Chapter 4
Four
ISABEL
Natalia’s home in Exeter Park is this humongous Mission-style mansion hidden behind tall, manicured hedges and a wrought iron gate manned by several guards.
Sleek, shiny cars are parked in the driveway; I count four of them, though I’m sure there’s more in the back.
I drink in the details, make a mental note to sit outside when I can just to try and paint it onto the page with words.
Shirley is a stout woman dressed in business casual.
She has a warmth about her that reminds me of Mama.
She lets me in the front door and leads me through the cavernous foyer, tells me there are seven bedrooms in total, each with its own en suite bathroom.
They’ve transformed the pool house into an art studio for one of Natalia’s guests.
For his privacy, she says, the curtains will remain drawn and the doors locked.
The walls are decorated with paintings and family pictures. There’s a framed magazine cover of Natalia in a ball gown at some event called Le Bal des débutantes. The largest one is of Natalia with her parents and three older brothers. All of them look more Spanish than Filipino.
Natalia is almost always spotlighted as the unica hija, teeth as white as the pearls around her neck.
It’s clear she’s the apple of her parents’ eyes.
She’s several months older than me, and I only know this because her parents had a fine dining restaurant cater our entire batch’s lunch at school for her birthday.
There’s a white baby grand piano in one of the many living rooms we passed by (how many does a family even need?).
My fingers itch to play; when I was a kid, I used to take lessons after school, all the way up to the end of freshman year of high school, around the time I dropped out.
Recently, I’ve been saving up for my own keyboard; I don’t even want to tell Mama I want one because I know she’ll waste her savings buying it for me.
Through arched glass double doors, I see a big backyard with a pool. There are already people in it, splashing around and sipping brightly colored drinks from curved glasses.
“Most of them arrived from New York this morning,” Shirley explains. I bet they came in a private jet, or they flew first class at the very least. Maybe I’ll write characters who strictly fly private. Maybe.
Shirley pushes the door open and gestures for me to step out. The Philippine heat greets me with gusto. Even under the shade the sun is blinding. There’s no breeze, not even here, where there are more trees than you can find outside the subdivision walls. Humidity is king.
“Miss Natalia,” Shirley calls out. “The last guest is here.”
A head pops out from the side of a chocolate brown woven lounge chair.
My breath catches. There she is. Natalia.
Still with the same dark hair, that sharp, enviable nose, and the carved jaw that is sure to be the result of Botox, lymphatic drainage massages, and a nightly Gua Sha routine.
Her skin is tanned, no doubt from hours spent luxuriating under the sun.
Natalia pushes her sunglasses onto the top of her head. For a split second, it looks as though she’s happy to see me. Then she disappears behind the seat and mutters a curt, “Hey.”
I regret coming here already.
“We’ll take your bags upstairs,” Shirley says to me, gesturing to the maids in waiting. I barely have time to reply before she leaves me by myself.
I stand there feeling stupid, uncertain whether to join them out in the light or run all the way home. Someone else makes my choice for me.
“Is that fucking Sugar?” someone yells from the pool.
That voice is unmistakable. Jaime Salazar, captain of the Walden School football team, and Natalia’s on-again, off-again boyfriend in high school (and possibly still now).
I cut my teeth in freshman year swooning over him, at least before he caught on to the bullying and started calling me Sugar.
I told myself he meant it affectionately compared to the other boys, especially when we became sorta-kinda friends when I was part of the ensemble for the school play in which he played the lead our second semester (a futile attempt to reinvent myself), but it still stung every time.
“Sugar!” Jaime pulls himself out of the pool, tall, toned, and handsome.
He pushes his wet, dark hair back and saunters barefoot over to me.
“Wow, what the fuck, I haven’t seen you in forever.
” He places a hand on my shoulder and leans in to give me a beso.
His skin is surprisingly cold, refreshing against my warm cheek.
“Hi, Jaime,” I greet.
“Stop fawning over her, Jaime,” Natalia calls out. “It’s not like she’s the Pope or whatever.”
Jaime rolls his eyes playfully. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a moment of conspiratorial camaraderie. “Come,” he says to me. “I’ll introduce you to the others.”
The others swim to the edge of the pool to greet me. The rest sit next to Natalia on their respective lounge chairs.
There’s Luz, Natalia’s best friend since diapers, who dragged the joke of my being Piss Girl to its death. She dated Rocío’s twin brother, Inigo, on and off for all four years of high school, starting a little after Freshman Night—a fact that Rocío and I like to give him shit for.
Luz lifts her sunglasses to squint at me then scrunches her nose up as if she smelled something disgusting.
There’s Ravina, on Luz’s right, with the fluffiest curls I’ve ever seen on anyone. She smiles at me politely, but it doesn’t reach her big brown eyes. I feel, in an instant, like an interloper. I am one. I swear those eyes can see right through me, as if they have a way of knowing why I’m here.
“That’s Beauregard,” Jaime says, pointing to a blond guy lounging on a round floater. “We call him Bo. New York transplant from the South.”
Bo lifts his drink in greeting. I wave back.
