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  To Jimmy Brooks

  chapter 1

  Emily O’Brien slipped behind the steering wheel of the late-model SUV her father had given her last year for her sixteenth birthday and turned the key in the ignition. She was relieved to see that the clock on the dash glowed exactly eleven a.m. Emily was not the type of person who enjoyed running behind schedule, nor was she the type of person who might frequently use the words “late-model SUV.” Her father, however, did both of these things with alarming regularity.

  But being late and using sort-of-douchey phrases to describe things was not the end of the world. Still, as she pulled out of the driveway and headed toward Ana’s house, she was glad to have a break from her father’s eccentricities. Just this morning while she’d been trying to get packed and out of the house, he was underfoot the entire time: in the kitchen blending a carrot-kale protein shake for breakfast, in the laundry room arranging his bike shorts on the drip-dry rack, in the hallway checking out his abs in the full-length mirror by the guest bath. Finally, she just pushed by him with her weekend bag.

  “Oh! Sorry, sweetheart.”

  “Shouldn’t you be working by now?” Emily asked.

  “Self-employment, babe-EEE.” He waggled the “hang loose” sign back and forth, his thumb and pinky stretched out. “Membership has its privileges.”

  Emily grimaced. “You’re not a surfer, Dad.”

  Having a self-employed father is fine during the school year, she’d explained to her best friend, Ana Rodriguez. But now that junior year was finally over, the past few days felt like she’d been hanging out with a guy who’d stayed in college too long.

  “Where you headed?” he asked.

  “The Steins’ party. Upstate. Remember?”

  “Oh yeah! Par-TAY!”

  Emily rubbed her temples. “Dad. Please. Don’t.”

  “Text me when you get there, babe.”

  “Don’t call me ‘babe.’ ”

  “Sorry, sweetie.”

  “Or sweetie.”

  “C’mon, Em! Lighten up! You’re on your way to a fun weekend at that beautiful house in the mountains. Tell Mr. Stein I said ‘WhassUUUUUP?’ ”

  “I will do no such thing.” Emily sighed. “I will tell him you send your regards.”

  “Regards? Regards?” Her dad shook his head, laughing. “School’s out, Em! Ditch the vocab quiz. Remember . . .”

  “Don’t!” Emily tried to cut him off, running for the door that lead into the garage from the kitchen, but it was too late.

  “YOLO!” her dad had crowed as she fled with her bag. As Emily closed the door behind her, she heard him yell out the definition, as he always did: You only live once!

  Emily turned up the volume on her new summer playlist, hoping to tune out the embarrassing sound of her father’s voice echoing in her head. It was worse when he did this in front of her friends—and especially mortifying when he had done it in front of Kyle. Her father and Kyle had acted like stoned frat boys before she and Kyle called it quits. Kyle had been smoking way too much weed, and the thought of dating a total burnout the summer before senior year was more than Emily could take. Plus, she was tired of every man in her life telling her to “lighten up” and “take it easy.”

  The simple truth was that junior year had been hard. You try to lighten up while taking AP chemistry—that’s what she wanted to tell her dad and Kyle. It was like running a gauntlet that never seemed to (a) end or (b) get any more interesting. It was hard enough to study difficult subjects, but chemistry was one of those academic situations Emily found so boring she could barely pay attention. Still, she had studied until she thought her eyeballs would melt and her brain would come sliding out of her right ear. She’d gotten an A-minus by a single percentage point on the final exam, but she’d had to sacrifice nearly every social engagement for the last two months of school to pull it off.

  The only thing she hadn’t ditched was prom, and Kyle got so drunk at the after party that he had barfed in her purse. It was at that precise moment last month, standing by Ana’s pool with a clutch full of Kyle’s puke, that Emily had for once decided to take her father’s cool dude advice: Let go! Don’t hold on so tight to every freaking thing.

  The thing she let go of first was Kyle.

  Ana had helped her get Kyle into a cab, and then driven her home. After that, it was weird at school for the last month of classes. Kyle kept puppy-dogging her around campus, begging her to take him back. At first Emily was friendly but firm:

  “Not going to happen, Kyle. I have a lot of cute purses. None of them are designed to carry vomit.”

  Then after a particularly trying week in which final projects were due in every class and she’d refereed yet another screaming match between Ana and her other best friend, Brandon, (this time over pizza toppings), she made the mistake of watching a movie on cable with Juliette Lewis and Giovanni Ribisi. They both played differently-abled young people who fell in love, and by the end, she was a puddle on the living room carpet. In a moment of weakness she’d texted Kyle to come over, and he’d appeared at her doorway in five minutes. He smelled like pot, but his smile made her knees weak. Emily’s dad was already in bed, and they’d spent three hours on the couch together that night—only one of them with their clothes on.

  At that point Kyle started acting like they were back together again: meeting Emily at her locker every day and texting a lot. For the past few weeks, he’d been begging her to “make it official” again. Emily was torn. People did change, after all. That much was clear when her mom had left a few years back. Frankly, she wasn’t sure if it was fair to ask Kyle to change—especially since he was always telling her to “chillax.” God, she hated that nonword hybrid. It made her skin crawl every time he said it. She was so tired of her focus being mocked, the subject of eye rolls and derision—especially from a cute stoner who couldn’t even spell the word “derision,” much less use it in a sentence.

