Some Kind of Wonderful Read online

  "Yeah, I might hop on a boat to one of the nearby islands for the afternoon," I said, feeling terrible that I was making up all of these plans.

  "Well, cool," Meredith said, draining the last of her drink. "We'll have a lot of good stories to swap over dinner tonight."

  "Yeah," I said. "I guess we will."

  But Meredith was already inside the house, running to claim the first shower so she could make the yacht departure in time.

  I flopped down on a chaise lounge on the porch and fought the urge to cry. Instead, I pulled out my cell phone and texted SBB.

  SOCIAL SHIPWRECK ON NEVIS. SOS.

  Chapter 11

  GENIE IN A TRUNK

  A few hours later, the sun was high in the sky, and I was still down in the dumps. I was lying on the beach, zoning out while watching the fantastically clear blue water. In an attempt to feel cool, I'd even put on my Rachel McHenry bathing suit, but the only people around to see it were an old man and his gold digger wife a few feet down and several older, hairless, Speedo-wearing Italian tourists playing some unusual game of Frisbee that involved a lot of wrestling. I thought I'd recognized the bleach-blond surfer guy, Paul, whom I'd met last night, but when I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around, it was a guy I'd never seen before.

  "Oh," I said. "Sorry."

  "Whatever," he said, and turned back around.

  Great, now I was even repelling strangers. All I wanted to do was hide under the biggest umbrella I could find in my bungalow's storage closet. Even the fresh air, fine white sand, and blazing sunshine didn't help shake my bad mood.

  If I were to send someone a postcard of my vacation, this is what it would look like: me, friendless and alone on the beach, struggling to read Pride and Prejudice for my English class, and even feeling a little jealous of the fictional people in the book who were going to fun parties and being courted by all sorts of men.

  At least it was peaceful here.

  Peaceful, and quiet, and utterly, utterly boring.

  Ho hum.

  Then, overhead, I heard the droning of a plane. I thought about the lie I'd told Meredith that morning. In reality, my day was pretty much the opposite of the glamorous island-hopping I'd invented.

  I hunkered down under my umbrella and stuck my nose a little deeper into my book. But the noise was getting louder, and suddenly, there was a whole lot of wind blowing sand all up in my business. I exited my umbrella cocoon to investigate.

  What the . . . ?

  A little bullet-gray puddle jumper was landing right in front of me. I shaded my eyes from the wind.

  Was it possible I was seeing a mirage?

  But the plane really did touch down on the sand, and a pilot really did get out and give me a small wave. I waved back uncertainly.

  He disappeared back into the body of the plane for a minute, and when I spotted his trim white uniform again, he was lugging something giant and boxy and incredibly heavy-looking behind him.

  Oh. My. Gosh.

  Was that what I thought it was?

  Then, a cross-looking stewardess appeared and held out a cocktail napkin like it was a script. She cleared her throat and read aloud, "Drumrollplease"

  I laughed and clapped my hands against my thighs. It was a pretty poor drumroll, but there was no one else around to help.

  And then, to my delight, the world's best best friend bolted out of the steamer trunk like the world's smallest football player bursting out of the tunnel before the big game.

  "Don't you love to travel in style?" SBB asked, taking a bow.

  She was sporting giant aviator glasses, an olive-colored fatigue print catsuit, and a red scarf that blew underneath the slowing plane propellers. She looked as if she'd flown the plane herself, circa 1945.

  "Sara-Beth, what are you doing here?"

  "Duh," she said, throwing her arms around me. "Saving your life."

  "Aren't you still shooting a scene today? I didn't even expect to hear back from you."

  "Nonsense. What kind of a friend do you think I am? You did say SOS, didn't you?" She grabbed my arm. "Tell me you weren't just being dramatic."

  My face fell. I wish I could say I was just being dramatic.

  "No," I admitted. "Things here pretty much royally suck."

  "Well then, we'll continue with Operation SOS." She snapped her fingers and turned back toward the plane. "Everybody, let's get to work."