“That’s Cisco and his girlfriend, Chiara. I think you’re rooming with her.” The couple greets me warmly. “And finally—”
“I’m Erin.” A girl with cropped curls and baby bangs pulls herself up from the edge of the pool to shake my hand. “You’re…Sugar?”
I hear Natalia snort behind me.
“Isabel,” I tell Erin. “Sugar’s—”
“A nickname,” Luz cuts me off. “Everyone called her that in high school, didn’t they, Sugar?”
I clench my fists. I should’ve never come here, book or no book. This was a mistake.
“What do you want me to call you?” Erin asks. “People used to call me Riri in high school, so I know all about reinvention.”
I cling to the lifeline she throws at me with relief. “Isabel’s fine.”
“Okay, Isabel,” she says, smiling. “It’s good to meet you. You went to school with this turd?” She nods at Jaime. “Was he as annoying then, or?”
“He was alright.”
“Aw, c’mon, Sugar, just alright?” Jaime teases. I wish he’d stop calling me that.
“Jaime, can you go check if Kieran’s awake?” Natalia cuts through our conversation. Jaime presses his lips together and gestures toward the house.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Do you want to swim with us?” Erin asks as I rub my arms for want of something to do.
I wish I brought one of my journals out before the maids took my bags.
I would at least have an excuse to sit aside and be left alone.
I could get started on my notes. Terrible, horrible feeling to be back here.
Sickening, like the walls are closing in.
A gilded cage is still a cage. “The water’s cool and refreshing.
The perfect cure for jet lag. I can go up with you and help you get changed? ”
I have never been jet-lagged in my life. I’ve never even left the Philippines, much less its time zone.
I glance around me. The girls are dressed in skimpy bikinis, their abs on full display and no doubt toned by hours and hours of Pilates and yoga and weight training.
I packed swimsuits, sure, but I don’t know about putting one on now that I’m next to them.
Therapy has helped me move past the shame and anxiety I acquired Freshman Night, but apparently, it hasn’t eliminated it.
For all my progress, I worry about what they’ll think.
If they would make fun of me for my clothes again, be able to tell how sedentary I am, and pity me for it.
I’m proud of my clothes! I’m proud of my body! I inherited both from my mother!
And yet.
And yet.
I wish I’d brought a rash guard. The pool does look inviting.
“I think I’m okay,” I tell Erin.
“Aw, c’mon,” Cisco coos. “Join the club.” He flicks water at me and I back away as it hits my legs. Cold, just as they said it was.
“Cisco,” Chiara chastises. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she tells me. “Ignore him. He’s had a lot to drink.”
“He’s alive!” I turn to find Jaime stepping out of the house, trailed by a sleepy looking boy rubbing at his eyes.
He yawns, and then he straightens when our eyes meet.
I’m struck by the sight of him: a bedhead of shaggy dark brown curls, a pointed nose, light scruff that surrounded pink, pouty lips.
His Patrician features are striking. He looks like he walked straight out of a double shift as someone’s leading man.
I smile without meaning to. He looks away.
Fuck me, I guess.
“Hi, Kieran.” Natalia sits up and tiptoes over to him. “Sleep well?” Her voice is syrupy sweet. I didn’t even know she could sound that affectionate.
“Mm,” answers Kieran. Still groggy, apparently.
“Come sit with me,” she says. “The sun is nice.”
He squints up at the sky. It looks almost like he’s about to say no, but then he nods and follows her to her lounge chair.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. She’s not with Jaime, then. She’s with Kieran.
The rest of the group settles into a discussion about something or another; I don’t know what. All I know is that it has to do with someone I’ve never met, doing something I’ve never done, in a place I’ve never been.
Day one, and I’m shut out from the group. Typical.
Why did I let myself think things would be different?
No. No. The actual truth is that I knew she wouldn’t be different; people like Natalia have no incentive to change.
I’m the one who fucked up, thinking I was strong enough to face her for a story that doesn’t even exist yet.
The most I have is a hunch, that it could lead to some place, somewhere.
And I’m here dunking myself in the social equivalent of battery acid just to see if it’ll be worthwhile.
Do you see me, God? Where’s my damn net?
I turn back to Erin. “I’m gonna go check on my stuff,” I say.
“Do you want me to come with?” she asks.
“No, no, it’s fine.” I’m on the brink of tears, and all I want is a smidge of privacy to sob into the phone with Rocío on the other line.
She’ll probably offer to come get me, but I know I won’t let her.
I can’t back out on my first day. It’ll be even more embarrassing than if I’d never come at all.
If I never came, Natalia wouldn’t have anything to say beyond, well, maybe she’s not over it.
But now? Now she can call me a chicken. Weak.
All the stupid names she called me before.
I remind myself of the least I can get: good fucking material, even if it makes me a masochist. Even if it’s material I can’t use in the near future.
After all, Amparo taught me to never throw ideas away, but instead to just set them aside because they always wind up useful later.
Erin shrugs and re-enters the pool. She laughs at someone’s joke, already having forgotten about me. My hand itches to take note of that.