The Moon and More(86)
Author: Sarah Dessen

In response, she picked up a Diet Coke bottle from the floor, then another one beside it, tucking them under her arm. “It’s not trashed. It’s just messy. Watch, I can fix it.”

“The outside of the house is scraped clean of paint,” I said, my voice flat. “Can you fix that?”

“Probably not,” she admitted, still gathering up bottles, now at a faster clip. “But you can. Right?”

I just looked at her. “Why on earth would I help you?”

Her arms were full of bottles now. “You help everyone else.”

“What?”

“You do!” she said, turning and dumping them out into the hallway. “You helped Theo, and Clyde . . .”

“That was different. They’re my friends.”

She looked up at me, one of the laptops now in her hands. “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you so much.”

“Ivy. We’re not friends,” I told her as she walked over to the bedside table, the laptop’s cord dragging behind her, knocking bottles over as it went. Watching the plug approach an open box of Kix, I couldn’t help myself. I went over and picked it up. “You don’t even like me.”

“That’s not true,” she said, dumping the laptop on the bed. I picked up another box of cereal, as well as a couple of more bottles. “I have no feelings about you whatsoever.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” I picked up the two mugs. “Oh, for God’s sake. I’m going to get a trash bag.”

“Maybe bring the box,” she called out, as I stomped down the hallway, passing Luke on his way back in with his toolbox.

“Are we leaving?” he asked.

“No. We’re cleaning,” I told him. Then I hit the laundry room closet, where just about everything I’d stocked at the beginning of the season—cleansers, wipes, mops, and sprays—remained basically untouched. Even the vacuum cleaner still had a plastic cover on the plug. Unbelievable.

Back in the bedroom, Ivy was still picking up things off the floor, while Luke was working on the hinge with a screwdriver. I walked over to the red stain with some carpet cleaner, taking out my aggression on the pump until it was totally saturated. “This better come up.”

“It’s just tomato juice,” she told me.

“Just?” I said.

Outside the open door, Luke snickered. I looked at him, and he reared back. “Sorry. No offense. But if you could see your face right now . . .” He trailed off, biting his lip.

“This is so not funny,” I told him.

“You’re exactly right,” he replied, now straight-faced. “It’s dire.”

Now, Ivy laughed, and I glared at her. “Sorry. I laugh when I’m nervous. What? You are really kind of scary right now.”

“If I were you, I’d stop talking,” I told her. “Otherwise, I’m out of here and you can deal with this on your own.”

For the next thirty minutes or so, we all worked quickly and silently. Luke got the door off, while Ivy and I filled trash bags, dealt with the carpet, and got everything off the floor. I plugged in the vacuum and pushed it at her, then made the bed with fresh sheets from the linen closet, which had also not been used yet. By the time we were all done, it slightly resembled the room I remembered. Which was honestly more than I expected.

“See?” she said, as we all stood by the door, surveying our work. “All better.”

“Not all. And it’s not like it could have gotten worse.”

I heard a buzzing, and she pulled her phone from her pocket. “Hello? Oh, Clyde, hi. I’m on my way, just hit a little snag, so—What?” She glanced at her watch. “But we said ten thirty, so we could really get in some good time . . .”

Luke nudged me from behind. “You are a serious hard-ass, you know that?”

“What? She wrecked this entire place!”

Ivy shot me a look, then stepped out into the hallway. “All right, then. Well, no, I wouldn’t say I’m happy, but . . . let’s just say three. But we’ll start right then, yes?”

“It’s just nice to know,” he said, stepping around me to grab his toolbox, “that some things never change. Especially you, Emaline.”

“That doesn’t exactly sound like a compliment.”

“It is,” he replied, in that easy Luke way. The boy could flatter, I had to give him that. “I’ll be outside.”

Just then, as my own phone beeped. I slid it out and looked at the screen. Going to cape frost with Clyde, Theo had texted. Translation: so far so good.

“All right,” Ivy said. I hurriedly slid the phone back into my pocket. “Let’s just cut to the chase. Are you going to report me, or what?”

I looked at the room again. “That depends. Are you going to leave it like this and agree to pay for the damage to be repaired as soon as I can get someone here?”

“Yes,” she said, without hesitating. She stuck out her hand.

“Not so fast. I reserve the right to check in on this room anytime I choose during the time you’re still here. It creeps back anything close to what it was, and all bets are off.”

“Fine.” We shook, and then I turned and started down the hallway. I was going down the stairs when I heard her say, “You know, he’s not wrong about you.”

I looked up. She was on the landing above. “Who’s that?”

“The pool guy,” she said. “You are a hard-ass.”

“But you don’t mean that as a compliment, I’m sure.”

“Actually, I do,” she said. “It takes one to know one.”

For a moment, we just looked at each other. It occurred to me that maybe under other, crazy circumstances, we might have become friends. But not these.

“Enjoy the view,” I told her. I was pretty sure, however, that it was me she was still looking at as I pulled the door shut behind me.

*   *   *

“Just wait until you hear this,” Theo said. “You’ll totally understand why it called for the Best Al Fresco Celebration Ever.”

Thirty minutes earlier, he’d sent me a text that said, simply, 5 p.m. You and me. The pavilion. Big news. I’d finished up the last few things I needed to do at the office, clocked out, and then headed over as instructed.

I was trying to move through the throng on the boardwalk when I spied a bouquet of multicolored balloons bobbing in the distance. As they grew closer, I saw that Theo, wearing his sport coat, was sitting right beneath them.