“Lucky bastard.”
We walk into the school and I nod at a few friends. Lance’s dad, my uncle Wyatt, comes from a wealthy family in Manhattan, and Lance always gets extravagant gifts for holidays and his birthday.
“Once I get my license, I’ll pick you up in the morning so you don’t have to drive the Jeep,” he says.
He’d be easy to hate if he didn’t say shit like that. I remember the time he got the new game console we’d been begging for, and he let me play first. I couldn’t ask for a better cousin.
“Check out Brinley,” I say nodding to our cousin putting on lip gloss at her locker mirror.
Her best friend, Kenzie, is next to her, rambling on about something.
“You think she’s bringing Kenzie to Grandma’s party?” Lance asks.
I punch his shoulder. “I knew you had a thing for her.”
He rubs his arm as if I actually inflicted pain. Lance isn’t athletic. He’s more into being the school president or editor of the newspaper.
“I don’t, but…”
“Not many options in a school full of our damn cousins,” I say what I know he was thinking.
We go to high school with six of our cousins. Three of us are referred to as the Bailey Triplets, since we were all born within a day of each other. Although Lance’s last name is actually Whitmore and Brinley’s is Kelly, we’re all Baileys—especially in Great-Grandma Dori’s eyes.
“Hey, Phoebe.” I nod at our oldest cousin who attends Lake Starlight High.
Her boyfriend, Coulter, is at her side with his arm slung over her shoulder. Uncle Rome hates Coulter, but I don’t know the details of why.
The bell rings, and Lance and I say goodbye and head in different directions.
I sit in my homeroom class as Kenzie sits down next to me.
“Hey, East,” she coos.
I can’t tell Lance that Kenzie’s been flirting with me since the start of the school year. Everyone knows he likes her—that’s been clear since we were kids, and she and Brinley became best friends. So I try my best not to notice her. Not notice her long dark hair and her glossy pink lips. Not notice the way her eyes fall over my body as if she’d love to jump my bones. Not notice my body’s physical reaction to her. Hell, I’m fifteen, I have no control of my body, right?
“Hey, Kenzie,” I say.
“Brinley invited me to your great-grandma’s party. I hope that’s okay?”
I glance at her to be polite and she’s smiling. “My great-grandma wants the entire town there, so I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”
“And what about you? Will you be thrilled if I come?”
I groan inwardly. Lance is my cousin. Lance is my cousin. Lance is my cousin.
I repeat the mantra to ward off the temptation of acknowledging Kenzie’s attention. It works for the moment.
2
Calista Bailey
(Twenty-one years old)
Rome and Harley’s Eldest Daughter
After the long plane ride, my legs thank me when I stand and allow them to stretch. Coming home for a week during my senior year isn’t ideal, but it’s Great-Grandma Dori’s ninetieth birthday. If we’re not all present and accounted for, she’s sure to put out a search party for any missing family member.
I take my phone off airplane mode and wait for the texts from my mom or dad to say they’re waiting outside baggage claim for Dion and me. As I follow the signs to baggage claim, my phone vibrates in my pocket, but I figure I’ll wait until I’m down there to check it. If I’m lucky, Dion’s plane came in before mine and he’s waiting at my carousel already.
I step on the escalator, rolling my head to crack my neck. Missing class while I’m back in Alaska forced me to do extra work these past couple weeks, which meant long nights of drinking a lot of coffee and getting no sleep, so it takes me a minute to process that someone is calling my name.
“Calista Bailey,” the male voice says from behind me.
My head whips around. Why would he be here? No way he got an invite to the party. He’s not family. He’s not anything other than Ethel’s grandson. I slowly take in his smug expression.
“Rylan Greene, how peachy to see you.” I inject as much sarcasm as I can into my voice.
He’s got a duffle bag over his shoulder, and he’s in track pants and a sweatshirt with Stanford University stamped on it. Smug prick. Got a full ride to play soccer when I know his grades weren’t nearly as good as they should have been to attend there.
“How’s UCLA?” he asks.
“Fine.” I hide my bitterness that I didn’t get into my first choice of Stanford. It’s none of his business.
“I heard you have a pretty awesome place. Your aunt’s?”
I step off the escalator. “Yeah, it’s nice. I gotta go. See you around.”
Searching the numbers on the baggage carousels, I spot five and head that way. Dion is nowhere to be seen, which means I’ll be waiting for him. My phone dings again, so I check my messages. One is from my mom in a group chat to Dion and me.
Mom: Sorry guys, I had to volunteer for Rhea’s fall party. Something came up at the restaurant for your dad. Your Great-Grandma Dori arranged a ride for you and Dion. Can’t wait to see you both. Kisses.
I sigh and see two other messages.
Dion: I’m waiting outside. Ready to snap a picture when you see the ride Great-Grandma arranged for us. :P
Great-Grandma Dori: Let’s go, girly. Earl’s narcolepsy gets worse as the day goes on.
I exit my texts because I probably won’t figure out what my great-grandma is up to anyway. Everyone knows when it comes to Great-Grandma Dori, don’t even bother. It’s usually more absurd than you’d think.
Scrolling through my emails, I slide past all the clothing store promotions and sales emails and stop on one from my econ professor. Ask me again why I chose business as a degree to pursue? She wants me to check in with her when I return to talk over my assignments and grades.
Great. I’m pretty sure I’m failing the class.
Finally, the carousel moves, and luck must be on my side because my suitcase is the second one to come out. I slide between a few bodies and yank it off, checking the name to make sure the generic black suitcase is actually mine.
Rolling it behind me, I walk out the sliding doors to the pick-up area, but I don’t spot any familiar cars. I reach back to grab my cell phone out of my pocket, but my hand pauses when I spot a van with Northern Lights Retirement Center on the side.
No way. When she said Earl, I assumed she meant an Uber. Dion isn’t standing outside of the van, ready to take a picture, so I’m hoping it’s a coincidence. Then my blue-haired great-grandma peeks her head out of the van. Once again, I was naïve about the level of embarrassment she can conjure.
“Calista!” she hollers, waving.
Sure enough, a man, Earl, I presume, is slumped over the steering wheel.
I close my eyes and say a prayer that we arrive safely in Lake Starlight. “Happy early birthday.” I wheel my suitcase to the van. “Is Dion here?”