  "Everybody" turned out to be the very hot pilot and the flight attendant, whom I wouldn't have expected to be so burly and strong underneath her navy uniform. In an instant, the two of them had hauled the steamer trunk up on their shoulders and were walking it across the beach.

  "You're staying?" I asked SBB. It would be so fantastic to have her hang with me in Nevis. Everything about this trip would suddenly look a lot brighter.

  "Oh, honey, I can't stay. I wish I could. I practically had to pay off the director to let me take an extended lunch break to come see you. I've got to get back in two hours."

  "Then what's with the trunk?"

  "This is way more than a trunk! It's my happy place. And I want you to have it. You're my friend in need, indeed!"

  "Oh," I said, not sure what else to say. "Thanks, SBB . . ."

  "Don't thank me till we get inside, and I show you all the amenities. It's going to make you feel so much better."

  We followed the pilot and his flight attendant back up the beach to my bungalow. I couldn't help but laugh at what an odd team the two of them made. She was barking out orders to him in some language I didn't understand, and he was nodding quietly and straining to get the trunk through my back door.

  "Sara-Beth," I said, "where did you dig up this flight crew?"

  She rolled her eyes. "How illegitimate do they look? Both of them are stunt doubles on the set. Luke had a pilot's license and a map to Nevis—and a very nice butt in those pants, don't you think? Anyway, he's been following me around for weeks, ever since we started shooting, so I knew he'd do me a favor. And his questionably female counterpart is just along to do some heavy lifting. So sketchy, right?"

  "Hey, whatever works," I said, putting my arm around her shoulders.

  As they released their grip on the steamer trunk in the middle of my living room, I noticed that the pilot did have a pretty nice butt.

  Sara-Beth tipped them and asked them to wait out by the plane. They each saluted me as they walked out.

  "I hope the trunk brings you as much happiness as it brings to Sara-Beth," the pilot said to me with an Eastern European accent.

  "Thank you," I said, trying hard to stifle a laugh. "Thank you both for everything."

  When we were alone, SBB entered her combination to unlock the trunk and pried it open. Gone was the chest of drawers lining the right portion of the trunk. If I remembered correctly, they were what had made the thing feel so claustrophobic when the two of us had used it as our hideaway in the Bric's store. In place of the drawers, she'd had some sort of Murphy Bed installed that extended outward at the push of a bright purple button. There was a light switch, a vanity mirror, and even a mini disco ball. It was more like a small house than a piece of luggage.

  "Sara-Beth, you could rent this place out in the city."

  "Like I said," she grinned. "It's my happy place. Actually, now it's your happy place for a few days."

  She motioned for me to take a seat on the foldout bed. Then she reached into a cupboard on the other side of the trunk and produced two surprisingly chilled bottles of Orangina. My legs barely fit on the bed, but I tucked them under me so I wouldn't make SBB self-conscious again about my growth spurt. Luckily, she was keeping herself busy, popping the tops of the Oranginas with a bottle opener that was built into the wall of the trunk. She plopped down beside me on the bed.

  "Now, tell me all of your sorrows," she said. "Oh my God. No! Who put that there?"

  She pointed at the "wall" that the bed had folded out from, where someone had tacked up a headshot of our talk, dark, and handso
me pilot.

  "Um, probably your not-so-secret flying admirer," I guessed. "It's a pretty good headshot."

  "Luke would never," she said. "He's much too shy. You know, this is just the sort of immature humor that is so like Jake Riverdale. Have I complained to you enough about our issues on the set? He's just such a pig. How did he get the combination for my trunk? I'm going to—" She cut herself off, and for a second, she seemed to collect herself. Her posture straightened, her breath evened. "This trip is about you, Flan. I won't waste another second talking about how much I hate that egotistical . . . whoops. Like I was saying, tell me all of your sorrows."

  "Hey, how did you do that?" I asked, pulling at the edge of my bottle's blue Orangina label. "How'd you get a grip on yourself like that? I've never seen you so self-possessed. I'm impressed."

  "It's part of what I'm going through with my new guru. Breathing exercises, positive mantras, a series of small adjustments to help me manage life's little obstacles. Being in the happy place really helps. I'm so glad you noticed, Flan."

