On the third day of spring break, Phoebe was on an airplane headed for Los Angeles. She had put on her iPod and was trying to zone out, in the hopes that being a few thousand miles away from New York would solve some of her problems.
It had all started about a week earlier, after she had returned home from the Chilton cocktail party. Her mother had announced that she and Daniel were getting engaged. The two of them were drinking champagne in the living room, and they invited her to join them, but Phoebe had refused. Instead, she ran upstairs and locked her door. She was sensing the crazy feelings coming back-the panicked, suffocating emotions she had experienced last fall when the Society had started to close in on her. It wasn’t only about Daniel. It was the art theft thing and the way Nick had handled it. Did her boyfriend not have any courage at all? When he had justified it to her, he sounded just as bad as his grandfather, the cowardly art thief. Nothing that any of them had done in the past few months-nearly all of which had been spearheaded by Nick-had gotten them any closer to getting out of the Society. He was as bad as the Elders: a player in an elaborate game set up for their own amusement.
A few days later, when the feelings hadn’t abated, she booked herself a ticket for Los Angeles.
Now, having boarded the plane at JFK, almost no one knew where she was going. Not Nick, not her mother, not Daniel. Not even her father, whom she would be visiting.
The only person who knew where she was going was Lauren. Her friend hadn’t encouraged her to go, but she had promised Phoebe she could keep a secret.
Nick had left her multiple messages, but Phoebe hadn’t returned them. She loved Nick-for his humor, for his handsome smile, for his worldly perspective-but she had finally admitted to herself that perhaps they weren’t meant to be together. Nick Bell, the shiny new boy she had met last fall, hadn’t lived up to everything she had expected of him.
Phoebe checked the return address on the last letter her father had sent her, hoping it was still correct. It was an address in the Hollywood Hills, a desirable location. She was looking forward to the quiet, to time with her father, to walking the winding roads in his neighborhood, to hanging out by the pool, to immersing herself in a novel. Far away from everything in New York. As the plane was starting down the runway and everyone was asked to turn off their phones, a text message came through from Nick, along with a voice mail. She didn’t bother listening to the voice mail, but she read the text:
THINGS HAVE CHANGED.
She doubted it.
Phoebe’s plane touched down in Los Angeles, waking her from a restless sleep, her neck stiff and sore. She wished everything that had happened was merely a bad dream, but she knew it wasn’t.
During the cab ride from the airport, she was grateful that she had packed sunglasses in her carry-on, for the Southern California light was blinding. It wasn’t particularly warm, as it was only March, and the West Coast wasn’t ever as warm in the spring as people thought it was, but the sunshine still felt good on her face.
Her cab pulled up at the house and she paid the driver. She buzzed the gate and waited for an answer. Finally she was let in by a housekeeper, who helped her with her rolling suitcase.
The house was stark and white, a modernist dream on a hill. She had never been there before, as her father had bought it after she and her mother had moved to New York. There was a Warhol Jackie in the entryway. Her father must have been doing well.
Phoebe’s dad, Preston Dowling, came sauntering into the main foyer. He was wearing a sweater and jeans and looked like he had been working from home.
“Phoebe, it’s so good to see you!” He gave her a hug. “I had no idea-are you okay? You don’t look-”
“I know,” she said. “I don’t really look my best.” She knew her hair was stringy, and that all the stress had been expressing itself in her body: she was breaking out, and she looked pale, with dark circles under her eyes.
“What’s going on, honey?” He finally let go of her, and she realized she was about to start crying.
“Dad, I want to leave Chadwick,” she said. “I want to move back to Los Angeles and live with you.”