Ex-Mas Read online

  Ex-mas: A Love/Hate Story

  Kate Brian

  Chapter 1

  *** NORTH VALLEY HIGH SCHOOL

  LOS ANGELES

  DECEMBER 22

  11:43 A.M.

  *** Mr. Geary had to be kidding.

  It was literally moments before the last bell was supposed to ring on the last half-day of classes--three seconds to Christmas break and the holidays and freedom--and the earth science teacher was handing out homework with every indication that he expected people to be paying attention. Had he finally lost it?

  "He must be insane," Lila Beckwith muttered to her lab partner, Denny. She took the handout with a heavy sigh and scanned the first page, picking out the words global warming and polar ice caps before stuffing the article into her bag. Winter break was about to start and she had far more pressing things to attend to. For example, the biggest party of the year. Which she happened to be throwing. Tonight.

  Assuming earth science ever ended.

  2

  RINNNGGGGG!

  Finally!

  Lila leaped from her seat and raced for the door, getting caught up in the swell of excited kids streaming down the hallway. The lacrosse guys jostled one another outside the classroom. A pack of drama geeks linked arms and sang "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" in four-part harmony as they headed past the main office. Such was Lila's sudden rush of vacation-induced holiday spirit that for once she didn't even find them annoying.

  The sea of laughing, happy teenagers swept through the halls and out the front door, delivering Lila into a typically perfect Southern California day. The sky was blue and flawless, palm trees rustled in the slight breeze, and the sun was warm on her face. Off to the south, the Santa Monica Mountains rose in the distance, marking the barrier between the San Fernando Valley and the city of Los Angeles. The front steps of North Valley High were divided too: Seniors lounged around the upper steps in their assorted social groups, juniors took over the flat landing below them, and underclassmen occupied the lowest steps, closest to the parking lot. Lila pushed her dark hair over her shoulder with a smile. Every single one of them wanted to go to her party.

  "I hope you're ready for tonight!" Lila's best friend, Carly, called from her usual place at the top of the wide steps,

  3

  surrounded by a cluster of girls. She was blond and sunny--the perfect foil to Lila's dark brunette looks. Lila liked to think of them as yin and yang, or Serena and Blair. Together, they were the leaders of the most popular group of girls in the senior class, and thus the entirety of North Valley High.

  "You know it," Lila said with a grin, easing her way to the place reserved for her at Carly's side. Yoon Lee and Rebecca Gans, two inseparable seniors, parted ways to make room, and Melinda Dennis, an enterprising, wide-eyed sophomore, practically polished the railing for her to lean against. Lila eased between the girls, happy to be at the center of their group. She'd worked hard to get there, after all. If she wished that it all came as effortlessly to her as it did to carefree, beautiful, and beloved Carly, well, she kept that to herself.

  "I can't believe my parents are finally going out of town," Lila said with a dramatic eye roll. The other girls pressed closer. Jeannine Fargo looked like she was about to keel over from the excitement--or maybe she'd eaten nothing but carrots again today. "They seriously never go anywhere. I have no idea what act of God has reversed their entire lifestyle and personal history for this weekend, but who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

  "Is E coming down?" Carly asked, flashing her famous, infectious grin. It had the same warming effect on everyone, including Lila. How could you not smile back?

  4

  "Absolutely," Lila said. "He wouldn't miss it." E was Erik, Carly's older brother and Lila's boyfriend. They'd been dating for almost three years, and he was driving down from Stanford tonight, where he was a freshman. They'd barely seen each other all fall--he needed to get settled at school, and her parents insisted she focus on her classes and SATs--but with any luck, this would be the longest they'd ever be apart. Next year at this time, she hoped to be at Stanford alongside him. It had been her dream school since forever, and the fact that Erik went there was like an amazing two-for-one sale at Fred Segal.

  "You guys are so lucky," Melinda gushed, on cue.

  Lila was not about to tell Melinda, now or ever, that luck had nothing to do with how her life had turned out. People didn't just end up best friends with Carly Hollander, much less dating Erik, who was a year ahead of them and voted both Most Attractive and Most Likely to Succeed in last year's yearbook superlatives. Lila had taken advantage of a few key opportunities--like Carly's big falling-out with her former best friend, Jeannine--and she'd done it without acting all creepy and gushy like Melinda, thank you very much.

