14. Darcy
DARCY
“So you grew up with country club parties and preppy collars.” Flick’s tone gave no clue: it could’ve been awe or criticism.
In reply Darcy took a swig from the pinot noir, which she’d stolen off a table. Then she passed it across the golf cart seat to him. She liked white wine better than red, but thieves couldn’t be choosers. “Pretty much.”
“You golf?”
“Once upon a time. But I quit this year.” It was something her father still hadn’t stopped asking about, and she could tell it broke his heart. The truth was, it broke hers a little bit, too. The night air was growing cool and the party at the club was winding down. Being back out here on the course in the stolen cart felt strange; even in the dark she knew the rise and fall of the fairway.
“I saw your name on a gold plaque in the trophy case,” Flick admitted. “It was on a few, actually.”
“Yeah, well those days are over now.”
She could feel Flick’s eyes on her. “What changed?”
Darcy leaned back against the cart seat. “I guess I did.” It was the truth. What happened had changed her. She didn’t let herself think about the fact that her favorite hole was only twenty yards away. Or that she could make birdie on it with her eyes closed. She’d numbed herself to that part of her, the old Darcy. Now, she was just a girl sitting in a cart with a cute boy who’d snuck away from another one of her father’s boring club parties. “I’m different now.”
In the light of the half-moon she could just make out Flick’s sharp features when she snuck a glance.
“I think I know what you mean. Moving here, I’ve changed, too. I don’t do the things I used to. You know, the things that kind of defined me.”
“What kind of things?” All she really knew was that he’d come from New York and had a stepfather with a lot of money who drove her parents crazy. But she had a sense Flick was different.
“I don’t know. Little things, like how I used to ride the subway.”
“The New York subway system defined you?” She’d meant it as a joke, but as the words tumbled from her mouth she heard the judgment in them. Even in the shadows she could see his expression harden.
“Never mind. It sounds stupid.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She shifted uncomfortably on the seat. “I’m sorry. That came out kind of harsh.”
Flick turned to her. “Yeah, it did.” At least he didn’t seem mad.
Darcy smiled inwardly. She liked that he was so direct. Direct was refreshing. All the guys she knew said one thing but meant another. “Please, tell me more about New York.”
“It wasn’t the subway, it was the freedom I had. I miss the energy, the stadiums, the people, the food. There was so much to do. Here, you have to drive everywhere and, let’s be honest, it’s just fields and trees.”
Darcy couldn’t argue with any of that. “You must be so bored.”
“Pretty much.”
“Why’d you guys move here, if you loved the city?”
“My mom got married and then Stan, my stepfather, retired. He decided we should move up here. It was all kind of fast.”
This was interesting. “Do you like your stepdad?”
When Flick shrugged, his shoulder brushed against hers. “I don’t dislike him.”
“So that’s a no.” They both laughed.
“He’s okay. He’s got a different outlook, let’s say. Stan made a lot of money and he kind of shows it off. I think he wants us to, too.”
“Yeah, I saw the Ferrari in your driveway. Hard to miss that orange.”
“Don’t forget about the RV. I know your father loves that.”
Darcy had to laugh. Her parents were so worked up about what to do about it, and yet here she and Flick were talking openly. Adults made things so complicated. “Still, it must be nice having money. God, I would kill for a car like that.”
“First of all, I don’t drive the Ferrari. Though I would like to,” he admitted. “But having all that stuff is weird. It’s Stan’s stuff, not mine.”
“I get that,” Darcy allowed. “So you didn’t live like this before, it sounds.” She hoped that didn’t offend him. God knew her nosiness got her in trouble sometimes.
“No, my mom and I never lived like this. We had a small apartment, and the Chevy I drive now. That was it.” His voice grew soft. “We didn’t have a lot, but we had what we needed.”
His admission was so honest Darcy felt the urge to reach for his hand; it was right there, resting on the cart seat next to hers. But she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. “I know what you mean,” she said instead.
When she’d seen Flick walking out of the clubhouse earlier, all she’d wanted to do was get the hell out of the party. She would’ve left with almost anyone. Now, she was glad to be here with him. “Thanks for helping me escape,” she told him. “Club dinner parties are so lame.”
Members were dressed their best but behaved their worst. The themes changed but the crowd was always the same. It all felt so fake. The sad thing was that her dad’s love of this place was as real as anything. Which was another reason that she could never tell him why she’d quit golf.
