Girlfriend Material Read Free

a snack. How about you, Kate?” Usually my mom calls me Katie. I figured maybe she was trying to send a message to Tina and Henry that they should call me Kate. It was nice of her to do that, since she knows I think Katie is a babyish nickname. Her trying to communicate that information to Tina and Henry without embarrassing me made me feel a tiny bit bad about how, basically, I hadn’t spoken to her for the past seventy-two hours.
    “Sure,” I said, following the three of them into the house.
    I didn’t know what to expect from the interior of a house belonging to New Yorkers with “old family money” (which, according to my mom, was what Tina and Henry had). I wondered if it would be super chic with, like, only one piece of furniture in each room and enormous modern art everywhere; but it was nothing like that. We passed through a living room with big comfy-looking couches and pale wooden floors. There was a vase filled with fresh flowers on a grand piano, and a wooden rocking chair, but most of what you noticed were the books. One entire wall of the room was built-in bookcases, only even with all the shelves there wasn’t enough room for the books. They were everywhere— the couches, the floor, even the bottom step of the staircase had a couple of ancient paperbacks stacked on it. I’m a total book junkie, so a house overflowing with books is basically my idea of heaven. I wanted to stop and see what the titles were, but Tina led us straight into the kitchen. It was sparkling clean and white, and it seemed to be all windows. There were enormous sliding-glass doors that led to a deck overlooking the water. Even on an overcast day like today, the room was dizzy with natural light.
    As we sat on the deck eating brie-and-pesto sandwiches, I could tell that Sarah and her friends weren’t going to be the only bright spot in my summer after all. Tina and Henry asked me tons of questions about myself, and when I mentioned that back in Salt Lake I’d been playing a lot of tennis because of wanting to be in good shape for the team in September, Tina said she was sure I wouldn’t have a problem finding a regular game with someone. She said tennis is practically the official past-time of Dryer’s Cove.
    “And you had to give up your writing class,” Tina said. “That was such a nice thing for you to do for your mom.” She smiled at me and reached across the table for the hand that wasn’t holding my sandwich. Then she gave it a little squeeze.
    “Um …” I said. The combination of the beautiful house and view and Tina and Henry’s enthusiasm for our visit and the delicious sandwiches was making me a little embarrassed about how ungracefully I’d behaved since my mom announced the change in my summer agenda. I wished Sarah would arrive so we could flee her parents and their guilt-inducing sympathy.
    As if in answer to my silent plea, a car pulled into the driveway with a band I didn’t recognize booming on the stereo.
    Tina rolled her eyes, I guess at the volume. “That’s Sarah,” she said. “She worked a little later than usual today.”
    I was really surprised that a girl like Sarah, who went to a fancy Manhattan private school and had old-family money and a summer house, would have to have a summer job, but then Henry explained, “She’s interning at the Dryer’s Cove historical society. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it.”
    “Oh yes,” said Tina, smiling at me. “She’s really excited about your being here.”
    “Me too,” I said, glad that Sarah felt the same way about seeing me as I felt about seeing her.
    As soon as Sarah appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, I knew I’d been right about my chic summer with New Yorkers. She had on a pale green T-shirt dress that clung to her (perfect) curves. It was the kind of dress you’d see an A-list Hollywood starlet relaxing in while she takes the kids for a stroll on her private island off the coast of Tahiti.
    For a second I was