  "I heard people are driving up from the O.C. to come tonight," Rebecca broke in, railroading the conversation like she always did. "Michelle Reynolds said she read about it on her cousin's Twitter, and he lives all the way down in San Juan Capistrano. It's going to be legendary."

  5

  Lila leaned back as the conversation swelled up around her, listening with pleasure as everyone debated the rumors they'd heard about the party she hadn't even thrown yet. Tonight was going to rock, and when it did, it would cement her reputation forevermore. No more waiting for everyone to wake up one day and realize that she was a former nobody. No more Erik Hollander's girlfriend or Carly Hollander's best friend. Oh, no. She would be Lila Beckwith, all on her own.

  She could hardly wait.

  Her eyes fell on a single solitary figure heading toward the parking lot. He pushed his shaggy black hair off his forehead and hoisted his so-uncool-it-was-cool black canvas JanSport farther up on his back.

  Beau Hodges. All alone. Of course.

  Not that she felt sorry for him. Beau chose to be alone, just like he chose to embrace being a loser each and every day of his high school career. Witness his clothes: dirty hoodie over a ripped-up old concert T-shirt featuring some obscure band, jeans Lila was pretty sure he'd worn back in seventh grade, and his trademark up yours, world slouch, which called attention to his messy dark hair and his brooding, lazy blue eyes that were always, always filled with way too much attitude. He was everything enraging, wrapped up in one lean, hipsterish package.

  It was hard to imagine that she had ever dated him.

  But the facts were the facts, and anyway, it was ancient

  6

  history at this point. Beau was her ex-boyfriend, something very few people even remembered these days, given that Lila was, well, Lila and Beau was...busy being Beau. They had been together all through middle school and for most of ninth grade, up until Lila started hanging out with Carly and Beau had acted like Carly was the head recruiter for the local leper colony. His loss. He had gone on to his exciting career as a teenage nonentity, and Lila was dating Erik Hollander and about to throw the biggest party of the year.

  Was there really any competition?

  Her Nokia buzzed and she pulled it out of her distressed leather tote. Erik flashed on the screen. She held up a finger to her crew before answering, as if they hadn't already heard the distinctive, Erik-only ringtone: "Sugar" by Flo Rida.

  "Tell me you're already on your way," she said, watching Beau get into his beat-up Ford Escort. He pulled off his faded gray hoodie and threw it in the backseat. Erik, thank God, would never be caught dead shuffling around in public looking like he'd slept in his clothes. "Or better yet, that you made it home early"

  "Hey, babe Erik replied. Lila loved his voice, so low and always sweet when he called her babe. She closed her eyes and pictured him: Erik was tall, with wide, football-strong shoulders and a confident swagger--a blond Californian god with the requisite surfer's body and the yummiest hazel
eyes in

  7

  the world. And he was all Lila's. It was like a dream, except for the part where it was completely and deliciously real. "I can't wait to see you," Lila murmured.

  "Me either," Erik replied, a little too quickly for comfort. "But babe--I'm not going to make it down tonight. I'm really sorry."

  "What do you mean?" Lila's eyes popped open, her voice squeaking despite herself. What do you mean you're not going to make it? she wanted to scream. But she knew she couldn't lose it. Not in public. Not with everyone watching.

  From her perch at the top steps, she could see the whole school was splayed out in front of her, in descending order of social importance. For a brief second, she wished she were down on the lowest steps, where she could have a private conversation without everybody listening. She wished she were in the parking lot, even. Invisible, like Beau.

  But only for a brief second.

  "One of my professors sprang this take-home final on us today, out of nowhere," Erik said with a heavy sigh. "I've already been at the library for three hours, and it doesn't look like I'll finish anytime soon. It has to be in by eight a.m. tomorrow, and that means there's just no way I can get it done and still make it to L.A...." He sighed again, and she imagined him making that concerned frown, with his forehead wrinkled up and his mouth pulled down, the way he always did when he was upset about something. "I'm really sorry, Lila."

