Page 6 of The Throwaway

Tilly huffs out a laugh. "Oh yeah? Then go get him, tiger." She holds up one hand like a claw, her nails painted blood red as she fake-roars at Athena.

Athena laughs out loud and waves the stack of twenties at Tilly. "Oh, come on, Til. He's Marigold's son. He's probably got a thousand girlfriends." Her eyes skate back out onto Seadog Lane and fix on Marigold and her son as they cross the street slowly, stepping around golf carts. "Or boyfriends. You know--whatever."

“How very forward-thinking of you," Tilly says, banging a roll of dimes against the counter just like she had with the quarters. “But listen, you should meet him."

"I will. I'm sure I will," Athena says, watching his tall, loping frame as he follows his mother down the sidewalk and out of view.

* * *

There was a time when her dad was in the White House that Athena felt sure she'd suddenly stumble into a social life. After all, the daughter of a president had to be popular and well-liked, right? It all looked so easy for her sister as Harlow tripped out the door of their private residence wearing cute shoes and carrying expensive handbags to meet friends, and even though she was a year older than Harlow and it felt unfair to watch her conquer milestones first, Athena knew her time would come soon. She knew that boys would eventually ask her out and that girls would invite her along for weekends at the beach or to birthday parties.

Only they never did. For the entirety of her dad's time in the Oval Office, Athena spent her nights in her princess bed with the bedside lamps on, a book open on her chest as she read about fictional characters having the kind of great adventures that she wanted to have. She laid there, night after night, dreaming that she would meet a boy in a cute way like all these book girls met boys, and that someone would cup her chin in his big, slightly rough hand, tip her head up, and kiss her gently. She flipped pages and read about the way the girls in her books dressed, talked, and did things, assuming that somehow she'd adopt their appealing mannerisms through osmosis. Never happened.

Instead, Athena had graduated high school at the top of her class, gone to Georgetown, gotten a degree in library sciences, and ended up at the Library of Congress, where she'd worked diligently and happily for two years, swooning over Diego Santana until he'd asked her out and broken her heart in the span of twenty-four hours.

So in the end, all the reading and all the daydreaming in the world about how she might somehow step into the shoes of one of her favorite characters has done her no good, because she still fancies herself a nerdy book girl with two left feet, an undeveloped sense of fashion, and a shy streak. And her younger sister Harlow is still--in Athena's eyes--a fashion goddess with no fear who can flirt with any boy, and talk her way into any job or situation she wants. Surely Harlow could walk right up to Elijah Hartley and charm him into laughing at her jokes without even thinking about it. Athena nearly burns with envy just imagining the way Harlow would have Elijah wrapped around her finger if he were to walk into the bookstore while she was there.

"Earth to Athena," Harlow says, waving a hand in front of her sister's face. "Come in, Athena."

"Sorry," Athena says, putting her phone down on the arm of the couch in their living room.

The girls are home alone tonight. They ate quesadillas and Diet Cokes at the kitchen counter together before relocating to the couch to decide which Christmas movie to watch next to the fifteen-foot Christmas tree that their mom had ordered to be delivered from Destin.

"That tree is outrageous," Harlow says, tipping her head back on the couch and looking up at it.

In typical Ruby fashion, their mother has decorated the tree in a cascade of glittering ivory ornaments, stringing white fairy lights and clear tinsel through the branches so that the entire lit-up tree looks like it's covered in frosted snow.

"I don't think it's outrageous," Athena says, admiring the tree, which looks a lot like the way Ruby might have decorated the trees in the White House. "I just think it's Mom."

"True, true," Harlow says, tucking her fuzzy red socks under the blanket that she has wrapped around her body. "Now what's going on in your phone that's so urgent? You got a new man?" She tilts her chin up, glancing at Athena's phone on the arm of the couch.

"Haha," Athena says, sounding as sarcastic as she ever sounds. "I'm done with men."

"You're twenty-four! You’re not done with men, you just picked a bad apple out of the first bunch."

Athena looks at the knitted blanket in her lap, sticking her pinky finger through one of the holes. "Kind of embarrassing that my first batch of apples didn't come around until I was nearly a quarter of a century old."

"Eh," her sister says. "You didn't miss much. There are a lot of bad apples out there."

"Still. I probably should have been out there trying harder, instead of sitting inside with a book. I mean, who lives in the White House and never uses that kind of clout to get into nightclubs or parties?"

Harlow looks at her regretfully. "A smart girl," she says, pressing her lips together. "I used it for anything you can imagine, and at least half of those things weren't even worth my time."

"Hey, do you know anything about Elijah Hartley?"

Harlow's mouth quirks into a smile. "Marigold's son? Yeah, we have a few friends in common."

"Oh, so maybe Tilly was right then."

"I don't even know what Tilly was going on about, but I can say with a fair amount of certainty that she probably wasn't right.” Harlow shakes her head. "That girl thinks she's forty, but this island has kept her young in a way that makes her seem like a middle-schooler sometimes." Harlow reaches for her glass of water. "What did she say?"

Athena shrugs. "She said that the kids of all famous people know each other."

"Okay, well she's not entirely wrong about that. But I wouldn't say IknowElijah, just that he dated the older sister of my friend Megan at one point. No big deal." Harlow sips her water. "What's brought this on? Are you following him on Instagram or something?"

"He's here."

Harlow sets her water down and swings her feet off the couch. "No way. On Shipwreck?”

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