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I think for a moment. Oh yes. That girl is famous for her exclusive pool parties at her daddy’s lake house.
That’s cute you think your daughter invites me to things, I type, ending with a cry-laughing emoji.
A pause. I sip my iced tea and wait for him to catch up.
I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth.
Doesn’t hurt my feelings. I don’t run with that crowd. NBD.
I’ll talk to her.
Oh god, oh god, oh god. Absolutely not.
PLEASE GOD DO NOT DO THAT.
Fine. I’ll just send a car to get you. Making a big announcement for the swim team so you should be here anyway. And your friend…Addison?
I huff. He might be as oblivious as his daughter.
I purse my lips and type, Addie. She’s working today.
Car is on the way.
DO NOT SEND A CAR.
I continue to beg him over text not to send a car, but I get no reply.
I sit and stew by the pool, determined not to go anywhere.
Not five minutes later, Dad steps outside, looking annoyed.
“There’s a driver here to take you to Ridley Rushmore’s house.”
“Fuck no,” I reply.
Dad shakes his head but is not overly bothered by my swearing. Mom and Dad rarely reprimand me. Call it guilt over being checked out of everything in my life but swimming.
“Apparently that big announcement is happening at some party at the Rushmore estate, so you should definitely go.”
With my hands in the air for added drama, I retort, “Why? Why can’t they just send an email? You are, like, golf buddies with the athletic director, are you not?”
Dad crosses his arms across his big barrel chest. “It will be good for you to go. Come on, I’ve already packed your beach bag.”
Well, well. Dad chooses now to parent me. He always acts so weird about swim. He couldn’t give less of a shit about theater or my plans to get into a good acting school. But hell, if the subject of swim comes up, look out.
“All you Greenbridge parents have such a boner about swim. Maybe you all should join the team and leave the rest of us out of it,” I mutter as I brush past my dad. I practically stomp out to the car like a spoiled kindergartener.
I cannot deny the possibility that seeing Rushmore is the one tantalizing aspect of the humiliation about to occur.
I slide into the back of the town car, wryly making a mental note for my future memoirs. I can see it now: Chapter 12, My High School Frenemy’s Dad Propositioned Me At His Daughter’s Pool Party.
8
Hunter
“What are you doing here?”
Ridley’s reaction to me is about what I expected it to be and makes me feel exactly as small as I knew it would. As if I shouldn’t be here.