  "It was kind of hard not to notice."

  "Right, well, I guess I'll be able to facilitate the exercise more smoothly with practice. The goal is to make seamless transitions from mood to mood and maintain a constant equilibrium."

  "You might have a way to go before that," I joked. "But seriously, that's great. I could use some equilibrium myself."

  "Right! Okay, therapy first. You play the crazy person for a change, and I'll listen and provide counsel."

  "Ugh, okay," I said. "But it's probably going to sound totally stupid and unimportant."

  "Nonsense, Flan. Now, hit me."

  As I started to recount the many disasters of the trip for SBB, I did feel a little bit petty. I mean, here she was, having flown away from her movie—where she deals with struggles everyday that I can hardly begin to imagine—and I'm complaining about my lame high school social life?

  But the more I talked, the more compassionate SBB became. I don't know if it was the happy place, or the proximity of a real friend, or the release of just saying all these words out loud, but pretty soon, I had unleashed the whole ugly story. From seventh grade and spin-the-bottle all the way up to Meredith and Judith totally bailing out on me—and my fears that all of it was my fault.

  SBB didn't make me feel stupid, or petty, or any of the things that I was worried I was being. She just listened to my entire exhausting story, and at the end of it all, she sighed.

  "Girls are tough, aren't they?"

  "Yeah." I nodded.

  "You know, I never had to deal with all of this high school drama. You see it on the movies, and it all looks so romantic, but—"

  "Romantic? It's not romantic at all."

  "Of course it is. You can't see it now, but this is enriching your character, Flan. It's almost like dealing with a broken heart. It's painful and traumatic in all sorts of ways, but figuring out who your true friends are is also an important part of growing up. I envy you, Flan. I'm sorry that this is happening on your vacation, but there will be plenty of vacations. You may only get this valuable life lesson once."

  "But what does that mean} That I should just sit back and let Kennedy steal all of my friends?"

  "People like Kennedy can only rule the roost for so long." She closed her eyes. "I predict her reign of terror cannot last." She opened one eye and winked at me.

  "Now you're a fortune-teller?" I asked.

  "I've been told I have clairvoyant eyes."

  "Thanks for coming," I said. "I really needed to see a friend today."

  "I know you did," she said. She retied the scarf around her neck and put her aviator glasses back on. "I hate to say it, but I think my work here is done. What I wouldn't give to linger in Nevis! Damn that workaholic Roderickson!" Then her Zen composure came back, and she smiled at me politely. "Take care, my love, and think about how strong you'll be after this trip."

  And with that, she dashed back to her plane, where Luke patiently helped her get onboard. We blew each other kisses until she took off. And there I was, left standing on the beach by myself.

  After a minute, I headed back toward the happy place, which was wonderful, but no substitute for the real SBB.

  Chapter 12

  SPEEDOS, TUXEDOS, AND PIGGYBACK RIDES

  Whoa!" Meredith said when she came back, all wind-blown, from her yacht cruise that Tuesday afternoon. She stared up at the steamer trunk in the living room and said, "Who moved in?"

  "Oh, Sara-Beth stopped by," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  "Oh man I can't believe I missed her." When Meredith and Judith first met SBB, they were so starstruck that they could barely talk to her. By now, Meredith was pretty comfortable around her, but she was always overly eager to hear about our hangouts. I knew that if there was one person Meredith was more stuck on than Kennedy, it was SBB. "Did you guys have so much fun?" she asked.

  "So much fun," I said. "You should have seen it— her plane landed right on the beach outside our bungalow."

  "Ohhh," she whined. "I wished I'd been around."

  Hmph!

  "Yeah, she was telling me all about what it's like to work with Jake Riverdale on the new movie. Apparently, he's a total disaster." I felt a little guilty rubbing it in, but I couldn't really help myself.

