The front door opens, and I watch three sophomores poke their heads in and look around. I grab my phone from the counter and hop down. Partygoers slip out of my way as I cross the room. I vaguely recognize the three boys from the soccer team. Felix probably invited them.
I come to a stop on the landing and smile. “Hey! Come on in. Is this your first time at the lake house?” I ask, knowing full well it is.
The shortest of the three nods vigorously. “Felix told us to come. Is that okay?”
“Of course. There are some house rules though. No fights, nodrama, and no damage to the house. If you drink, you have to give up your keys and either get a ride home or order an Uber. You can pick up your car in the morning. And last but definitely not least: if you want to stay, you have to surrender your phones.”
I reach over to grab the already full basket on the entryway table.
The boys look from me to the basket, and the short one speaks up again. “Why do we have to give you our phones?” His voice is squeaky and grates on my ears.
“Waldorf has a zero-tolerance policy for underage drinking, and the last thing anyone needs is an incriminating photo or Instagram story to cause trouble. If nobody has their phones, then what happens here stays here, and we can party in peace.”
Almost everyone here has Ivy League aspirations, and everyone has a future too bright to have it ruined by a party. The point of tonight is to unwind, not risk anyone’s future.
The gangly kid in the back nods toward my hand. “You haveyourphone,” he says, sounding more than irritated.
My teeth clench but I smile. “It’s my house. And I’m controlling the music. If you have a problem with that or any of my other rules, you’re free to leave.”
They all exchange a look, but in the end, they cave and set their phones in the basket with the others.
“Thanks for coming, guys!” I say, placing the basket back on the table. “You can pick them up again on your way out. Have fun, and don’t break anything.”
They melt into the crowd, and I make my way to my perch on the island, stopping to say hello to people as I go.
This is my happy place.
I lift myself back onto the counter and sigh. I love it here. Bothbeing at the lake house and at the top of the Waldorf food chain. I’m so excited for senior year I can hardly stand it. It’s going to bethisevery day: The smiles, the adoration, the friends, the attention. The perfect Goodwin daughter having her perfect senior year.
This property was practically made for a good time. Three years ago my parents bought it for the tax write-off, and they use it only a couple weekends a year, which means this massive waterfront house is basically mine. We’re also the only property on the far west side of the lake, so we have all the privacy we need to unwind and press pause on the near constant Waldorf pressure.
The house is immaculate. White walls, cabinets, marble countertops. Cream sofas. Dark wood floors that are surprisingly easy to clean after parties. Warm wood furniture sets that probably cost as much as my car. Lake-themed artwork in vintage frames on the walls. Whether it’s full of dancing teens or a handful of friends enjoying the boat or the fire pit outside, this place shines like I do. It’s a physical manifestation of being a Goodwin: beautiful, influential, and impressive.
I spot Jena and Felix dancing together in the middle of the sunken-movie-room-turned-dance-floor on the other side of the dining space. They’re impossible to miss, even from this far away. Felix’s neon T-shirt is the brightest yellow I’ve ever seen—they could probably spot him from space. And Jena’s silver long-sleeve bodycon dress sparkles in the light.
As I watch, Felix cups Jena’s face and she looks at him like he’s the only person in the room, despite the twenty-something people grinding around them to Nicki Minaj. The sparkles in their eyes have me searching for the person who makes me feel the same way. I find him across the party, near the door, dipping in and out of sight behind a tall kid I think I remember from political studies last year.
Dylan.
Jena said he’d be here, but I didn’t believe it until he walked through the door with her and Felix. Dylan isn’t a partier. His family owns the bookstore in town, and he helps out there after school, on days he doesn’t have soccer practice, and works full shifts on weekends. He’s not going to leave work and drive twenty minutes up into the mountains to hang out with a bunch of drunk classmates. He’s not that guy. He doesn’t even drink.
And yet, here he is.
Jena catches my eye from the den and nods toward him, mouthing a silentI told you so.
This is my chance to talk to him, toreallytalk to him, but I don’t move from the island. Instead, I reach for my cup on the counter, full of some rum punch concoction that Beau made. There’s a giant bowl of it in the middle of the island behind me, surrounded by discarded Solo cups. I have no idea what he put in it, but it’sstrong.
Maybe another cup will give me courage. There’s a lot at stake here.
First, Dylan never comes to parties, so I don’t want to ambush him in the first half hour or this will likely to be his last trip to the lake house. Second, he and Claire only broke up a month ago. I don’t want to seem like a vulture. And third, while we’re friendly, we’re not friends. Claire made sure of that. When we speak, I have to somehow traverse all of that baggage to get to a place where he not only wants to spend more time with me but is willing to overlook whatever Claire has said behind my back.
That’s a lot of history to get past, and I have one good shot at getting his attention in a meaningful way before someone else does. Someone braver than me.
It’s too much pressure. I’m going to say the wrong thing and blow my chances—
“Hey, cut it out.”
I startle, surprised to find Jena standing at the counter in front of me. “What?”