Rules of Summer
: Chapter 7

Rory slipped on the top she’d bought at Hot Topic a week ago and stepped back from the mirror. The bright electric blue brought out her eyes. The shape showed off her narrow waist, which was just about the only body part of hers she liked to show off. And the lacy cap sleeves and deep V-neck seemed cute and on trend. But now she wasn’t sure. Would she just get the same look she’d gotten from Bianca the other night, like she was one of those fashion disasters on What Not to Wear? She added a stretch belt that made her waist look even smaller and her favorite pair of white jeans. She’d also gone for her fanciest dangly gold earrings. Hopefully she was inching her way closer to Hamptons style; she needed a second opinion. She looked out her window and saw Steve loading tennis rackets into his Jetta.

“Hey,” she called to him through the open window. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Be there in a minute,” he called back.

A moment later, there was a knock on her door. She opened it to see Steve on the threshold, his wraparound glasses on a string around his neck. His cuteness was starting to wear off, thank goodness.

“Okay,” she said. “I need an honest opinion. Am I too dressed up for a beach party?”

Steve looked her up and down. “I have no idea,” he said. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re the only one I can ask,” she said. “What do girls wear to beach parties out here?”

“I don’t know. Jeans. A shirt. I think you look fine.”

“But fine isn’t great. Is it?”

“You always look great,” Steve said. “Every guy’s gonna want to talk to you. And I did see you talking to someone yesterday morning. Out by the pool. And both of you seemed pretty happy.”

“Connor?” she blurted. “I mean, we were just talking. I dropped his phone into the pool by mistake.”

“He didn’t seem too broken up about it,” said Steve.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Nothing. Have fun tonight. And seriously, you look great.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

He left, and Rory slipped on a pair of dark blue Keds. As she passed by a mirror she caught a glimpse of herself. She was blushing. So maybe the chemistry she’d felt between her and Connor hadn’t just been in her head. If Steve had felt it, too, from across the lawn…

“Are you ready?” Isabel entered Rory’s room in a cloud of amber-scented perfume. She looked like she was on her way to a red-carpet event. She wore an ivory crochet dress, silver gladiator sandals, and a cocktail ring that looked like one large pearl set in gold. So much for feeling overdressed, Rory thought. Next to Isabel, she looked like she was about to do laundry.

“You look nice,” Rory said. “Great dress.”

“Oh, this? I’ve had it for forever. That’s a nice top.”

“You think?”

“Uh… sure,” Isabel said, less confidently. “Hey, I just need to get one thing. Come with me.”

Rory followed her down the hall and out toward the dining room and study.

Isabel darted into a room, which turned out to be a bar, and crouched down in front of a small refrigerator and opened the glass door.

“What are you doing?” Rory asked.

“Just getting something for the party,” Isabel said, pulling out a bottle of champagne.

“We can’t drive with that in the car.”

“Why not?” Isabel asked. “It’s not open.”

“Because we’re underage.”

Isabel smiled as if Rory were an adorable toddler. “You have got to relax. Come on.” She stood up and walked out of the room swinging the golden bottle.

“Do your parents just let you take champagne?” Rory asked.

“This isn’t just champagne,” Isabel replied. “This is Cristal.”

Rory didn’t say anything as they walked out to the car.

“So, where are we going?” she asked when they got in the Prius.

“Sagg Main Beach. You just take the highway past Wainscott and make a left on Sagg Main. And I’m gonna think of some guys who are probably going to be there.” Isabel opened another clutch—this one raffia—and took out her phone as Rory drove down the gravel driveway.

“You know, I was thinking that tonight I’d just focus on trying to make some friends here,” Rory said. “Like maybe with some of the girls.”

“Have fun with that,” Isabel muttered in a cryptic way.

Rory made a left onto Lily Pond. Did Isabel mean that Rory wouldn’t be able to make friends? Or that Isabel’s own friends weren’t worth knowing?

“So, tell me some cool stuff about you,” Isabel said, putting away her phone. “Do you play sports? An instrument? What do you do?”

“Why?”

“Because we need to make you sound amazing,” Isabel said. “And it’s better not to lie.”

“Well, they showed some of my photos at the Farm and Horse Show last summer,” Rory said.

“The what?”

“The Farm and Horse Show. It’s, like, a huge, three-day fair. It’s a really big deal where I live.”

Isabel was quiet. “What else?” she asked.

“I’m the president of the science club.”

“Uh, no.”

“What’s wrong with that? I can’t let him know I’m smart?”

