Free The Carlyles by Cecily von Ziegesar Page B

knees. If she were in Nantucket, she’d be wearing one of the hippie dresses from her mom’s closet, which always felt like a second skin. Here, she felt so stifled. The last time she’d worn a knee-length skirt that buttoned at the waist had been when she was five and had gone to tea at the Plaza with Grandmother Avery. “How was school?” she asked, trying to ignore the loud conversations going on all around her.
    “I got fucking Funkmaster Smith for English again, which is going to blow, but at least I have a double study.”
    Baby giggled, remembering Mr. Smith’s potent BO. She even missed that. Tom felt so far away. She wanted him close to her so badly it hurt.
    She heard a rustle in the background. “I want the phone!” a girl’s voice whined impatiently. It was Kendra, one of the peripheral hangers-on whom Baby had known since kinder-garten. They used to be friends, but ever since Kendra had become a raging stoner, her interests were now exclusively pot and the college guys who came to Nantucket to work at the restaurants for the summer and never left. “Hey, Ba-ay-bee.” Kendra drew out Baby’s name into three syllables, and Baby knew she must be pretty baked. “So, is there crazy shit going on down there? What’s it like living in New York?”
    “Yeah, um, it’s fine,” Baby lied. “I’ll probably be back next weekend for the beach party, though.” Make that definitely, Baby silently amended as she saw a girl yelling at the driver of a sleek town car that had pulled up in front of the school.
    “So soon? I’m sure there are much better parties in New York, right?” Kendra drawled lazily.
    “Hey, can you put Tom back on?” Baby said shortly. She wasn’t in the mood for one of Kendra’s pot-induced hypothetical conversations.
    “Sure,” Kendra agreed. “But don’t worry if something comes up. We’ll get by without you.” Baby heard laughing in the background. They were probably already piling into Tom’s car by now. Baby kicked at the stone step with her heel in frustration and jealousy.
    “So, you think you reallymight be able to come on Friday? Don’t you have to go to a cotillion or an opera or something?” Tom asked in his sleepy-stoner voice.
    “It’s New York, not the Deep South!” Baby smiled. She loved Tom’s utter lack of pretension.
    And regional knowledge?
    “Of course I’ll come. I can’t miss the first beach party of the school year.” Baby was counting down the hours. She couldn’t wait to sleep with Tom outside in her hammock, only a few steps from the ocean.
    “Cool.” Baby could almost imagine him nodding in agreement. “Anyway, we’re all heading down to the dock, so I better get going. I miss you,” he finished.
    “I miss you too,” Baby echoed, and hung up the phone.
    She stood up and crossed the street, unsure of what to do with herself for the rest of the afternoon. She considered waiting for Avery, but her sister seemed to be intentionally ignoring her, so Baby decided to intentionally ignore her right back. She determinedly stepped off the curb.
    “Watch where you’re going, baby!” a bike messenger yelled as he took a tight turn onto Madison and almost ran into her. Hearing her name yelled in a voice so angry and hard instead of warm and soft, Baby felt a red-hot surge of rage—at her mother, at her new school, at all of New York City—shoot up through her tiny frame.
    “Fuck you!” she yelled angrily. A group of elderly ladies standing by the bus stop began whispering among themselves. Baby seethed. She hated New York. Everyone was the same. Those ladies were exactly like Jack Laurent and her bitch crowd, except two hundred years older.
    Mad at herself for even caring what they thought, she ducked into a nearby Starbucks and bought an iced chai from the over-caffeinated barista who shouted out every single order. As soon as she took a sip, she wanted to spit out the ultra-sweet liquid. Back in Nantucket, they would have already had