  See? There she was, looking down on Kyle again. And that was at the heart of her dilemma of whether to get back together with him again or not: respect. At the end of the day Emily was unsure that they had any respect for each other. In a way, she felt that they both wanted the other to be somebody different. On the flip side Emily didn’t know if she had the strength to truly make things final with Kyle. He could be very persuasive, and so she’d taken the path of least resistance and just started ignoring his texts and phone calls. Her silence had only served to increase the frequency and intensity of Kyle’s attempts to contact her. She’d received two more texts just in the time it had taken to get to Ana’s neighborhood.

  As she pulled into Ana’s driveway, the clock on the dash read 11:07. Three minutes ahead of schedule. Emily’s goal was to be pulling onto the highway at noon. The on-ramp was only five minutes from Ana’s house, but Emily knew it would take a minimum of ten minutes just to get Ana focused enough to leave her front door the first time, and another five to seven minutes of trips back inside to procure forgotten items before Ana would finally strap on her seat belt. Plus, they had one additional stop to make.

  The schedule was tight, but Emily smiled when she thought about this weekend and finally being on the road toward Jacob and Madison’s big house in the mountains. The view from the infinity pool alone was worth the drive. One thing was certain: The twins knew how to throw a party. Jacob could DJ a complete meltdo
wn into existence, spinning tracks that made the whole pool deck pulse like a beautiful wild animal with a biological imperative to bump and grind. Madison was the queen of convincing the sweetest, cutest college guys Emily had ever seen to wear as little as possible in the hot tub. What’s more, Madison was never greedy or jealous, one of those rare pretty girls who isn’t as crazy as she is pretty. She was all about spreading the wealth, literally and figuratively.

  Emily smiled as the song ended. She jumped out of the car, the tune still bouncing in her step as she ran up the front-porch stairs and rang Ana’s doorbell.

  chapter 2

  Ana Rodriguez did chaîné turns across the tile in her foyer, her long black hair flying around her head as she spotted the banister, then did a grand jeté leap onto the third stair and squealed like a banshee all the way up to her bedroom. Emily giggled in spite of herself as she followed.

  “Oh my God, Ana. How can you do ballet with such a huge rack?”

  Ana ran her hands across her tight black halter top, swiveling her hips seductively as she danced across the area rug in her bedroom toward Emily. “Years of practice, mamacita. Mucho trabajo.”

  Ana pushed Emily down onto her bed, squealed again, then ran around throwing random items of clothing into two different leather bags. “I cannot believe that my parents are letting me go for the whole weekend!”

  “Me neither,” Emily said. “Did you tell them we’re going to a party?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hosted by the Steins?”

  “Well, sort of.” Ana’s copper lips curled into a smirk.

  Emily shook her head. “What did you tell your parents?”

  “Just that we’re going to the party. At the Steins’. For their church.”

  Emily blinked. “Their . . . church?”

  “What?”

  “Ana, their last name is Stein.”

  “Yeah. So . . . ?”

  “They’re Jewish.”

  Ana frowned. “That’s okay, right?”

  Emily shook her head. “Yes. It’s fine. But they don’t go to . . . church. Maybe a temple? I don’t think the Steins are very . . . religious.”

  Ana threw herself across the bed. “I told my mom that they had committed their hearts to Jesus, and were hosting a benefit for the food bank at their church. I can tell them it was a temple later if they ask.”

  Emily smiled and shook her head at her best friend. Ana’s parents were Catholics and attempted to keep their daughter on a tight leash. Nature had been working against them since the summer between seventh and eighth grade when Ana had been blessed with a body that made Jennifer Lopez look like a Sunday-school teacher.

  “Are you almost ready?” Emily asked. “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing! I’m almost packed.” Ana dumped an armful of heels into the second leather bag.

  “Um, Ana? You do know that we’re only going to be there for approximately thirty-six hours, right?”

  Ana glanced down at the twelve pairs of shoes in the bag, then looked up at Emily and frowned. “You’re right. I may need another pair.” She spun around and practically dive-rolled into her closet. “Tell me the plan.”

  Emily checked the time on her phone. “Well, we have to leave here in eight minutes if we want to get on the road by noon.”

  “Will we have time to stop and get food? I’m starving.”

  “As long as we leave by noon,” Emily confirmed. “I want to get there between five and six so that we have time to take a disco nap and shower before the party gets going.”

  Ana squealed, emerging from the closet with two red sequined stilettos held over her head like the Holy Grail. “Look! Party pumps!” She slid her feet into them, and bouncy-dancing Ana suddenly became all legs and poise, the red pointy toes flashing a hint of sparkle from beneath the hem of her skinny jeans.

  “Will your feet survive if you wear those?” Emily asked.

  In reply, Ana kicked one leg up by her ear and held it there, balancing like a showgirl on the Vegas strip. “Ay, mamacita. My feet will be fine. The question is, will anyone else survive if I wear these?”