“You can’t let him know you’re a dork,” Isabel said, and then turned on the radio. “I mean… you know what I mean.”

“I like making documentaries,” she offered. “I won a special prize in my film class last semester.”

“Okay, that might be cool. What was your documentary about?”

“This woman who lives in my neighborhood. She’s collected, like, a hundred of those black velvet paintings of Elvis. And all sorts of other stuff about him. She’s sort of like a walking Graceland.”

“That’s who you made a documentary about?” Isabel asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Isabel asked.

“I don’t know. Because she’s passionate about something. I think that’s cool. To be so into something that you don’t care how it looks or if it’s weird or if people are going to make fun of you.”

Isabel changed the radio station. “I guess,” she said listlessly.

A song started playing. It was one of her mom’s favorites, from the seventies. Rory opened her mouth to sing along, but Isabel beat her to it.

“Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and wouldn’t you love to love her…” she sang in a surprisingly throaty voice.

“You like Fleetwood Mac?” Rory asked in disbelief.

“Sure,” Isabel said. “So?”

“So I just think that’s weird that we both like Fleetwood Mac. I mean, how many people like Fleetwood Mac to begin with?”

Isabel yawned. “I don’t know.”

Rory drove in silence, feeling a little stupid for bringing that up.

After a few minutes, Isabel said, “Oh, here’s the turn.”

Rory swerved off the highway. “Thanks for the notice,” she muttered.

“The beach is just straight down this road,” Isabel said. “You’ll see the parking lot.”

“Is it safe to park the car here?”

“Oh my god, of course,” Isabel said, reaching down to grab the bottle of Cristal.

They found a spot at the far end of the lot, or at least Rory thought it was a spot. There were no streetlamps—there obviously wasn’t supposed to be a lot of action here at night. She locked the car and followed Isabel toward the sand. Up ahead she could see people gathered around a giant bonfire that spat out sparks into the darkness. A chilly gust of wind rose up from the water, and she pulled her sweater around her shoulders. In her light dress, Isabel barely shivered. Like most beautiful girls, she seemed immune to the cold.

“Hey,” she called out to two girls standing by themselves, red plastic cups in hand.

“This tastes like dog pee,” the taller girl said. “You’d think that Niccolo could spring for some decent beer. Here.” She held up her cup and stared at Rory.

“That’s okay, I got backup,” Isabel said, brandishing the bottle.

“Oooh, my favorite,” said the other girl, who had thick hair that looked to be reddish gold in the firelight. She dumped the contents of her plastic cup onto the sand and held out her cup. “Just a little. It has a lot of sugar.”

Rory stayed quiet. Neither girl had even talked to her yet. The taller girl with the dark brown hair and the ultrablasé manner also wore a dress and delicate leather flip-flops with a Navajo pattern between the toes. The other girl wore toothpick-slim jeans that still managed to look roomy around the thighs. Neither of them wore anything resembling Keds or a stretch fabric belt.

“You guys, this is my friend Rory,” Isabel said. “Rory, this is Thayer,” she said, gesturing to the taller girl, “and this is Darwin. We’ve all known each other since, like, kindergarten.”

“Hi,” Rory said, waving.

Thayer and Darwin didn’t wave, but their eyes did a quick head-to-toe sweep of her outfit. “Hey,” Thayer finally said. Darwin murmured something, but Rory couldn’t make it out.

“Rory’s staying with us for the summer,” Isabel continued, unwrapping the foil from the cork. “Remember? I told you guys.”

“Oh,” Darwin said, nodding. “Where are you from again?”

“New Jersey,” Rory replied.

“So, is this, like, the Fresh Air Fund or something?” Darwin asked.

Thayer nudged Darwin hard, and they both giggled.

“Um, I don’t know,” Rory said. She knew that Darwin had just insulted her, but she wasn’t sure how.

“Where in New Jersey are you from?” Thayer asked. Her voice had a funny drawl to it, as if her mouth couldn’t completely open and the words took extralong to pronounce.

“Sussex County. It’s right near the border of Pennsylvania.”

“Huh,” she said, and didn’t say anything else.

Finally Isabel pushed out the cork with her thumb. A jet stream of fizz shot out of the bottle and all over Darwin’s pants.

“Oh my god!” Darwin shrieked, stepping backward. “Iz! What the hell?”

“Oops,” Isabel said, as champagne sizzled down the sides of the bottle. “My bad.”

“These are my Rag and Bones!” Darwin cried. “Now I’m going to have to wash them!”

