Welcome to Bridgeport Academy, an elite boarding school in New York where glamorous rich kids don't let rules get in the way of a good time.
[ Based on the It Girl series by Cecily Von Ziegesar ]
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An hour later, Alex walked back down the gangplank, hugging herself, her mind reeling from what she'd just done.
Michael had taken off her clothes and kissed her everywhere. Then he'd taken his own clothes off slowly, as if he were in a strip club. Alex had never seen a guy take his clothes off in the daylight. He'd kept his eyes on her the whole time. They'd massaged each other and fooled around and then, just when things were going to go...further, she'd suddenly told him she needed some fresh air. Being with Michael was more than she had expected. More than her fantasy about him had been. And not necessarily entirely in a good way. She needed to think.
And then, who did she see standing at the end of the dock? Fuck.
"There she is," Quincy muttered to himself. "I thought you weren't into sailing." There were huge circles under his eyes and he was carrying a giant duffel bag with his initials embroidered into one side. Alex felt a stab of guilt. Something about Quincy, tough and cool, toting around a bag that no doubt his mommy had gotten monogrammed for him, seemed really vulnerable and sweet.
"Oh. Hey."
"Hey?" Quincy shook his head. "That's all you can say, Hey?"
"Well." Alex tried to walk past him, but he stopped her with his arm. His hand gripped her bicep tightly. For a split second she was a little afraid and looked back to the boat for help. Then she realized—this was Quincy. She wrenched herself from his grasp. "Don't touch me like that! Didn't you get my message?"
"What, so you break up with somebody on a voicemail?" he yelled back. "That's real fucking classy, Alex. I thought you were better than that."
Alex didn't want to have this out right in front of Michael's boat. Michael, who had undressed very slowly. Michael, who had touched her softly and maturely, not in the fumbling, grabby way boys her age did. Michael, who hadn't gotten mad when she covered herself with the sheets and said they should stop. She started walking down the path back to campus. "Fine." She turned back. "I'm breaking up with you in person, then. You happy?"
"I don't suppose you could give me any fucking reasons, could you?"
"Sure," Alex scoffed. "Did you really think this was serious? There. That's one."
Quincy stopped. His eyes were all puffy and red. It looked as if he hadn't gone to bed yet. "Yeah. I did think we were serious. Why else would I ask you to come to California with me?"
"Well..." She stared at the ground.
"But obviously there's somebody else," he ventured. "I was told to look for you here. This is some dude's boat, right? You were with some nigga down there, on his boat, in his cabin? C'mon, Alex. That's a little trashy, don't you think?"
Alex prickled and narrowed her eyes. As if he were one to talk about low class. Then it hit her. "Wait, who told you I'd be here?"
Quincy shrugged. "Why does it matter?" He reached into his backpack and pulled out a freshly rolled blunt. "The point is, somebody told me, and you made it really clear. So fuck it. It's your loss." He turned and loped back up to the green, the unlit blunt dangling from his mouth.
"Wait," Alex called hoarsely. A streak of nerves ran through her. "Who told you I'd be—?" But he was too far away to hear, and she didn't want to yell. She turned back and stared down at the docks.
Michael's boat bobbed placidly on the water, as if it hadn't just almost been witness to the most life-changing moment of Alex's existence. With a few short steps, she could go back down there and climb back into bed next to Michael. They could drink wine and talk about things and he could make her feel better about everything. Then she could have sex with him, for her first time ever.