  Emily smiled. Her friend had a point. These were shoes that might kill a man at twenty paces.

  Ana laughed and clicked her red heels together like Dorothy. “There’s no place like home.”

  “Let’s go!” Emily grabbed the bag of shoes and zipped it up. “If I don’t get you into the car, we’ll never make it to Oz.”

  After one trip back in to get Ana’s purse and another to fetch her sunglasses, Emily was certain that they could finally leave, when Ana suddenly bolted from the car one last time. She returned moments later with a brown paper grocery bag that she tossed into Emily’s back seat with a clank.

  “What was that?” Emily asked.

  “Canned goods.”

  “Canned goods?”

  “You know, for the food pantry,” Ana said, buckling her seat belt.

  Emily shook her head. “Your mom left you with a bag of canned goods for the Steins’ ‘church’?”

  Ana shrugged and grinned. “You only live once.”

  chapter 3

  Emily held her breath and kept her eyes on the road as she made a right turn a few blocks before the freeway on-ramp. Ana was making a playlist on her phone while doing her patented brand of seat dancing, and talking through the pros and cons of a bikini versus a one-piece swimsuit for later tonight in the Steins’ hot tub.

  Maybe she won’t notice, Emily thought.

  Naturally, at that exact moment Ana stopped midsentence. “Hey . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Where are you going?”

  Emily braced her hands against the leather of the steering wheel, and in her brightest you’re-going-to-love-this voice said, “One last stop!” From the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow cross Ana’s face as she peered at the houses on this residential street, then whirled back toward Emily.

  “Oh, hell no.”

  “What?” Emily started to panic, but this was the moment of truth.

  “Don’t you play stupid with me. You are a double-crossing gringa and you know it.” Ana started pulling her bags out of the back seat. “You need to stop this car and let me out right here.”

  Emily sped up slightly. She could see Brandon’s house. Third down on the left. She knew Ana hadn’t spoken to Brandon since they’d broken up at the beginning of school last fall. It had been awkward for everyone for the past nine months, and Emily had to admit that this was the shadiest part of her plan for the perfect weekend. She was taking a calculated risk.

  Emily had known Brandon since they were six years old, when he moved in next door to her. She’d known the feisty Latina girl in the passenger seat would be their third musketeer the moment Ana pirouetted into Brandon with a full tray of spaghetti on the first day of seventh grade. She’d also known it would be an unmitigated disaster when Ana and Brandon announced they were going out at the beginning of sophomore year.

  Emily had begged and pleaded. She’d actually prayed. On her knees. To the capital G God her grandmother believed in. All of this was to no avail. Emily knew the googly eyes of August would turn into stress over commitment when it was time to pick out Christmas presents. She knew that Ana would drive Brandon one kind of crazy in the backseat of his car, and a different kind of crazy in the front seat. This was oil and water, and there was no way the two of them would mix, but that wasn’t the chemistry about which Ana and Brandon were concerned. They had kissed under the Labor Day fireworks in the park at the beginning of sophomore year, but by the time Valentine’s Day rolled around, the explosive on-again/off-again nature of things was taking its toll.

  By the time Ana and Brandon had broken up over July Fourth weekend last summer, Emily had learned to hang out with them separately. She was Switzerland, the neutral party, the no-man’s-land, the friend happily yodeling with her fingers in her ears while she waited for them to finally make up.

  Until today.

  Today Emily co
uldn’t take it any longer. She wanted both Ana and Brandon at this party. After a school year of stress at being pulled back and forth between them, and homework, and Kyle, and her dad’s midlife crisis, she was done playing it safe.

  She knew both of them wanted to be at this party.

  She knew both of them loved her.

  She knew that if she could make it to Brandon’s driveway, and he was waiting on the steps as she’d asked him to do, that Ana would be too mortified to get out of the car.

  Emily popped into Brandon’s driveway a little too hot and screeched to a stop. He was waiting for them on the porch, according to plan, waving like a little kid at a parade. “Don’t be mad!” she said to Ana. It came out as more of a command than a plea.

  Ana snorted. “Mad? Oh please. Mad does not begin to express the rage that I feel at this moment.”

  Brandon loped down the stairs, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He swept his shaggy brown bangs out of his eyes, and told Emily to pop the trunk.

  He tossed in his backpack, closed the trunk, then slid his lanky frame into the backseat, and reached over to close the door. Ana had sunk so far down in her seat she was at eye level with the glove compartment. She was muttering words in Spanish that Emily was not familiar with, but they sounded scary.

  Emily didn’t wait for Brandon to close the door. She backed out of the driveway and sped toward the freeway. She knew, or maybe just hoped, that Ana would hesitate to kill her if the car was in motion.

  “Whoa! Head’s up, speed demon,” Brandon said as he buckled his seat belt. “We in a hurry?”

  Emily glanced at the clock. 11:55. “Nope!” she said. “We’re right on schedule.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that I am going to be trapped in a car for the next four-and-a-half hours with this pendejo?” Ana was spitting her words like a machine gun.

  “It might be closer to six hours, depending on how long we stop for lunch,” Emily said sheepishly.