“So what about you?” Flick asked. “Why’d you drag me out here?” His voice was playful, but the question was pretty bold.
Darcy turned to face him. “Do you not want to be here?” She could be bold, too.
Flick’s jaw flexed as he considered this. “I don’t mind it,” he said. “But I’m curious. I see you around, and you’re always hanging out with the camp counselors and lifeguards. So why not tonight?”
He’d pegged her. Darcy stiffened, thinking about the party the night before at Reagan Rogers’s. About how well things had gone with Spencer until Ashley butted in and said what she’d said. It wasn’t even Ashley’s fault that Darcy was so embarrassed; Darcy shouldn’t have given her the power to begin with. But she couldn’t tell Flick all that. “I see those guys all the time. Sometimes you need a break. You know?”
She’d managed to dodge his question, but she could still feel his curiosity hovering in the air between them. “You work with them, too,” she said, turning the tables. “Do you know any of the guys yet?”
“I wouldn’t say we work together.”
Darcy wasn’t sure what he meant by that. “Well, you’re not a camp counselor but you work here, too. You must see them around.”
“I work in the kitchen. Lifeguarding and camp counseling is summer entertainment for them. Their parents probably think it looks good on some Ivy League application. When it comes down to it, they’re members, Darcy. Like you.” He paused. “I’m not.”
Darcy bit her lip. That part hadn’t even occurred to her. He wasn’t just new, he was on the outside in other ways. “I’m not a member,” she admitted. “Sure, my dad is president, but it’s a job. And tonight is kind of like working. Adam and I hate it. So, I’m actually not much different than you around here.”
Flick put his feet up and leaned back like he had to think about that. “Maybe.”
The stars overhead were popping now. The air had cooled, and Darcy could feel the warmth coming off of Flick. She wondered what it would be like to lean into.
Her father may have been president, but Flick’s family clearly had a lot of money. Probably more than a lot of the ones who belonged to Mayhaven. But here he was in the kitchen, making their food and waiting on the counselors and guards. “Are those guys assholes when they come in the restaurant?”
Flick shrugged. “They are who they are.”
Darcy knew exactly who they were. That was high school for you, loathing the popular kids and dying to be invited to sit at their lunch table in the same breath.
“It must suck moving your senior year, leaving your friends behind,” she said. It may have been the wine or the late hour, but hearing how Flick felt like he was on the outside hit a little close to home. “Do you know Spencer Delancey? He’ll be in your class at school.”
“Oh, we’ve met.” Flick snorted. “Number One.”
“What?”
“His membership number. He made sure to tell me the other day in the dining room when he came in with his friends.”
“Oh.” She realized she’d hit a nerve. “The other guys can be jerks, but Spencer is actually pretty cool, if you get to know him.”
“Is he? Because what little I do know of him is clear. He seems like an asshole.”
The fresh edge to his tone was sobering. “Whoa, okay.”
“Sorry if he’s your friend, but he’s not my people.” Flick reached for the bottle from her and took a swig.
Not his people? Spencer was one of the few people who’d been nice to her that summer, despite how the party at Reagan’s had ended. Ashley’s behavior wasn’t on him. It made her realize she still harbored hope. “You barely know Spencer.”
“Yeah, I think I do. I’m wondering if you do, though.”
Darcy slid away from Flick on the cart seat. He’d seemed so cool a minute ago, and here he was judging. “He’s the only person who actually got through to my toughest camper this week. She refused to go near the water, and now she’s practically swimming. All because of him!”
Flick laughed. “Okay. Sounds like he’s got two fans.”
Darcy’s cheeks burned. How dare Flick say that. Her feelings about Spencer Delancey were many and complicated, but they were private. She shouldn’t have brought him up. She shouldn’t have been there with Flick in the first place.
“We should get back,” she said, turning the key hard in the ignition. The cart rumbled to life, silencing the crickets and the peepers and all the good stuff she’d been feeling until a moment ago. She’d misread Flick Creevy.
“Already?” Did he sound disappointed? It sounded like it, but she didn’t care. She dumped the rest of the wine in the grass and swung the cart around toward the clubhouse.
The party would be wrapping up, which meant her parents would be looking for her.
She didn’t even try to drive quietly around to the back. Instead, Darcy blew past the white tent where members lingered over dessert, past the dance floor where she caught a glimpse of her parents dancing. Past a teenage crowd, which she scanned quickly, spying some of Spencer’s friends but not him. She slowed long enough to confirm that Ashley was missing, too. Perfect.
