“No duck faces. Candid,” she commands, and I check my instinct to explain what candid means before I fake-laugh at a joke Harper fake-makes.
“I’m going to record for a second.” Tessa tucks the camera aside and takes out her phone. Her face knots into a serious artist’s scowl, which seems a little much for someone trying to manipulate angles on an iPhone to get the best Boomerang, but whatever.
She flips the screen and shows us the short, loopy video of our fake fun, which, once we stop posing, becomes real fun. We fall over each other giggling and whispering evilly about the latest hot rumor—that our class president, Calla Tommison, gave St. Matthew’s resident bad boy, Hector Tonning, a blow job on the civics trip while the docent was droning on about some rotunda at the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology.
“I don’t think it’s true. I mean, Hector’s kind of a man-whore, but he’s not, like, desperate.” Harper’s mouth twists into a bratty scowl, the one she makes when she doesn’t instantly get what she wants.
“Calla is smart and hot.” My internal feminist rages up to defend Calla, even though it’s obvious Harper’s shitty attitude actually has nothing to do with Calla and everything to do with a serious bout of unrequited love. Harper flirted with Hector at Homecoming, but he made it clear he wasn’t interested in being some rich girl’s boy toy. “And no sex shaming. It’s not feminist.”
Tessa, who was busy playing in the marching band that night and missed Harper’s minitantrum over being turned down, adds fuel to the fire by showing us a picture that just got posted of Calla’s and Hector’s hands interlocked, sunlight dappling their skin. It’s on his account.
“Well, that went from blow jobs to romantic-couple pics quickly. I guess it was love at first swallow,” she says, snickering.
Harper makes a gagging noise, and I shake my head at Tessa’s crass joke, wondering what kind of gossip people spread about Lex and me. We’re notoriously private about our relationship. I honestly don’t even talk to Tessa and Harper about him much (especially since they hate him). But I don’t think it’s about protection and boundaries, like it is when I keep quiet about my family. With Lex it’s more like even I’m not sure what exactly we are to each other, so I never feel comfortable gushing about him. How embarrassing would it be to post a picture of the two of us holding hands only to have him tease me about it later...or show it to his summertime flavor of the week?
“The contrast of light and shadow is really good in this picture, though,” Tessa muses, still overanalyzing the shot of Hector and Calla.
“Hey, Annie Leibovitz, give it here.” Lex strides into the foyer in coral trunks that complement the sweet tan he gets from using his mother’s private tanning bed year-round—he was furious when his mom had a little too much sauvignon blanc and let that tidbit slip while I was over for a New Year’s Eve party. He’s holding a basket—his mom also told me every basket in their house is from this specialty basket company called Longaberger that went out of business, so I happen to know the teeny-tiny basket Lex is holding right now goes for a grand on eBay. He shakes the unbelievably expensive basket, gesturing for Tessa to drop her phone in.
She rolls her eyes. “My God, you’re not, like, a celebrity. Why do you care if we have our phones? Afraid we’re going to post unflattering pictures of you all over social media?”
“There’s no such thing as an unflattering picture of a person as naturally photogenic as I am. I’m taking your phones because I didn’t go to all this trouble to host a party so you could waste hours making boring-ass Boomerangs no one—literally no one—wants to see. You can participate in actual social life like it’s the early 2000s, or you can leave.” He shakes the basket harder, and I wince when I hear the handle crack a little.
Tessa clutches her phone to her chest. “I want to take pictures.”
“My dad hired a professional to do candids, plus there’s a photo booth. No one needs your grainy, experimental crap. Give it up.” Lex and Tessa square off and glare at each other. I push between them and drop my phone in the basket.
“Tess, it’s actually a good idea. We’re always bitching about how we need to be more present. Remember how you made me listen to that Buddhist monk’s podcast last month?” I nudge her and she sighs, double-checks her lock screen, and places the phone in the basket with a hot scowl just for Lex.
Harper pecks out a text before she drops her phone in. “Just letting Mommy know I’m going all Amish tonight.” She smirks at Lex. “If you’re going to be a bossy dick, your party better be worth it. We could have had this at my place... I don’t have all these draconian technology rules.”
“But you have Mama Bear Johannsen, and it’s impossible to have fun when she’s hovering,” Lex points out.
We all love and fear Mama Johannsen, but no one—not even Harper—argues with Lex’s point. My best friends saunter through the cavernous living room to the back deck, which is covered with tons of navy-and-silver beach balls emblazoned with the St. Matthew’s lion mascot. The patio has been divided into seating/lounging areas, a slushy bar, a photo-booth area with a mound of props, and a DJ booth.
“A DJ?” I raise my eyebrows. “Um, you already have, like, state-of-the-art surround sound out here. Isn’t a DJ a little over the top, even for the Hensons?”
Lex puts his arm around me and gives me an approving once-over. “That suit is your color. Look at me and smile.” I do as I’m told, holding a sweet smile in place as I catch a glimpse of the beautiful, artsy-chic photographer who snaps a picture of us and gives a quick thumbs-up. Lex brushes his lips over mine. “Of course it’s over the top. Buuut, Papa Henson thinks I’m taking that internship with the law firm he set up for me, so this party is my reward.” His smile is little-boy mischievous. “Turns out money can buy him love.” Lex waves his arm over his head, and I follow his line of sight to his father, who’s manning their colossal stainless-steel grill. Mr. Henson gives Lex a thumbs-up and lifts his Samuel Adams in a toast.
“Lex, he’s going to freak out when he realizes you’re actually going to that rock camp. When do you plan to break it to him?”
“Not now, obviously.” Lex draws the tip of his index finger down my nose. “Look, I know you think I’m spoiled, but this is how he raised me to be. If I just rolled over and went to the internship, my old man would drop dead from shock. We push each other. It’s what we do, how we work. Secretly he loves it.” He pulls his finger away and kisses the tip of my nose.
I shake my head at Lex. I’m not looking forward to what will happen when Mr. Henson catches wind that Lex has lied to him—contrary to Lex’s insistence, I don’t think he secretly loves Lex always sneaking around behind his back. Lex kisses my nose again, then one more time, until I can’t hide my smile. Just when I let my guard down and enjoy this sweet moment, I notice the photographer padding around behind us and wonder how much of Lex’s sweetness was for the shot.