“I’m sorry.” Rory knew that Isabel wasn’t the most naturally apologetic person in the world, and there was just the smallest hint of a smirk on her lips as she looked at Rory. “Wait a minute, you and I don’t have cups,” Isabel said.

Rory looked over at the keg sunk into the sand and the sleeve of cups on top of it. “I’ll get them,” she said, eager to escape. She could feel Darwin seething.

As Rory set off across the sand, Isabel tried to squelch her anger. Her friends were such snobs. At least she’d managed to spray Darwin with the champagne, though. That had been pretty awesome.

“Why’d you guys have to say that?” she said to her friends. “About the Fresh Air Fund?”

“She didn’t even get it,” Thayer said.

“So what? Would it kill you guys to be friendly once in a while?”

“Why do you care?” Thayer asked. “She’s the housekeeper’s kid.”

“Niece,” Isabel corrected. “And I’m trying to introduce her to people.”

“Why?” Darwin asked. “She doesn’t fit in here. I mean, look at what she’s wearing, for God’s sake.”

“Don’t be such a snob,” Isabel muttered.

“I’m a snob?” Darwin said. “You’re the one who acts like you’re too good to hang out with us anymore. You were supposed to go with us to the Talkhouse on Saturday night, and you totally flaked.”

“I told you guys, I was sick,” Isabel said, wincing a little at the lie. She’d been at Buford’s with Mike.

Thayer looked off in the distance and then stepped closer to Isabel. “Oh my god. Andrew Mayman just looked at me. I think he’s into me. What should I do?”

“I have to pee,” Isabel said, and handed the champagne bottle to Thayer. “Here,” she said. “Enjoy.”

She walked toward the water. She couldn’t pretend to care one iota about Thayer and her stupid love life right now. How long had she been here? Five minutes? Already she wanted to jump in the car and leave. Standing around the bonfire clutching red cups were all the same people she saw every summer, at every single beach party: Tripp Pressley, whose father worked at Goldman and traveled to Southampton by helicopter; Anna Lucia Kent, with her Brazilian blowout, bright white veneers, and flair for social climbing; and Whit Breckinridge, whose parties in the city were so popular that his doorman needed a list and a lacrosse stick to keep things in line. There had been a time when she would have moved through this crowd kissing and hugging every single one of these people, spilling over with things to say. But tonight she saw them through Mike’s eyes. He wouldn’t have thought these people were so interesting. In any case, not nearly as interesting as they thought themselves to be.

Rory was almost at the keg when a stream of smoke from the bonfire wafted straight into her face. She began to cough.

“You okay?” someone asked.

Through her watering eyes, she could see a guy watching her with concern.

“I think… I think… I think I’m okay,” she sputtered between coughs.

“You want some?” He took a cup from the sleeve and pumped it with beer.

She tried to shake her head while she was coughing, but he didn’t understand. “Here,” he said.

Rory brought the cup to her lips and took a sip. She didn’t like the taste of beer, but it felt good to drink something.

“That should do it,” said the guy. “Though it’s really bad beer.”

She took another sip. “Thanks,” she said.

Her eyes stopped watering, and she could see that he had curly light brown hair and wore a navy-blue Patagonia fleece. Cute but not too cute, she noted gratefully.

“I’m Landon,” he said.

“Rory,” she said.

“Wait,” he said, squinting. “Do you go to Nightingale?”

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked.

“Do you go to Nightingale?” he repeated. “In the city?”

“I live in New Jersey,” she said.

“Oh,” he said, looking confused.

“I’m here with Isabel,” she said. “Isabel Rule?”

“Oh, cool,” Landon said. “How do you know her if you live in New Jersey?”

Rory thought about how to respond to this. “I’m staying with her. Well, with her family. For the summer.”

“What, is your family friends with hers or something?” he asked.

As if on cue, Rory heard a keening voice call out, “Hey, Landon!” and turned to see Isabel walking over to them with outstretched arms. “What is up? Long time no see, mio amico.”

“Hey, Isabel,” he said, going over to her.

Rory watched Landon and Isabel embrace like old, long-separated friends.

“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you,” Isabel said, keeping her hands on his shoulders. “How’s your sister? She’s at Vanderbilt, right?”

“Yep. She’s loving it. And she’s already met your friend Haven. How’s California?”

“Awesome. And have you met Rory?” Isabel said, glancing approvingly at the cup of beer in Rory’s hand.

“Yeah, she was just telling me she’s staying with you for the summer.”

“That’s right,” Isabel said. “She’s our houseguest.”

“Yeah, my aunt is her—” Rory began.

