
“I’m glad you came, Ana.” Troy’s lips curve into a suspicious grin before he walks away.
Maybe it’s the anger, the surge of fire I get every time I’m around that man, but it gives me the confidence to not care right now about my appearance. Before the fleeting certainty burns out, I remove my shorts and march back to the pool.