Jacinta stood up, switching from stylist mode to photographer mode, and pursed her lips, looking at me with an artist’s critical eye.
“I want you to put your hands on your hips,” she said. “No, not like you’re angry. Like, naturally.”
“I don’t naturally put my hands on my hips,” I said. At this, Ainsley got involved, repositioning my fingers and pushing my hands higher on my waist.
“Now put one foot in front of the other, like this, love,” Jacinta said, demonstrating. “And lean forward just a little bit.”
“Hinge at the waist!” Ainsley said.
“Hinge at the waist!” Jeff shouted.
“I’m hinging!” I shrieked. “I’m hinging!” He and I dissolved into laughter. Jacinta smiled good-naturedly.
“This is serious,” Ainsley said. “What’s your name again? Natalie?”
“Naomi,” I said. “We’ve met every summer since we were eleven.” It couldn’t have been the champagne any longer, but something sure had me feeling saucy.
“Okay, I’m bad with names. Naomi. This is a big deal. A. Big. Deal. You want this photo to look amazing. So hinge at the waist.” Obligingly, I hinged at the waist. Jacinta began snapping away from different angles, encouraging me to grin, then to smile slightly, then to look serious, and to open my eyes wider. Eventually, she was satisfied and lowered her camera.
“Perfection, love,” she said.
Ainsley nodded authoritatively. “I agree,” she announced with an imperious air, as if anyone cared. Jacinta ignored her and wrapped me in yet another hug. “Don’t forget about Delilah, okay?” she murmured into my ear.
“I won’t,” I whispered back.
“Jacinta,” Ainsley said eagerly, “I’m going to get something to drink. Would you like something?” Jeez. Ainsley Devereaux wasn’t the type of person to care about anyone’s needs other than her own. She must really be starstruck by Jacinta Trimalchio.
“I would, Ainsley,” Jacinta said. “And so would Jeff and Naomi, I’m sure, wouldn’t they?” Ainsley looked briefly horrified by the prospect of being a cocktail waitress, but she quickly hid her distaste for the task by smiling insincerely.
“I’d like a ginger ale, Ainsley,” I said sweetly. “Thank you so much. You know what? Have him put some vodka in there for me. Why not?” Jeff patted me on the back approvingly.
“Fetch me a Stella, won’t you, Ainsley?” he said with his usual charming smile. Ainsley rolled her eyes at him.
“And I’ll have a lemonade, love,” Jacinta said, lightly resting her hand on Ainsley’s shoulder. Ainsley immediately brightened up at her touch.
Ainsley caught sight of Misti passing by, and immediately reached out and thumped her on the shoulder. It struck me as quite rude, but that seemed to be Ainsley’s style.
“Hey, can you get us a Stella, a lemonade, a gimlet, and a vodka ginger ale?” she said. It was more of an order than a question.
“Sure,” Misti said automatically, with a forced smile.
“Thanks,” Ainsley said, her voice dripping with fake honey. “You know, I heard you were very. . . accommodating. Really giving. And now I see it’s true!” She smiled brightly, and a few of the other girls fought back snickers. Misti ignored them and went off to get the drinks.
“Ainsley,” one of the girls whispered with delight. “You are so bad!”
Ainsley laughed. “What? I was just being friendly.”
“You’re friendly like a snake is friendly,” Jeff said. Ainsley stuck her tongue out at him.
Jacinta led Jeff, Ainsley, and I back to a table near the house. She flagged down one of the fangirls, who brought us caramel popcorn at Jacinta’s request.
“Popcorn for the big show,” Jacinta said.
“What big show?” Jeff and I asked in unison.
As if in response, the sky above us exploded in sparkling red and white peonies and chrysanthemums and starbursts. On top of everything else, Jacinta had arranged for a fireworks display. An obsequious Misti brought us our drinks and hurried away quickly.
“How’d you get a permit for this?” Jeff asked as everyone in the house poured out onto the back lawn to watch the fireworks.
“Oh, I didn’t worry about a permit,” Jacinta said, laughing lightly. Ainsley copied her, laughing too.
“You’ve got chutzpah, Jacinta Trimalchio,” Jeff said admiringly, clinking his beer bottle against her glass of lemonade.
“What is a ‘chutzpah’?” Ainsley asked.
“It means guts in Yiddish,” Jeff said as another round of white stars blasted the sky above us and a cheer went up from the crowd. “Kind of like courage. At least, in the modern sense, that’s how it’s used.”
“I always forget that you’re Jewish,” Ainsley said. “That’s so cute.”
“Yes,” said Jeff. “We’re just adorable.” He grabbed my knee under the table and squeezed, and I did the same to him. Suddenly the two girls I had seen getting high in the bathroom rushed past us, squealing and giggling.
“Pool party!” one of them shrieked, stripping down to her underthings and jumping in the river pool, which was illuminated from below by lights. Then the Fitzwilliams sisters, seemingly even drunker than before, took off everything and splashed down, followed by the delighted Stetler brothers. The crowd roared its approval, clapping and hooting and whistling, while the fireworks concluded overhead and the band on the deck struck up another jaunty tune. More girls and guys followed suit, some jumping in fully clothed, some in their underclothes, and a few more girls completely naked. I hate girls who do stuff like that just for attention. They reminded me of a couple of the Beasts back home, Melissa Donnelly and Madison Delaney, who were famous at school for getting drunk and making out for the football team’s benefit at every single Homecoming dance. Skags calls them fauxbians.
“Ugh,” Ainsley sniffed. “That’s disgusting.”
“I don’t know,” Jeff said with a smile. “I think it’s lovely—from an artistic perspective, of course.” I punched him on the arm, and he cracked up.
It was getting pretty late, and the party seemed on the verge of devolving into some giant drunken orgy. I wasn’t really up for that. I’d already shown up at an East Hampton party by myself, made out with a boy I’d just met the day before, and posed for some big-deal blog. Enough personal firsts for one night.
“I think it’s time for me to head home,” I said. Jacinta was visibly disappointed.
“Oh,” she said a little sadly. She clasped my hand in hers. “Well, you must come over again soon. And at the next party, you must come early and get ready with me. You can always stay over afterward in the blue room if you want!” With some satisfaction, I noticed Ainsley’s look of jealousy.
“I’ll get going, too,” Jeff said, rising. “It’s been a wonderful party, Jacinta. Thank you so much for inviting us.”
“You were invited?” Ainsley asked, aghast. “Yes, of course,” Jeff said. “You think we’d just show up at some stranger’s house without an invitation?” Ainsley’s bitter silence made it clear she had done just that.
“Oh, Ainsley, love, I simply didn’t get to send out invitations to everyone I wanted here,” Jacinta said graciously. “In fact, I only managed to get notes out to Jeff and to Naomi today. I just put the word out and figured all my favorites would make it here—and most of them did.” Her smile faded for a moment, but just when I noticed its absence, it popped back into place.
“Now tell me about your bag, love. It’s absolutely precious.” Mollified, Ainsley smiled and launched into a monologue about Louis Vuitton. Jeff and I backed away slowly. Jacinta blew us kisses.