direction. “Garrett?”
Charlotte sets her mouth in a line, her cheeks turning as red as her hair. “Don’t you dare, Sutton.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, deciding to go easy on her. Garrett is, after all, Char’s first Big Boyfriend.
“What about boys of the non-boyfriend variety?” Madeline suggests. “Boys of the dirty, evil-scumbag-douche-lord variety?”
I raise my eyebrow. “Are we talking about a certain lifeguard, Mads?” I glance over at Finn Hadley, the tanned, muscled, blond-from-the-sun boy who sits atop the lifeguard stand near the diving well. Finn was Mads’s intended summer fling, and he seemed to be into her, too, texting her regularly, putting his arm around her whenever he saw her, even bringing her treats from the snack bar. But then we caught him in a … private lesson with an off-duty au pair on the tennis courts after hours a week ago. Enough said.
“That’s not a bad idea,” I say, narrowing my eyes on Finn. I can’t let guys go around thinking they can screw with my friends. Especially not for nannies whose idea of personal style is faux-hipster Keds.
“But I still don’t think he’s a big enough target,” I say after a moment. I pat Mads’s leg. “How about this—we report him to the management for smoking pot on duty?”
Mads cocks her head. “A joint in his locker?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” I say, giving her a high five.
Char makes a face. “But guys, that’s a repeat. We did that to Dave Jaffrey last spring.”
“Yeah, but …” I trail off, my gaze on someone across the pool. He’s tall, with dark hair, Beckham-esque shoulders, and an Ian Somerhalder brooding thing going on. His lean torso is tanned and rippled with muscles, and his easy lope is completely un-ignorable—every girl he passes gives him an appreciative stare, and he takes the time to greet quite a few of them. My competitive streak awakens inside me. This guy could be a contender for a summer fling of my own, even though summer’s almost over—I’ve been weighing my options for a while now. There was a half second last week when Aidan Grove, a lacrosse player who’s been into me since seventh grade, looked like a front-runner since I’m a sucker for calf muscles. But now, I’m not so sure. Mr. Vampire Diaries might just have taken the lead.
I flick my low, shiny ponytail over one shoulder as casually as I can and push my sunglasses up my nose for maximum intimidation factor. To my delight, he’s walking over. I tilt my body and put my hand on a tanned, bare hip. He’s coming right toward me. And now he’s stopping. Who knew this could be so easy?
“Hey, Sutton. How’s it going?” the boy says, offering an easy smile. Then he glances to the left. “Hey, Char. Hey, Mads,” he says, almost as an afterthought.
“Hey,” Char says, sounding bored. But I’m confused. How does this guy know my name, all of our names? And then, as I look at him, something clicks. My jaw nearly drops. But … wait. There’s no way. This can’t be—
“Hey, Thayer,” Mads says, as if answering my thoughts.
It’s Madeline’s younger brother.
I fiddle with my sunglasses to disguise my utter shock. I’d forgotten that Mads’s baby brother, whom I’d never given the time of day before, had returned from soccer camp last night. What the hell were they feeding them there? Is this seriously the same skinny kid who never spoke?
Thayer is still staring at me. “Finding out a lot of good stuff about Will and Kate, Sutton?”
For a moment, my mind is blank—I have no idea what he’s talking about. Then I look at the Us Weekly still overturned on my lap. On the cover is the royal couple at a ball. “O-oh,” I say haltingly, like I’ve never spoken to a boy in my life. I can feel the blush rising to my cheeks. “Um …”
Thayer grins, perhaps knowing that he’s made me tongue-tied. Before soccer camp, he would never do something like this. But then again, that was back when he had regular, freshman-sized shoulders, eyes I never bothered to really look into, and, well, no voice. I can’t even recall our last conversation. It was probably when he’d come over to see Laurel, who’s been his best friend for eons. Every time I answered the door instead of her, his face would turn violet, and he’d trip over his words just like I’m doing now.
Get it together, Sutton, I tell myself, and I straighten up.