I sniff. “I don’t have to do anything.” But then I shrug. “Oh, whatever. I’ll go. She’ll definitely have a way better turnout if people know we’re going, and Laurel’s been whining about wanting me there.”
At that, I glance toward the snack bar. Laurel, my adoptive sister, is leaning against the window, repeating the order we gave her, her brow furrowed in concentration. We’d given her a ton of stuff to remember—the bread had to be the club’s signature gluten-free variety and the fruit salad could contain only grapes, pineapple, and star fruit—no melon or strawberries. I’m sure she sees it as a test, but I just wanted a few extra minutes of privacy so we could talk Lying Game pranks. Laurel practically invented the phrase hanger-on. She was so thrilled that I’d begrudgingly said she could join us at the pool today that she immediately posted it as her status on Facebook. I suppose a lot of girls would be thrilled that their little sisters admired them so much, but for me, it’s a little suffocating.
Madeline’s cheery voice interrupts my thoughts. “So it’s settled. We’ll go. Nisha’s lame, but we’ll make it fun.”
“Fine, great.” I wave my hand in front of my face. “We’ll go to Nisha’s. It’ll be like community service. But way more important than that is the inaugural Lying Game prank.” I drum my watermelon-tipped fingernails against the iron arm of my chaise. “Who should the target be?” I grin wickedly in Charlotte’s direction. “Garrett?”
Charlotte sets her mouth in a line, her cheeks turning as red as her hair. “Don’t you dare, Sutton.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, deciding to go easy on her. Garrett is, after all, Char’s first Big Boyfriend.
“What about boys of the non-boyfriend variety?” Madeline suggests. “Boys of the dirty, evil-scumbag-douche-lord variety?”
I raise my eyebrow. “Are we talking about a certain lifeguard, Mads?” I glance over at Finn Hadley, the tanned, muscled, blond-from-the-sun boy who sits atop the lifeguard stand near the diving well. Finn was Mads’s intended summer fling, and he seemed to be into her, too, texting her regularly, putting his arm around her whenever he saw her, even bringing her treats from the snack bar. But then we caught him in a … private lesson with an off-duty au pair on the tennis courts after hours a week ago. Enough said.
“That’s not a bad idea,” I say, narrowing my eyes on Finn. I can’t let guys go around thinking they can screw with my friends. Especially not for nannies whose idea of personal style is faux-hipster Keds.
“But I still don’t think he’s a big enough target,” I say after a moment. I pat Mads’s leg. “How about this—we report him to the management for smoking pot on duty?”
Mads cocks her head. “A joint in his locker?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” I say, giving her a high five.
Char makes a face. “But guys, that’s a repeat. We did that to Dave Jaffrey last spring.”
“Yeah, but …” I trail off, my gaze on someone across the pool. He’s tall, with dark hair, Beckham-esque shoulders, and an Ian Somerhalder brooding thing going on. His lean torso is tanned and rippled with muscles, and his easy lope is completely un-ignorable—every girl he passes gives him an appreciative stare, and he takes the time to greet quite a few of them. My competitive streak awakens inside me. This guy could be a contender for a summer fling of my own, even though summer’s almost over—I’ve been weighing my options for a while now. There was a half second last week when Aidan Grove, a lacrosse player who’s been into me since seventh grade, looked like a front-runner since I’m a sucker for calf muscles. But now, I’m not so sure. Mr. Vampire Diaries might just have taken the lead.
I flick my low, shiny ponytail over one shoulder as casually as I can and push my sunglasses up my nose for maximum intimidation factor. To my delight, he’s walking over. I tilt my body and put my hand on a tanned, bare hip. He’s coming right toward me. And now he’s stopping. Who knew this could be so easy?
“Hey, Sutton. How’s it going?” the boy says, offering an easy smile. Then he glances to the left. “Hey, Char. Hey, Mads,” he says, almost as an afterthought.
“Hey,” Char says, sounding bored. But I’m confused. How does this guy know my name, all of our names? And then, as I look at him, something clicks. My jaw nearly drops. But … wait. There’s no way. This can’t be—
“Hey, Thayer,” Mads says, as if answering my thoughts.
It’s Madeline’s younger brother.
I fiddle with my sunglasses to disguise my utter shock. I’d forgotten that Mads’s baby brother, whom I’d never given the time of day before, had returned from soccer camp last night. What the hell were they feeding them there? Is this seriously the same skinny kid who never spoke?