I blinked, my eyes tired. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about them right now?”
“Sure.” He sighed. “Can you do me a solid, though, and call Hamlet? Or text him? Or something?”
The room was growing warmer. I fanned my face with my hand. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“And, I noticed in my lovely airline receipt that you didn’t buy a ticket back home yet. How long are you going to stay there?”
I stood up and moved the phone to my other ear so I could examine the thermostat. “I don’t know.”
“Lot of thought went into this plan of yours.”
“Well, I mean, it’s notforever.”
“Oh good!” I heard Flo mew in the background, and I missed her so much.
“Talk to you later, Pai.”
“Later, Shorty. Also: one week max, got it? You need some downtime before school starts.”
A week. That seemed like forever and not enough at the same time. “Okay.”
A pause. “Love you, little girl.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Love you, too, Pai.”
When we hung up, I stared out the window at the beautiful people who had started to gather in the courtyard. Time to put my game face on.
CHAPTER 29
When I stepped outside, the air was cool and the sky was filled with stars. The storm had left everything drenched and sparkling—palm trees, the woven hammocks in everyone’s villas, and the slick stone paths leading from the rooms to the lit-up courtyard.
Strings of twinkly lights and torches made everything glow. Perfect Instagram lighting, apparently—every single person out there seemed to be snapping Stories or photos on their phones. Beautiful moments never happened unless you uploaded them first.
I’d been to plenty of these kinds of events with my mom, and I’d dressed for the occasion. Knowing that I couldn’t match these people with their outrageous clothing budgets, I went with“teenage minimalist”: black cutoffs, my Docs with black ankle socks peeking out, and a white cotton T with the sleeves rolled up. I hadn’t had time to shower, so I leaned into my dirty hair by adding more product to push it back from my face, the tousled strands tucked behind my ears.
Eyes appraised me as I wove through the crowd—everyone was probably wondering if I was that teen fashion blogger, or a YouTube star.
I found my mom pouring some kind of bubbly drink into a delicate wineglass, surrounded by people. She’d had a wardrobe change, too. Still wearing the fringy robe, she had switched into a long, silky black dress with a leg slit a mile high. She was barefoot and her hair was done up in an artfully messy topknot. What glammed up the entire outfit were her bright pink lips on a glowing, otherwise makeup-free face. When I noticed these things about my mom, I couldn’t tell if it was admiration I felt or irritation.
She looked up with the glass and her eyes met mine. “Clara! Finally!” she exclaimed. “Everyone, meet my perfect daughter. I mean,lookat her.”
Gazes zeroed in on me. You could see some faces registering my age and doing the math. Others skimmed over me, head to toe, trying to figure out what I was trying to do with my outfit. Some smiled warmly at me.
“Cool intro, Mãe,” I said drily before smiling at everyone. “Hi, I’m Clara.”
Here’s the thing: when you act confident, even when you’re nervous, people relax and stop scrutinizing you.
“I didn’t know you had achild, Jules!” A Latino man wearing the tightest shorts I’d ever seen pushed my mom playfully on the shoulder.
She handed me the drink, and I happily accepted it. “Well, I do, Jeremy. She’s my one and only.” Pouring another drink for herself, she looked up at the mini crowd held in her thrall with a huge grin. “And Clara isamazing. She flew out here and surprised me!”
“Getout!” This time Jeremy pushed me, and I had to laugh.
“It’s not a big deal,” I said before taking a sip of the drink, the fizziness pleasantly traveling down my throat.
A blond white woman wearing a tropical-print romper pointed her drink at me. “Said like a true cool teenager. How old are you?”
I glanced at my mom before answering. “Sixteen. Seventeen in a couple months.”
