Who knew a wheelchair in New York could be so much fun?
We didn’t only take turns pushing, we took turns riding. Much to their mothers’ annoyance, we used small children and strollers in the Central Park Zoo as a moving-obstacle course. We had time trials down the park’s corridor of massive elm trees.
At one point, David pushed Abby in a tight little circle until she was laughing and screaming and begging him to stop. When he did stop, she caught her breath and gathered her hair back in its clip. Our eyes met and she smiled. The first real smile I’d gotten from her in a long time.
Even Celeste seemed like she was relaxed and having fun. A whole group of Japanese tourists must have mistaken her for a movie star because they asked if they could have their picture taken with her. Of course, she obliged, taking off her coat so her fabulous outfit would be visible.
We ended up at a matchbox-size Indian restaurant in the East Village for dinner. The ceiling and walls were decorated with so many flickering, multicolored Christmas lights it was like being inside a kaleidoscope. Along with the frenetic Bollywood music, the table full of curries, and everyone talking, it was sensory overload of the best kind. At the end of the meal when the bill came, David took out a credit card and handed it to the waiter.
“How much do we owe you?” Viv called over the blaring strains of the sitar.
“I’m taking care of it,” he said.
“What?” I said. “No way. That bill must be huge.”
“Yeah, man,” Cameron said. “I wouldn’t feel right.”
“Look,” David said. “It’s not a big deal—this place isn’t expensive. Just saying thanks for the weekend.”
When the waiter brought the receipt back for David to sign, I said, “Are you sure? Let me give you some cash, at least.”
“Leena,” he said quietly, folding up the yellow copy and placing it in his wallet. “I’m trying to impress you here. You’re not making it very easy.”
“Oh.” I stared down at the tablecloth, a stupid grin on my face.
The temperature outside had dropped. None of us were dressed for it, and I shivered in my thin coat as we stood on the sidewalk, debating what next. Without a word, David draped his hoodie over my shoulders. I moved closer so I was leaning slightly against him, and rested like that until a minivan cab big enough for all of us came down the street, and we decided to head back to Viv’s house for the time being. During the ride, Celeste suggested we go to a bar in a remote, waterfront neighborhood in Brooklyn that she’d been to over the summer with Band Boy. She promised they wouldn’t card us, and if they did, I was the only one without a fake ID.
“Will there be guys?” Abby asked. “Cute guys?”
“Actually,” Celeste said, “there’s a sign on the door that says Ugly Guys Only. Is that a problem?”
“At least Cameron and David will be able to come in,” Viv said.
Everyone laughed. I settled back against the comfy seat and closed my eyes. We’d made it through the day and no one was fighting.
David was sitting next to me. I felt his hand, warm on my knee. He squeezed it and I squeezed his hand and I thought, Maybe we should just die right now, in a car accident. Because it didn’t get better than this.
Chapter 21
DESPITE CELESTE’S ASSURANCE we wouldn’t be carded, I wasn’t taking any chances. Back at the Parker-Whites’, I put on my nicest jeans and a black turtleneck sweater that made me look older and more sophisticated, and pulled my hair into a twist at the nape of my neck.
“You look like a librarian,” Celeste said from the bed she’d claimed.
We were sharing a room here, too, with twin beds, framed photos of Japanese temples on the walls, and a massive golden Buddha statue watching from the corner.
Insisting I could do better, she had me try on one of the many dresses she’d brought—a red-and-black-pattern vintage Diane von Furstenburg. The silk stretched over me, cool and slinky, and seemed to fit. Then I looked in the mirror. “No way,” I said immediately, taken aback by how exposed I felt. This sort of dress—tight, low-cut, curve-enhancing—was obviously designed for someone with a different sort of build. Or, rather, a different sort of personality. And definitely someone with different footwear, I thought, looking across the room at my selection: scuffy, brown, lace-up boots or Chucks.
A knock came at the door. Celeste said, “Come in,” at the same time I said, “One minute.” Her voice must have been louder because the door opened. David stood there.
“Wow,” he said.
I crossed my arms in front of my boobs. “I was just trying it on,” I explained. “I’m not wearing it.”
“Really? Why not?” He turned to Celeste. “It’s yours, right? You should give it to Leena for good. To wear on a daily basis.” I blushed as he grinned at me.
“It was Mom’s,” Celeste said. “I’m not giving it to anyone. What did you want, anyway?”
David’s smile faded. “I actually need to talk to you.”
“I have to use the bathroom,” I said, picking up on his serious tone of voice. “You guys can talk in here.”
I decided to wear my hair down, and just a little mascara and lip gloss, so I didn’t actually have that much to do in the bathroom to waste time. I ended up posing in front of the mirror, trying to appreciate David’s opinion of my new look. I liked that he’d been so enthusiastic, but wearing something so sexy and sophisticated still felt strange: as much of a lie as my friends’ fake IDs. Not to mention, it seemed more than a little weird to be trying to look good for a guy in his mother’s dress.
Before going back to the bedroom, I glanced in the medicine cabinet to see if anything had been abandoned there. While my doctor prescribed me antianxiety pills for emergencies, I occasionally snagged a few other types from my and my friends’ parents—only when it was obvious they weren’t actively taking it. Nothing here, though.
Eventually, I figured I’d given Celeste and David long enough. Celeste stood in her black lace underwear, surveying the remaining clothes in the closet.
“What do you think?” She held up a fifties aqua-blue diner waitress dress and a black top that looked like it was made of ribbons.
I pointed to the aqua blue.
“Eh. I think the black,” she said.
Celeste rehung the blue dress and hopped toward the bed. Her eyes were bloodshot.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
She sat down and began wriggling the top over her head. I noticed that there were a couple of bruises on her torso, too. Like the ones on her thighs. Were they really from Whip? I’d thought she was just saying that to annoy David, but maybe they were. I couldn’t imagine how else they might have happened. What did people do to each other in bed that would make bruises? Did it feel good at the time?
“Celeste, you okay?” I said again.
She pulled the top down. “Yup,” she said. “That David. He always likes to make sure I’m in a cheery mood when we’re going out.” She shook out her hair. “You know, you don’t have to wear that just because he said you should. I can tell you’re uncomfortable in it.”
“I think I will,” I said, running a hand over the smooth fabric. “It’s fun to wear something different for a change.”
“Hmm.” She stood up to admire herself in the mirror and I realized that the black ribbon top was actually a dress. Sort of. It barely reached below her underwear. “You might be right, you know,” she said.
“About?”
“David. Your hesitation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I guess if you guys wanted to be together it would have happened by now. Right?” She turned so she could see herself in side view. “Maybe I tried too hard to push you together, for selfish reasons. Maybe you’re not his type. I made it all up in the beginning, saying that he liked you. He’s that way with anyone who has boobs.”