  8

  "Oh, no worries," Lila said, trying to sound understanding. Carly's eyebrows were raised in a question mark. "I completely understand."

  "And I'll be home before Christmas, don't worry," Erik continued, his tone lighter now. "Just a couple more days, I promise."

  "You just concentrate on your final," Lila said in her sweetest, best Supportive Girlfriend voice, "and I'll see you when I see you."

  She deserved the freaking Girlfriend of the Year Award, she thought as she hit the button to end the call. Or an Oscar.

  "Oh, no," Yoon said, with what sounded like mostly sincere supportiveness. "What happened to Erik?"

  "Don't tell me he's too hungover for the drive," Carly said with a laugh.

  Lila smiled breezily at her girls. "He got slammed with a surprise final," she said, shrugging her shoulders. The crisp Los Angeles air seemed to slice right through her plaid Alice + Olivia button-down. "You should have heard how bummed he was." She wrinkled up her nose and grinned at Carly. "Your brother is so cute!"

  "I think I just threw up in my mouth," Carly replied, and everyone laughed. She reached over and linked her arm through Lila's.

  Lila let herself lean on Carly, just a little bit. It wasn't like Erik

  9

  was letting her down--he had exams. But her whole fantasy of cohosting a fabulous party with her perfect college boyfriend was crumbling faster than a stale Christmas cookie in January.

  As her clique started moving toward the parking lot, Lila shook out her glossy, dark mane, forcing herself to regroup. Forget the pity party--she had a real party to plan. Her entire future depended on it.

  The North Pole might be melting, but hell would freeze over before Lila Beckwith committed social suicide.

  10

  Chapter 2

  *** BECKWITH HOUSE

  LOS ANGELES

  DECEMBER 22

  12:24 P.M.

  ***

  Lila read through her iCal to-do list on her laptop. There was still plenty to do before tonight: She had a full bar to set up, a dance-worthy playlist to compile, and mistletoe to hang all over the house (really, the only Christmas tradition that suited her). When it came to her party, she was completely ready to bring it.

  Which would be a lot easier to do if her parents would just hurry up and leave the house already.

  "Cooper, sweetie!" Lila's mother's voice rang out through all three stories of the Beckwith's craftsman-style house. "Can you please pick up your art project from the kitchen?"

  Lila could hear her little brother's thudding footsteps as he came flying down the stairs.

  "Lila," Mrs. Beckwith called from the kitchen. "You really

  11

  should see Cooper's drawing. I think we have a little Picasso on our hands!"

  "He's very talented," Lila called back, even though she had not been quite as impressed with eight-year-old Cooper's construction paper scribbles as her mother appeared to be. Even if he was destined to be the next Picasso, Lila doubted that her mother, who collected novelty snow globes, was qualified to say so.

  Lila sat in the family room adjacent to the kitchen, supposedly working on the family Christmas card on her iBook while secretly IMing her booze hookup about the night's delivery. The Christmas card had been her personal task since she was a kid and had begged for the honor, sending out one appalling drawing after another, which her parents apparently thought was cute. So cute that they still displayed the cards every year in the taupe-upholstered family room, from Thanksgiving through New Year's. The cringe-inducing scribbles were framed and hung at even three-inch intervals along the mantle.

  "How's the card coming along?" her mother asked, appearing in the wide archway in front of her. Mrs. Beckwith had cornflower blue eyes and short, light brown hair that was neatly curled at her chin. She wore a string of pearls around her neck at all times.

  Lila smiled innocently, minimizing the IM box just in case her mother had suddenly developed X-ray vision and could see through the laptop to the screen.

  12

  "Oh, you know." Lila shrugged. "It's coming." She felt guilty about lying for approximately a second. But then she reminded herself that her parents still refused to get Lila her own car--despite the fact that she was a senior and lived in Los Angeles, where there were nothing but vast distances between everything, often with mountains--and got over it. They claimed there might be a car for Lila's eighteenth birthday in January that she could take with her to college, and had been dangling the promise ever since she got her learner's permit. It was behind every threat they ever made: Clean your room before you go out, or no car for you. Better impress us with those midterm grades, or forget that car. And so on. But who knew if they'd even keep their word? The car could just be an elaborate scheme, something they'd read in a parenting book somewhere. Discipline via positive motivation. At this point, Lila wouldn't be surprised to discover it was as much an illusion as Santa Claus.

