“Were you, when you refused to see me before going back to rehab?” I ask, and then I climb in and close the door. I'm not going to get from San Jose to Santa Cruz on my own, much as I wish there was a way.
“We're going to LA,” Mom says, getting that no-nonsense tone in her voice. I sit there for a minute while Aunt Elisa puts on her turn signal, and then I climb out and start walking down the sidewalk with my bags. “Charlotte!” Mom calls, but I don't stop. I keep moving, losing her in the crowd, and then I lock myself in a bathroom stall inside the airport.
There's only one person who might be willing to give me a ride.
I call Monica's number.
“Hello?” she asks tentatively, her voice threaded with nerves. “Charlotte?”
“I'm back in town. Can you pick me up at the airport?”
There's a long pause. I'm sure she's shocked to hear from me.
“Give me an hour,” she says, and then hangs up. My phone blows up with messages from Elisa, Mom, and then finally Dad. He is pissed, too. But I ignore him, finally working up the courage to check my messages from the Student Council.
How was the flight? Short and brusque from Ranger.
Spencer locked himself in his room all morning. Just thought you'd like to know. That from Church.
You forgot this. There's a picture of the floppy fake dick the twins bought me. I made sure to leave it on their doorstep, so they'd find it when they woke up. Glad to see they enjoyed it. That message is from Micah's phone, and I've got another from Tobias. We're going to miss you, non-Virgin Chuck.
Hah.
Just two and half months, and we can hang out all summer. Spencer.
My heart clenches tight, and I fire off a few quick replies, including a group message to my parents. Monica's driving me back to SC. I'll stop by Elisa's tomorrow.
As promised, about sixty minutes later, Monica pulls up to the curb in her shiny silver Beemer, mirrored sunglasses on her face, her dark hair billowing in the warm breeze.
“Hey,” she says, her voice tentative in a way I've never heard before. I slide into the white leather passenger seat after tossing my bags in the back, and then buckle up. Monica drives like a crazy person. I'll be lucky to survive the stretch of Highway 17 with her behind the wheel.
“Hey.”
More silence as she puts on her blinker, and pulls out into traffic.
“How have you been?” she asks finally, and I turn to look at her.
“How's Cody?” I reply, which really isn't fair. Seriously, I'm trying to work on my issues. I know I'm half-snark, half-sarcasm, with just a dash of asshole thrown in. It's no wonder all the guys at Adamson hated me.
“We haven't talked since you left. He's dating Andrea now.” Monica shrugs like she doesn't care, but there's a heaviness to her frown that says otherwise. We've known each other too long for her to lie to me like that. Maybe she's even lying to herself? “How are your sexy twins?”
“They rode a carousel with me, took me racing in their matching yellow Lamborghinis, and then set me up in their palace by the sea for my birthday.” I study her face, wishing she wasn’t wearing sunglasses, so I could get a read on her eyes. “They're great. They turned an awful day into an amazing one.”
“I'm sorry about what happened,” Monica says, dropping her voice. “I'm not sure if this helps or hurts the situation, but I didn't forget it was your birthday. I was jealous because Cody kept promising to break up with you, and then he'd flake … He forgot your birthday though, and I decided that if he forgot then …”
Silence falls between us. It's just the sound of the wind as Monica whips us through the city and onto the tight curves of one of the most dangerous roads in California. I've seen so many wrecks on this stretch, it's not even funny.
“Was it worth it? Losing your best friend for a guy?” I ask, and Monica cringes.
“No.” She looks over at me, and then lifts her shades so I can see her brown eyes. She's seriously one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen. I used to be intimidated by her, but right now, I feel brazen, like nothing could bother me. I'm here when I want to be in Connecticut. What else could go wrong? “I miss you, Charlotte. I've been meaning to text you, but I could never figure out what to say. I'm sorry didn't seem like enough.”
“It's not, but driving up here to get me is a start.” Another pause. There are so many things we need to talk about, so many things I need to say to her. But instead, all I want to do is talk about Adamson, and the guys, and all the shit that went down. Some people would probably write Monica off forever for what she did, but that's not what I want. People make mistakes. I still believe in redemption. “I lost my v-card finally.”