Along the side of the clubhouse, she parked the cart roughly and tossed the key in the cupholder. “See you around,” she said, trying to sound indifferent. She didn’t want Flick to know how burned up she was.
“Look, I’m sorry for what I said out there. I shouldn’t have dissed your friends.”
“They’re not my friends,” she said, without thinking. Who cared, it was none of his business, anyway. She grabbed the empty wine bottle from the basket.
“Well, you seem pretty upset, so the apology still stands.” He paused, and she found herself waiting, too. “Darcy, I liked talking with you.”
“Yeah, cool. My folks will be looking for me, so… have a good one.” She dumped the wine bottle in a recycling bin and strode back out into the twinkling lights and thrum of the jazz band, leaving Flick Creevy standing in the shadows.
The whole ride home, Ingrid and Ned unpacked the evening in the front seat like a government debriefing. Moments earlier they’d been dancing to the band. Now, with the satiety of lobsters and jazz waning, her father was back to review and revenue.
“I’ll have to get the final numbers from Mossimo on Monday, but I think it was a hit. Don’t you think it was a hit?”
Ingrid nodded dreamily. “Such a lovely evening.” Her mother, still flushed and fluttery, was still entrenched in that delirious state of having had too much wine. At least someone was enjoying the night.
Adam glared across the back seat at his sister. “Where were you? You took a cart. I thought you didn’t golf any-more.”
Immediately her father’s face filled the rearview mirror. “You took a cart out?” God, her parents were nosy.
“Yeah,” she said, holding his gaze in the mirror. “The party was really boring, and I was tired of it, so I took a cart.”
Her father looked like he wanted to say more, but instead looked back at the road. It made her feel even worse.
“You were with Flick,” Adam whispered.
Darcy threw him a look and shook her head.
“Yes, Flick,” Adam said louder. “Darcy and Flick took the golf cart.”
She reached across the seat and pinched his arm. Adam yelped. Her mother spun around. “Wait, you mean the new neighbor?”
Was everyone intent on ruining her night?
Her father’s gaze flashed in the mirror again. “You were with Flick Creevy?”
“My God. For a hot minute. I showed him the course. So what?”
“What’s there to see in the dark?” her father asked. But Ingrid had other questions.
“He’s rather cute.” She turned to her husband. “You said he’s a nice kid, too, right, honey?”
“He’s not that cute,” Darcy said. Or very nice, she thought to herself as she stared out the window. Why was her father driving so slow? She should never have agreed to ride together to the club. This was pure, unadulterated torture.
When they pulled in the driveway she was the first to exit. “Such a lovely night,” Ingrid declared again.
But her father was calling after her. “Darcy, I’m happy you went out on the course again, honey. But you need to be careful taking carts at club events. People are always watching…”
“Oh, believe me, I know!” She raced ahead of them through the front door.
Up in her room, Darcy slammed the door and checked her phone. There were practically a hundred texts from Lily, asking about the club party and who was there and if she talked to Spencer. There was another from the camp director, reminding everyone about a meeting. And one last text—from a number she didn’t recognize. She opened it.
Hey. Thanks for taking me on your joyride tonight. I had fun, even if you did kidnap me.
Darcy’s breath caught. How had he gotten her number?
Well, it didn’t matter. Clearly Flick might not like the people they worked with at the club, but she didn’t have a choice. And she wasn’t about to get wrapped up in the opinions of some new kid she barely knew. High school was hard enough already, and they had a whole summer to get through. Her father was always reminding her, Try to get along with the members. They’re kind of like family.
Oh please, she wanted to tell him. She already had a family. A messy, barely functional, insanely annoying family. If the Birches were a club, she was pretty damn sure no one would want to join.
She decided not to reply to Flick. His comment still stung. Just because she liked Spencer didn’t make her some crazed fangirl. Flick Creevy had no clue.
Instead, she washed up for bed, weighed herself one last time for the day, and slid between her cool cotton sheets, eyelids already growing heavy.
When she drifted to sleep she had two people on her mind: Spencer Delancey and Flick Creevy. When she woke up around one AM , there was just one. She reached for her phone in the dark.
I had fun … he’d said.
Darcy paused, her thumbs hovering over the glowing keys. Then, before she could change her mind she texted back.
Same.
Saying nothing would probably have put an end to it. But there was something about Flick Creevy. And she didn’t want to do that, at least not yet.