Page 125 of Goalkeeper
Jake nods. “Technically, he is. But I talked him into flying up for the weekend to hang out and celebrate Sophie’s engagement to Dr. Dickhead. The coral reef can wait.”
“Uh, actually…” Trevor winces.
“Nope. Zip it. No climate change reality checks this weekend. Just fun. Reality will dawn for all of us Monday morning,” Jake says. “Now, let’s get rolling. This resort is killer, Paige. Dr. Dickhead might come from a long line of assholes, but they have great taste in vacation property.”
“Good to know.” As Jake grabs my bag to stow it in the trunk, I slide into the driver’s seat. Trevor takes the front passenger, leaving Jake to ride bitch. “What the hell?” he complains.
“I haven’t driven this car in months! Scratch that: I haven’t driven any car in months. So you can dial it back.” I’ve decided that telling him I drove my friend’s beater to another town to buy her a couple pregnancy tests is not info my brother needs to have. Besides, it was a mission of mercy, so it doesn’t really count as driving.
Trevor laughs and Jake whines, but we make our way to the resort. And Jake wasn’t kidding— this place is beautiful. Dr. Dickhead’s family is rolling in it— even more so than mine— and his parents have a vacation home nearby. When Dr. D popped the question and Sophie predictably said yes, the moms cooked up this celebratory weekend getaway. I can't complain too much, though. It’s beautiful here and it’s good to see Jake and Trevor again. And there’s no doubt the food here will be better than anything I can get in the dining hall.
Now, if Spencer were here, then it would be perfect. I shiver at the thought. Our relationship has been on fast-forward. We spend all our spare time together, and not just because we’re partners in Speech. We find lots of creative ways to use our mouths and practice saying lots of dirty things to each other, but that clearly has nothing to do with our coursework. I stay over more often than not, and when we can’t hang out, we text.
But, we’ve both steered clear of the “meet-the -parents” talk, and that’s not too surprising, I guess. I don’t really want to bring anyone into this circus right now, and I don’t need to give my parents more ammunition for their argument that I’m not focused enough. And I’m guessing the same is true for Spence. I know his dad is next-level intense. So, for now, I’ll enjoy the scenery and the fall sunshine, and look forward to seeing Spence tomorrow night.
“We’re on the fourth floor, roomie,” Jake tells me, as he hands me a key card. “And Trevor’s room is just down the hall.” We pile into the elevator and make the short trip to our floor. It takes no time at all to unload my stuff and I’m debating between hopping in the shower to wash off, or grabbing a bite to eat because I’m starving.
Trevor must hear my stomach growling. “You want to grab lunch with us? We’re gonna walk around a bit and then get some food.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll grab a shower to freshen up. And I’m meeting Mom in an hour for manicures, so I’ll just order something from room service.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Trevor nods and gives me a quick hug. “It’s good to see you, Princess P.”
“You know why we always called you that, right?” Jake interjects, giving me a squeeze of his own.
“Because I’m a princess whose first name starts with P,” I explain, as though I’m talking to a small child.
“Nah,” he laughs, “the P stands for Pain in the Ass.”
An hour later, I find myself relaxing in a massage chair while my toes are soaking in a tub and a lovely woman named Laura is painting my nails.
It would be paradise if my mom weren’t pelting me with questions about school.
“So, Justin checked in to let us know your practice scores are still low. A 140 just isn’t going to cut it, Paige. Your dad and I don’t know what else to do with you. My goodness, what more could you ask for? We’ve hired the best tutor, we’ve provided for all your expenses. All you need to do is study. School is your job right now, dear, and you’re just not getting the job done.”
I’ve been hearing different versions of those same words for years now, probably dating back to first grade. If one more person tells me that I don’t “apply myself,” I’m liable to apply my fist to their face. Well, ok. I’d never actually do that. I’m not prone to violence and I care about my nails way too much. And speaking of nails, the color I picked is stunning. It’s a cool navy with flecks of gold. It’s a far cry from my mother’s French nails, and Sophie’s neutral (She’s not here, but I’d bet money on the fact that her nails are a tasteful nude—probably something called Bashful.)
But, as I’ve learned, complaining won’t get me anywhere. “Mom, I have been studying. And I have A’s and B’s in all of my classes— even Econ, which is the devil’s math.”
“A’sandB’s” my mother responds, clearly unimpressed. “Darling, law school is unbelievably competitive. Right now, you’re competing against yourself, but in two years, you’ll be competing with the best and brightest. B’s simply won’t do. You need to focus on your future instead of sitting around painting your face and posting it on the internet.”
Thankfully, before my mom can continue her tirade, she’s whisked off by a man named Jason for a massage. She and Sophie opted for the full treatment, and though I love a good spa day, I’m happy to get my nails done and hang with my brother and Trevor, who’s basically my brother, too, until it’s time to get dressed for tonight’s party.
My nails are finally dry and I head out in search of a little sunshine. It’s early October, but the weather is blessedly mild today, and Vermont has toughened me up. I wave to Megan, my brother Nathan’s wife, as she walks into the salon and I exit.
I text Spencer to see how his day is going. He has a late-afternoon game tonight—it’s the home opener—so he should still have his phone on for a little while.
I find a cute little patio with a padded lounge chair and a table. Perfect. I dig my iPad out of my bag, knowing I should do a few practice questions. Despite my protests, I really do hate disappointing my parents. But nothing about law is remotely interesting to me and I just can’t get the ideas to stick in my head.
A text from Spence saves me from making the decision between doing a round of practice tests or watching hair dye fail videos on the internet.
Spencer: How was the trip?
Paige: Fine. Long, but fine. I sat behind a group of women who were headed to the casino, so that was fun to eavesdrop on. I want to be that cool when I’m pushing 80.
