Page 8 of You + Me – Against the World

Clem has never stood a chance with Andrew anyway, but she’s trying to make me smile, and it’s working.

We spend the rest of the afternoon whispering in class, scheming. Clem decides to call it “Operation Russia,” but by the end of our so-called summit we haven’t really come up with a solution, and I still can’t shake tonight’s meeting from my mind.

Worse yet, I can’t stop thinking about Vadim Arcadi.

I don’t even have his phone number to let him know I can’t make it. Standing him up would be worse than refusing him outright.

“He’ll take it as an insult, and that will be the end of our partnership,” I whisper to my ally.

But wouldn’t that also solve all my problems?

When the last class finally ends, I walk Clémentine back to her dorm, stretching out every possible minute before I have to go home and get ready.

I collapse onto her bed, worn out. Suddenly her red mane comes into view as I stare blankly at the ceiling. She’s jumped onto the bed, knees first, making the whole mattress bounce.

“I know!” she yells, inches from my face.

“Careful, my eardrums!”

“I’ve got it! Listen. Just go to dinner as usual. I’ll call you at around ten in a complete state—sobbing, furious, the works.”

“That’s something I know I can count on you to do convincingly.” I smile, absentmindedly twisting a strand of her hair. “And then what?”

“Well, who comes to comfort me when I’m heartbroken, depressed, and alone in the world? My BFF, of course! You have to come and cheer me up right away, because you’re all I’ve got in the U.S. Get it?”

“I get it. Now breathe.”

I hug her.

“But you will come, won’t you?”

“Of course. For you, always. But my dad is going to want to drive me…”

“Tell him I’m too upset, that I don’t want to see anyone except you. Your place is only a fifteen-minute walk from here!”

“We can try, I guess. But you’re going to put on a good performance, right? I mean, the whole thing: tears, shouting, makeup running down your face and snot everywhere. Just in case things don’t go as planned and someone comes with me.”

She nods.

“Let’s say it would take about an hour to calm you down. I’ll have time to go to the Sunset Café, spend half an hour with Vadim, and get back home.”

I sit up, then jump to my feet, my legs suddenly light and my weariness gone. I plant a long, loud kiss on my favorite person’s cheek and head home.

4

My father had no trouble finding our house in Los Angeles. He made a few phone calls, and a month before we arrived, he did a first round trip from Paris for a day of viewings, then a second with my mother to show her our future home. “Love at first sight guaranteed,” as he likes to tell to his clients. An hour later, we had our new place, which I only saw for the first time when we arrived in the United States this summer.

The luxurious home is located just a short walk from the university, perfect for Basile and me. It’s nestled in the chic Westwood neighborhood, which is ideal for my father. It also came fully furnished and decorated in a classic, elegant, and timeless style—a dream for my mother. Only Lily found it “too bland.”

There are off-white walls in all the rooms and cream rugs on the bedroom floors. A large family kitchen boasts dozens of white cabinets and a light central island made of wood. The huge living room features sand-colored sofas and armchairs, as well as a taupe marble fireplace on solid oak flooring. All the curtains and cushions, which Mom chose, are made from natural linen to create a lighter, airier feel—though she did wonder whether she should have gone with an eggshell shade instead.

The six bedrooms and three bathrooms are decorated in the same tones, with the exception of Lily’s, which is multicolored and customized by her. In mine, I just hung some string lights and put a few photos on the wall. Mr. Abrams would probably say this room has about as much personality as I do.

The darker tones are reserved for the large patio at the back of the house: chocolate rattan garden furniture, oversized terracotta planters, living walls, and tropical hardwood decking surrounding the impressive swimming pool.

This house is my mother’s pride and joy, but she always downplays it when the Wallaces walk in and start swooning.

As always, they arrive on time, with Timothy and their younger son Matthew, an exact copy of the first. Matthew is constantly doing his best to step out of his brother’s shadow. He is fourteen years old and has his eye on my twelve-year-old sister, but Lily knows very well how to give someone the brush-off when she wants to.