  "So jealous of you right now, Flan." She stepped around the steamer trunk. "Is she still here? Do you guys have something awesome planned for tonight? 'Cause I was thinking—"

  "Actually, she had to jet. They're trying to wrap up the last few scenes. She just left the trunk as a little souvenir." It felt strangely good to tell Meredith something that impressed her. The past couple of days, when we actually had been hanging out, she'd been so dismissive that I'd almost forgotten that she used to consider me someone who was worth talking to.

  "Kennedy said I should invite you to the beachside dinner party tonight," she said.

  "Um . . . " I stalled. The way she said it bugged me. Kennedy said. . . . How nice that Kennedy gave Meredith her permission to include me.

  "We both figured you'd have plans already, but she said to do my best to bribe you to come." Meredith sat down next to me. "I think she's trying to reach out to you but doesn't know how, so she's using me to sort of . . . mediate?"

  "Did she say that?"

  "Not exactly, but . . ."

  I sighed. Maybe SBB was right. There was no use starting World War III. I should focus on the things I could control—like my own experiences on this trip, not anyone else's. I definitely wasn't going to blow off the only offer I had. If Kennedy wanted to be bitchy, I could just ignore her, right? And consider it part of the growing experience?

  "Sure," I said. "I'd love to come."

  "Yay!" Meredith said, and she sounded genuinely happy. "I need some Flan time. Especially since Judith pooped out, us Stuy girls have to stick together, right?"

  I nodded and smiled and offered her the first shower—again—but what I was thinking was, am I really cut out to be a Stuy girl? Am I really cut out to "stick together" with Meredith?

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the steamer trunk mirror: sitting on the couch, slumped over with a scowl on my face. Gosh, if I had been looking like this all trip, I wouldn't want to hang out with me, either!

  I sat up straight, put on a smile, and took a few deep breaths. It was amazing what it did for my appearance in the mirror, and it made me feel a lot better inside, too. Maybe this was what SBB was talking about when she referred to "minor adjustments." I felt a major attitude adjustment coming on. So what if the first twenty-four hours of the vacation had sucked? Maybe we were just getting started.

  After Meredith finished in the bathroom, I took a shower and let my hair air-dry in the warm sea breeze. I put on my favorite Hollywould sequined flip-flops, a black Michael Stars tank top, and black hot shorts to show off my tan. I rooted through the steamer trunk to see what spoils SBB had left in there and found a bottle of this really pretty pink Benefit highlighter tha
t, when dotted on the bridge of my nose and my cheekbones, made me look super sun-kissed and refreshed.

  I even shared some of it with Meredith, who came out wearing a crazy kimono with her curly hair in a high bun.

  "Whoa, Flan!" she said. "You look like a sun goddess. Don't stand next to me tonight, or I'll look way too pasty!"

  "There," I said, dotting some highlighter on her cheekbones. "Your inner sun goddess has been released. Now will you stand next to me tonight?" I joked.

  "Flan, you're the best. I'm so glad you brought me on this trip with you. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

  For a second, I fought the urge to say speak for yourself. But then I just smiled and said, "I'm starving. Let's hit the beach."

  We found the long white banquet table set up on the beach outside the bungalow where TZ was staying with his cousin, Rob. Rob had floppy brown hair and a great tan and, in the looks department alone, he kind of reminded me of Bennett.

  The table was set for twelve, and I recognized a lot of the same kids from last night. I waved to Rena, and the real Paul came over and gave me a high five.

  "Glad you came to the party," he said. "Where's your friend Judith?"

  "Oh," I said, trying to figure out how to spin this one. "She had to go back to New York. Family issues."

  "Bummer," Paul said, his blond locks falling over his eyes.

  It was a bummer. It seemed like Paul had a little thing for Judith. I really wished she'd stuck around— especially because, from the looks of it, this party would have been a good chance for her to kick back and have a blast.

  "I love how everything is so chic here," Meredith whispered at my side.

  There were two men in black Speedo bathing suits, tuxedo shirts, and bow7 ties who came by to take our drink orders.

  I actually thought it was pretty campy, but I just nodded and smiled at Mer.

  TZ appeared out of nowhere and put one arm around us both. I almost jumped back, I was so surprised to find an arm around me that wasn't Adam's.