But I managed to pull it off. I told Rennie I was thinking about where we’d take our graduation trip to in May. That’s always been our plan. Go somewhere together, just her and me. I said, “Fiji could be awesome. Or the Maldives.”
I’m never going to look at Rennie the same way again, but in a way I’m glad not to have to do anything about that just yet. My true beef is with Alex, and that’s where I’m focusing all my attention.
Part of me—the nostalgic part, I guess—wishes I could tell Rennie what I’m up to. She’d get a big kick out of what we’re doing. I bet she’d think of lots of sick, twisted things we could do to Alex, things I’d never come up with in a million years. But of course I can’t say anything. Because when we’re done with Alex, Rennie’s next.
For now I just need to keep playing it cool. The more normal I seem to everyone, the less they’ll suspect that I’m behind anything. That is essential. No one can find out. Ever.
Rennie asks, “You want to come eat dinner over at my house, and we can figure it out there?”
I smile and say, “Totally.”
I leave my car in the school parking lot, and Rennie drives us to her condo in the Jeep. Her complex is called The Gulls, and the sign is lit up by spotlights. The front entrance is nicely manicured, with flowers and some big bushes of sea grass. But when you pass that and get to the gate, it’s a lot less nice. You used to have to punch a code to get in, but the gate has been broken all summer. It’s tied open with rope. Ever since there were a few break-ins at The Gulls last spring, my dad doesn’t like me coming here.
“Someone should fix that gate,” I say as we drive through. I dig a grape lollipop out of my purse and unwrap it. Then I offer it to Rennie for first lick. She shakes her head and I add, “It’s not safe. Anyone could just come in.”
Rennie shrugs. “The management here sucks. Remember how long it took us to get the shower fixed? Mom’s been talking about moving off island again once this year is over.”
I stop sucking on my lollipop. “Seriously?”
“Hello! She wanted to move us last spring, when they raised our rent.”
I remember. We cried and begged Ms. Holtz to change her mind. We even came up with a plan for Rennie to live with me for senior year. Ms. Holtz finally gave in when she saw how dead set Rennie was on staying.
“Anyway, now she’s dating some guy on the mainland. Rick the restauranteur.” Rennie makes a face. “He owns a sub shop or something tacky like that. My mom’s there, like, every weekend, and she’s spending a fortune on ferry tickets. And she’s been looking into a real estate class. I bet she breaks her lease on the gallery before June.”
“Your mom loves the gallery too much to let it go.”
“She does love it, but things have been super-tight lately,” Rennie says. “Don’t forget I just turned eighteen. That was the end of child support checks from my DBD.”
I stay quiet. I never quite know what to say when Rennie brings up her dad. He left when she was three, and she’s only seen him twice since then. He used to call on her birthday, but not since he got remarried and had kids. Now he’s out in Arizona someplace. Rennie hardly ever talks about him, and when she does, she calls him her DBD—deadbeat dad.
She sighs. “It’s just crazy that when we’re both on Thanksgiving break from college next year, we won’t be living ten minutes away from each other. There’ll be an ocean between us.”
“You’re not moving to another country,” I point out, relieved she’s not talking about money or her dad anymore. “The ferry ride is no big deal.”
“It’s a huge deal, and you know it,” Rennie says. “Everything will change.”
I was thinking about this even before things got so messed up between us. When we go away to college, we’ll drift apart. We won’t need each other so much anymore. Maybe that’s a good thing. If Rennie’s not home for breaks, it will just make it easier.
In the complex there are three identical buildings positioned around a small pool in the center courtyard. We walk around it on our way to the front door of Rennie’s building. As long as Rennie’s lived here, I’ve never gone into the pool. It feels weird, to swim in front of a hundred people’s kitchen windows. And my pool is, like, three times the size. So we always just swim at my house.
Rennie’s fumbling for her keys when the door to her condo swings open. Ms. Holtz has her hair blown out smooth, and she’s in a gray and white wrap dress, a big chunky beaded necklace, and silver hoop earrings. “How do I look?” She does a spin.
“Cute!” Rennie squints. “But you need different lipstick. Something brighter.”
“And I think the tag is still on,” I say. I go to the silverware drawer, get the scissors, and clip it for her.
“I should tell your mom about this shop, Lillia,” Ms. Holtz says. “It’s full of deals on designer clothes. Check the tag. This is a five-hundred-dollar Diane von Furstenberg dress that I got for sixty bucks!”
Rennie groans. “I already told you, Mom. That print is, like, from two years ago. Right, Lil?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, even though Rennie’s right. My mom has it in the blouse version. She doesn’t wear it anymore, though. “It looks great on you.”
“Thanks, hon.” Ms. Holtz spins me toward her and gives two air kisses, one on each of my cheeks. “Hey! You girls should stop by the gallery tonight. I’m showing an amazing local artist who makes stained glass representations of water.” I guess neither Rennie or I look that excited about that, because she adds, “I’ll let you two drink some wine if you promise to stay hidden in the back room.”
“Maybe,” Rennie says, but she gives me a secret look that says No way. The booze isn’t even a pull. First off, wine is gross. Second, Rennie has at least three bottles of vanilla vodka hidden under her bed. She gets them from the bartenders at Bow Tie.
Ms. Holtz orders us a pizza—half mushroom and onion for Rennie, half cheese for me. Rennie and I go into her room to do our nails while we wait. I pick Ballet Slipper. It’s light pink, so pale that it’s almost white. Rennie picks Cha Cha, a fiery orange. When her nails dry, she goes to take a shower. I flop onto her bed.
An entire wall of Rennie’s room is dedicated to our friendship. There are pictures of Ashlin and Reeve and everybody, but it’s mostly us. We are at the center of it all. The strip of pictures we took in a photo booth at the fair one year, a subway card from when my mom took us to New York for my fourteenth birthday. The Broadway Playbill from the same trip. I feel sad looking at it. Like the memories are from a long, long time ago.