are Unspoken Rules.”
Valerie laughed. “Sounds interesting. Can you give me some examples?”
Georgia’s throat tightened. “Well…” Okay, maybe she did care.
“I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable,” Valerie cut in. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you tell me about the most scandalous thing that ever happened here? That was always a big pastime at my old tennis club in New York.”
“I really should let Charlotte or Brooke tell those stories,” Georgia found herself saying. “They’re a lot more…” She wasn’t sure how to finish.
“Gossipy than you are?” Valerie suggested.
Georgia laughed despite herself. “Exactly.” Then she paused. “But I can get my gossip on when necessary.”
Valerie stepped closer. “All right!” she encouraged. “Now you’re talking.”
Georgia was talking, wasn’t she? As she and Valerie hunkered down on the cool grass, the words started pouring out of her mouth “Well, you know that Silver Oaks was founded in 1922, right? The ‘Roaring Twenties.’ They used to make their own gin in the basement of the Main House during Prohibition. Actually, that’s sort of the tradition: You can be as bad as you want, as long as everyone else is, too, in the right ways. You have to have the right pedigree. Charlotte, Brooke, and I are the only fourthgeneration members left, so we’re supposedly ‘special.’” She made air quotes.
“Special?” Valerie repeated.
“Yeah. Our great-grandparents were among the founders. The ones who used to make the gin, in fact. So we’re the heirs. Or heiresses or whatever. Caleb Ramsey is third generation, so he’s a close second. None of us have any brothers or sisters, either. Maybe that’s why we’re all so…I don’t know.” Georgia paused. “Close. We call it a ‘Family Institution,’ right? But it’s a majorly dysfunctional family. I mean, everybody keeps each other’s secrets about liposuctions and stuff.”
“What else?” Valerie asked eagerly, hugging her knees to her chest.
Georgia blushed again. “Well…take my own family, for instance.” She couldn’t believe she was telling this story. “At Charlotte’s parents’ wedding, which was held here—but they’re divorced now—my mom got really drunkat the ceremony. She started shouting, ‘I admit it! I’m Jewish!’ But nobody cared, because the guy who built this place was named Mort Goldstein. And then my mom passed out on the dance floor in the middle of that cheesy Barbra Streisand song ‘Memories’…Which is sort of funny, not only because of the Jewish thing, but also because everybody here always forgets everything, anyway…” Georgia broke off, blushing.
Valerie had collapsed, laughing hysterically. “Stop!” she cried. “It’s exactly like my old club!”
“Oh.” Once again, Georgia was unsure of what to do or say. She fiddled with the zipper of her hoodie. Her eyes wandered back toward the lights. If she was really going to give Valerie the inside scoop on Silver Oaks, then she should probably start from the inside, where it was nice and warm and packed with people. On the other hand, it felt pretty good to be on the outside, especially with another outsider.
Valerie sat up and dusted off her True Religion jeans. “That was brilliant.” She sighed.
Georgia shook her head. “Just embarrassing—” She stopped, squinting in the direction of the cabana. Wait a second. Somebody was walking toward them.…Definitely a guy. And for a delirious instant, Georgia’s hopes soared. Ethan.
“Hey!” The guy waved. “I was hoping to find you out here.”
Georgia’s body sagged.
It wasn’t Ethan. It was the new lifeguard, Marcus.
“I guess I’ll see you later,” she said to Valerie. She stood up and started to slip out of the borrowed hoodie.
Valerie jumped up, too, and grabbed her arm. “Wait. Where are you going?”
“I just…” Georgia glanced between her and Marcus. “You probably…I figured
Valerie laughed. “Sounds interesting. Can you give me some examples?”
Georgia’s throat tightened. “Well…” Okay, maybe she did care.
“I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable,” Valerie cut in. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you tell me about the most scandalous thing that ever happened here? That was always a big pastime at my old tennis club in New York.”
“I really should let Charlotte or Brooke tell those stories,” Georgia found herself saying. “They’re a lot more…” She wasn’t sure how to finish.
“Gossipy than you are?” Valerie suggested.
Georgia laughed despite herself. “Exactly.” Then she paused. “But I can get my gossip on when necessary.”
Valerie stepped closer. “All right!” she encouraged. “Now you’re talking.”
Georgia was talking, wasn’t she? As she and Valerie hunkered down on the cool grass, the words started pouring out of her mouth “Well, you know that Silver Oaks was founded in 1922, right? The ‘Roaring Twenties.’ They used to make their own gin in the basement of the Main House during Prohibition. Actually, that’s sort of the tradition: You can be as bad as you want, as long as everyone else is, too, in the right ways. You have to have the right pedigree. Charlotte, Brooke, and I are the only fourthgeneration members left, so we’re supposedly ‘special.’” She made air quotes.
“Special?” Valerie repeated.
“Yeah. Our great-grandparents were among the founders. The ones who used to make the gin, in fact. So we’re the heirs. Or heiresses or whatever. Caleb Ramsey is third generation, so he’s a close second. None of us have any brothers or sisters, either. Maybe that’s why we’re all so…I don’t know.” Georgia paused. “Close. We call it a ‘Family Institution,’ right? But it’s a majorly dysfunctional family. I mean, everybody keeps each other’s secrets about liposuctions and stuff.”
“What else?” Valerie asked eagerly, hugging her knees to her chest.
Georgia blushed again. “Well…take my own family, for instance.” She couldn’t believe she was telling this story. “At Charlotte’s parents’ wedding, which was held here—but they’re divorced now—my mom got really drunkat the ceremony. She started shouting, ‘I admit it! I’m Jewish!’ But nobody cared, because the guy who built this place was named Mort Goldstein. And then my mom passed out on the dance floor in the middle of that cheesy Barbra Streisand song ‘Memories’…Which is sort of funny, not only because of the Jewish thing, but also because everybody here always forgets everything, anyway…” Georgia broke off, blushing.
Valerie had collapsed, laughing hysterically. “Stop!” she cried. “It’s exactly like my old club!”
“Oh.” Once again, Georgia was unsure of what to do or say. She fiddled with the zipper of her hoodie. Her eyes wandered back toward the lights. If she was really going to give Valerie the inside scoop on Silver Oaks, then she should probably start from the inside, where it was nice and warm and packed with people. On the other hand, it felt pretty good to be on the outside, especially with another outsider.
Valerie sat up and dusted off her True Religion jeans. “That was brilliant.” She sighed.
Georgia shook her head. “Just embarrassing—” She stopped, squinting in the direction of the cabana. Wait a second. Somebody was walking toward them.…Definitely a guy. And for a delirious instant, Georgia’s hopes soared. Ethan.
“Hey!” The guy waved. “I was hoping to find you out here.”
Georgia’s body sagged.
It wasn’t Ethan. It was the new lifeguard, Marcus.
“I guess I’ll see you later,” she said to Valerie. She stood up and started to slip out of the borrowed hoodie.
Valerie jumped up, too, and grabbed her arm. “Wait. Where are you going?”
“I just…” Georgia glanced between her and Marcus. “You probably…I figured
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