Emergency Contact(55)

AND THEN WHAT?

Penny was wrenched from her thoughts by Mallory’s triumphant chatter echoing down the hall. Soon keys jingled in the lock.

“Wake up! It’s an emergency,” Mallory snarled. It was three p.m., and she was wearing jean shorts so short they resembled a diaper. Mallory was the type of girl who could wear the stupidest, unlikeliest collection of things and still somehow appear alluring. She decided in the moment what was cute, and by force of will the entire world around her went along with it.

“Uuuuuuugh, I thought we’d discussed this,” Penny said, smiling. “Whether or not you should get bangs doesn’t constitute an emergency.”

Jude flopped on Penny’s bed.

“Ha ha, jerk,” said Mal. “Whatever, you can’t knock my mood. My gorgeous, super-hot, handsome—”

“I think we’ve covered that whoever he is, he’s attractive . . . ,” said Penny.

“Ben’s in town,” announced Jude.

“Who’s Ben?” Penny asked.

Jude and Mallory sat on the corner of Penny’s bed and stared as if a millipede had marched out of her left nostril.

Then it dawned on her. Ben. As in Mallory’s Ben. Ben the Australian crooner whose videos she’d been forced to watch at least fifty times.

“He’s here?” Admittedly Penny was curious to meet the guy who had more than two million views on a weepy song about being too hurt to surf.

“Yep, and we’re going out,” said Mallory. “We’re going to find Jude a hot date.”

“I’m so ready,” Jude confirmed. “I’m from a broken home and ready to make some mistakes.”

Penny laughed. “I can only imagine Dr. Greene’s take on this,” she said.

“Actually,” said Jude, “Dr. Greene said it was healthy for me to shift focus.”

Penny was impressed.

“Now, hurry up,” said Jude. “All this talk of my parents is such a boner-killer.”

“Wait, me also?” she asked. Penny knew she should keep writing despite really not wanting to. What came next was infanticide, a criminal investigation, and potentially a video-game baby who realizes she can’t ultimately go anywhere.

“Yeah, dummy,” said Mallory. “He’s throwing a party at this fabulous venue and you’ll have to borrow clothes. You can’t expect to show up avec moi wearing something you own.”

In the chick flicks Penny watched with her mom, there was usually a big to-do about getting ready for a night out. The makeover montage where the ugly duckling removes her glasses and pulls her hair down and is suddenly movie-star gorgeous. It was total baloney, yet Penny secretly loved the reveal as much as Celeste. Then again, Celeste’s makeup case was the size of a hearse.

Penny checked her phone. No calls, no texts. It was time to take the interface outside. With other humans.

“Okay,” said Penny. “I’m in.”

The girls headed to Twombly.

? ? ?

Twombly, the condo across the street from campus, was not officially affiliated with the college. It functioned as a dorm, and there was a cafeteria, though it more closely resembled luxury apartments that served as tax shelters for Russian oligarchs. Its inhabitants were affluent enough that college degrees were a quaint diversion, a short-lived pretense that they were just like everybody else. It was rich-kid rumspringa, that rite of passage for Amish people, except instead of living with electricity, the wealthy scions slummed by majoring in journalism.

The lobby, which you could have parked a submarine in, was glass and marble and smelled of fresh-cut flowers. There were floor-to-ceiling canvases of tasteful abstract art, and while Penny knew that Mallory was rich, she realized she’d lacked imagination. Penny’s rich meant you had an in-ground pool.

“Have you been here before?” asked Mallory, pushing the PH button for the penthouse. She was constantly doing things like that, testing her for reasons Penny couldn’t identify.

“Nope,” Penny responded. “You never invited me before.”

“Oh, well, then you’re welcome,” said Mallory, smiling serenely, as if she’d given Penny first-class tickets to Aspen.

There was another button above the PH. Penny pointed to it.

“What’s that for?” she asked.

“The helipad,” said Mallory. Penny couldn’t tell if she was kidding.

They rode in silence.

Her ears popped.

“Mal’s got a single on the top,” said Jude.

Mallory’s “dorm room,” if you could call it that, was about the size of a hotel suite where a president or a Beyoncé would stay. It had 360-degree views of the whole city. It was easily the nicest room Penny had ever been in. There were two black leather sofas, a white sheepskin rug, and a glass coffee table that would have made sense in a movie about drug trafficking. In fact, it was so shockingly opulent that it made Penny think of Jude differently. She couldn’t help it. Was there such a thing as a friendship gold digger? Penny put on her most convincing bored face. She invoked the vibe of a mega celebrity at an airport security line and willed her shoulders away from her ears.

Throughout the living room, there were silver-framed photos of Mallory at different ages. On a horse. In a library. In a velvet dress. With braces. Or a perm.