“Landon and my brother Connor went to St. Bernard’s together,” Isabel said, cutting her off. Whether this was deliberate, Rory couldn’t tell. “Connor was like his big brother at school. Anyway, Rory is supercool. And she’s never been out here before, so I want everyone to show her a really good time,” Isabel said, putting special emphasis on the last three words.

“Uh, sounds good,” Landon said.

“Could you excuse us for a second?” Isabel asked.

Rory felt herself pulled aside by the elbow into the darkness.

“Okay, this is perfect,” Isabel said. “Landon is nice, cute, smart, and not too in love with himself. But if you’re gonna seal the deal, you have to do something. Not just stand there.”

“O… kay,” Rory said. “What are you talking about, exactly?”

“You have to flirt,” Isabel said. “Smile, laugh, say something funny. Act mysterious. And don’t tell him about being the housekeeper’s niece.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t, okay?” Her eyes darted over Rory’s shoulder. “Okay, he’s looking over at you right now.”

“He is?” Rory started to look over her shoulder.

“Don’t look!” Isabel ordered. “He likes you. Trust me.”

Rory wasn’t sure she could believe this, but coming from the queen of the Hamptons, it was probably true. “Are you sure?”

“Totally sure,” she said. “Now all you have to do is encourage him. Laugh at what he says, smile, stand close to him, touch him on the arm, et cetera. You ready?”

“Okay.”

Rory walked back to Landon and took a quick, shallow sip from her cup to bolster her confidence. Sand sloshed inside her Keds, but she tried to have an elegant gait just the same. “Sorry about that,” she said when she joined him. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

It was an unbearably corny line, and one that she would never have said before, but Landon perked right up. “That’s okay,” he said. “Just nursing my cup of truly awful beer.”

She dissolved into laughter, then smiled more brilliantly at him than she’d ever smiled at anyone in her life. “So where do you go to school?” she asked, batting her eyes. I can’t believe I’m doing this, she thought. Maybe Isabel was right. Maybe guys weren’t as smart as she’d thought.

Isabel headed back to her friends. She felt a little weird telling Rory not to say anything about Fee or being the housekeeper’s niece. But Rory needed to have some fun, and she knew how snotty most of these people were. Rory would just go back to New Jersey at the end of the summer and never have to really hang out with these people again. She, on the other hand, would be stuck with them for life.

“Isabel,” said a voice from behind her.

She turned around. Aston March walked toward her out of the shadows, like a ghost. His hair was shorter than she remembered it, and his face looked fuller, his body thicker. He looked like he’d been drinking a lot this past year. She wondered if she was the reason.

“Hey, Aston,” she said, feeling her stomach begin a slow slide to her ankles.

“Hey, Iz.” He sipped from the red plastic cup in his hand. “We missed you at my party last weekend.”

“Yeah, sorry. I was sick.”

He looked past her as he took another swallow of beer. “How’s California?”

“Amazing,” she said. “Just what I said in my e-mails.”

“Right,” Aston said. He shuffled his feet in the sand. “I’m going to Yale in the fall.”

“I heard. Congrats.” She looked beyond his shoulder to see if there was anyone who might be able to rescue her. She’d been hoping to put this off for at least a couple more days.

“I think we should hang out again this summer,” he announced, stepping closer. “You know? I mean, why not?”

“Aston—”

“I thought things were pretty good,” he said. “You just got scared.”

“Aston, no. It’s over. Really, really over.”

His eyes stayed riveted on her, as if he expected her to suddenly laugh this off. When she didn’t, something hardened in his face. “You know, I was totally there for you last summer,” he said. “When you got kicked out of school, when you got into all that shit with your parents about the fire, I stuck up for you. I said that none of it was your fault, that you were just the victim. But maybe it’s right what people say about you. Maybe you are just a mess.”

A gust of wind blew across her face. “Go to hell,” she said, and walked away.

She waded through the sand, shivering from the cold air seeping in through her dress. Mike. She needed Mike. She unsnapped her clutch. Maybe she would text him right now. Screw her rules about waiting. She didn’t care anymore. She pulled out her iPhone and almost dropped it when she saw the lit-up screen.

Hey Beautiful. When can I see you?

She read the text over and over. Her heart raced. She felt dizzy.

Tomorrow, she typed, and then hit send.

Normally she would have waited a good twelve hours to text him back, or maybe even a day. But that seemed petty right now. If he texted back right away, that meant he really liked her. Maybe almost as much as she liked him, too.

Her phone chimed again.

Cool. See you soon.

She smiled. Of course he liked her. Of course he did.