The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

“That’s all?” I ask softly. There would be a lot more than just hand holding I’d do if Charlotte were here.

“Um, and other stuff.”

I can almost hear her blushing. Hating to ruin the moment, the reason why I called resurfaces. “About Greta . . .” I begin.

“She’s being weird, isn’t she?” Charlotte interrupts. “I think she has a crush on you or Nick or both.”

“Weird isn’t the right word. Stalkerish maybe? I don’t really know, but I can’t say I like it.”

“It’s okay. Or rather, while I don’t like it, I know it’s not your fault. It just made me feel . . . embarrassed and even a little insecure.”

Her voice has gotten soft and small. Is it distance that feeds those feelings? I feel it too, but I’m worried about how she’s going to take the news that I’m leaving after school to go right into Basic. That particular piece of information isn’t ready for consumption I decide. “You don’t ever have to be insecure about us, baby. I love you.”

Her initial response is a huff of laughter. “I love you, too.”

“We okay then?”

“Yes. Totally okay.”

I feel good after our phone call. We Skype a few times later that week, and while Colin’s name is mentioned quite a bit, it’s generally referencing how he’s managed to piss her off again. We have a good laugh about how he struck out with her tutor, Sandrine, and how I’ve managed to avoid Greta. She stopped texting me after I didn’t respond.

By Friday, everything is back to normal between us, which is why I don’t hesitate to say yes when Nick asks me if we should hit Juliette Waite’s party at her parent’s house in the North Shore. Juliette Waite is a North Prep graduate. She attends Northwestern and is well known for initiating the young men in our crowd into the pleasures of the female body. A lot of us have learned how to make a girl scream based on lessons taught by Juliette.

She’s an icon in North Prep history. I had my own time with Juliette when I was fourteen and she was sixteen. Good times. Of course, what goes on in Juliette Waite’s bedroom stays there. That’s the code, and weirdly we’ve all kept it. But her parties are legendary.

Not going never occurs to me. Charlotte is grumpy when she hears it’s that time of year during a Skype session.

“I can’t believe I’m missing Juliette’s party.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Instead I’ll end up eating popcorn watching episodes of Space Patrol 2050.”

“I thought you hated science fiction,” I say absently. My phone is blowing up with people asking where Nick and I are.

“My T. Rex arms aren’t long enough to grab the remote from Colin’s hands and that’s all he likes. But maybe Mom and I will do something. At least I won’t spend the whole night with you glaring at me.”

“I didn’t glare at you,” I protest. “I was making sure none of the assholes made a play for you. What was Bo thinking, letting you out of the house with that bikini on? I spent the whole night reminding everyone you had just turned fifteen.”

She smirks. “Got your attention, did it?”

“So you did wear it to piss me off,” I exclaim. I knew it. Last year Charlotte had stripped off her demure bell-shaped knit dress to reveal a white bikini with gold rings holding the various tiny triangular pieces of cloth together. When she spun around on her wedge heels and announced she was thirsty, nearly every male there surged toward her. “You could have started a riot.”

“I bought it for you,” she says with a naughty smile. “I’d overheard you telling Nick during one of our boating trips that you loved white bikinis.”

This makes me raise my eyebrows. “Really? I don’t remember having a preference.” But I do now. In fact, I think I still have a picture of Charlotte in said bikini. I scroll through my phone and find it. Mmmhmm. I know what I’ll be looking at later tonight.

“Stay away from the white bikinis tonight,” she says, but I’m not paying much attention because a photo of one of the lacrosse players losing control of a beer bong and getting a facial from the excess beer was just shared on the school forum. I show it to Charlotte.

“You’re obviously very occupied,” she sighs.

“No, sorry.” Hurriedly I put the phone face-down, but she’s waving her hand at me.

“Go on. I’m super tired anyway. Mom would kill me if she knew I stayed up this late to Skype with you.”

We exchange I love yous, and then it takes an impatient Nick and I about forty-five minutes to head out of the city. We have to park about a half mile away because a crap-ton of cars have arrived before us. Thankfully Nick doesn’t say a word about our late start, only asks how Charlotte is.