  "One of these years I'd like to send the card out before New Year's Eve," Mrs. Beckwith added, with a pointed look at her daughter.

  "You can't rush the creative process:" Lila tried to ease her spine back against the plush cushions of the couch. Relax, she cautioned herself. They're leaving. You can make it. "Aren't you guys taking off soon?"

  "We leave in half an hour," Mrs. Beckwith said, her thin pink

  13

  lips in a slight frown. "Are you sure you're going to be okay with Cooper?" she asked. Her tone said, Are you sure you're not going to burn down the house with our precious little eight-year-old inside?

  "Yes, Mom." Lila suppressed an eye roll. "You know, a lot of people actually hire seventeen-year-olds to watch their kids. And here I'm happy to do it for free," she added for a little guilt-inducing effect. Her parents had never left her alone with Cooper. This weekend was a first.

  A long-awaited, much-anticipated, seriously overdue first.

  "Have you packed?" Lila asked, enjoying the look of confusion that passed over her mother's face. Ultra-organized Mrs. Beckwith had showered the night before and packed days in advance, in sets of color-coordinated separates.

  Her mother didn't answer the absurd question, and disappeared back into the kitchen. No doubt to supervise Cooper, even though he was eight--not eight months. Not that Lila's parents seemed to notice that distinction. They treated him like a baby, and like some chicken-and-egg paradox--ta-da!--he acted like a baby.

  Cooper had been born early and with complications. Lila could remember what it was like back then, with her parents so freaked out about the surg
ery he'd needed. She'd been scared too. But eight years later, he was a happy, healthy, mischievous eight-year-old kid. And yet they still treated Cooper like he

  14

  might break at any moment--all while acting like Lila was a breath away from becoming a juvenile delinquent. When the truth was, she had terrific grades (3.92 GPA, thank you very much), headed up the yearbook committee (how else would she ensure no one ever forgot her?), and played second doubles on the tennis team (sculpted calves? check). At the very least, she deserved to be left in charge of her own transportation. Was that really too much to ask?

  She maximized the chat window and typed, THINK SOONER BETTER THAN L8R, OK? PARENTS LEAVING SOON AND THIS PARTY NEEDS 2 START ASAP!

  Suddenly a grubby, marker-stained hand grabbed her from behind.

  "Aaah!" Lila yelped.

  "Made you flinch!" Cooper crowed in delight from the back of the couch. Little brat. At least he was over his Indian-burn phase. That had practically left scars.

  Lila gave him her patented Death Glare and slapped her computer shut. "You are a troll," she told him icily.

  "Mom said I could help you with the Christmas card," Cooper announced, his brown eyes lighting up as he danced on the carpet. Cooper was small for his age, with short, light brown hair, a frustratingly cherubic freckled face, and clothing permanently stained with markers, paint, cake batter, even (grr) Lila's Nars foundation--anything he could get his hands on or

  15

  into. "I drew a picture of Santa! A good one! If I leave it out for him, do you think he'll like it?"

  How Cooper had managed to survive all the way to the third grade with his belief in Santa intact was a mystery. MacKenzie Bolton had ruined the whole thing for Lila in kindergarten, bringing in a time-stamped photograph of the Boltons' dad leaving presents under the tree and even eating the sugar cookies left out for Santa. But Lila's parents found it adorable, and insisted that no one in the Beckwith house ruin Christmas for Cooper.

  Because she knew her mother was listening, aka monitoring her, from the next room, Lila forced herself to respond nicely. "Nice one, Coop," she said, taking the supposed Picasso from his hands. The drawing was--surprise!--a glorified stick figure, sporting a fur-trimmed red hat. "But how do you know it looks like him? You fell asleep before you could take his picture last year, remember?"