Lilly: A Kensington Family Novel Read online

  She's only been here a few minutes and I already feel anxious and a little sad. Why does my mother make me feel this way? I should be happy she's here, and I would be if she'd stop putting me down.

  "How long are you staying?" I ask.

  "I have to fly back tomorrow. We'll have lunch before I go."

  She always does that. She makes plans for me without even asking.

  "I have freshmen orientation at one tomorrow."

  "Then we'll have lunch at eleven. That's plenty of time."

  "There's a dinner tonight for freshmen. I'm supposed to be there." I'm making it sound mandatory because I don't think I'm up for dinner with my mom. She already has me on edge and if I'm around her much longer, I know we'll fight. I have to mentally prepare for her visits, and today she didn't give me time to do that.

  She smooths her hair. "I hadn't planned on us having dinner. I need to go to my hotel and rest."

  "Are you tired from the flight?"

  "I'm tired from the drive. It took me several hours and you know how I hate driving."

  "I don't understand. Where did you drive from?"

  "Napa." She sighs because she doesn't like it when I ask her questions. She always says it exhausts her. "I was getting a treatment."

  "What kind of treatment?"

  "A facial treatment. There's a doctor in Napa who has developed a new treatment that rejuvenates the skin, but it must be done over the course of three days so I had to stay at a resort until the treatments were done."

  So she didn't come here to see me. She came to get her face worked on. My mom's obsessed with looking younger. She's had plastic surgery and she gets those injections that get rid of wrinkles. Her face is now so tight it looks unnatural, like it'll break if she smiles. But she rarely smiles so I guess she doesn't have to worry about her face cracking. Even with all the work she's had done my mom still looks older than Rachel, even though Rachel is almost ten years older. It's one of the many reasons my mom can't stand Rachel.

  My phone rings and I answer it. "Hi, Dad."

  My mom scowls, both because I answered the phone, which she thinks is rude, and because it's my dad. She doesn't get along with my dad.

  "Hi, honey," he says. "How are things going?"

  "Dad, you left here like a half hour ago."

  "I know. I just worry about you. This is your first time living on your own."

  "You don't have to worry. I'm fine." I pause. "Mom's here."

  "Katherine's there?" He sounds angry. "What is she doing there?"

  "She was in Napa and drove down to see me."

  "Put her on the phone."

  I hold the phone out to my mom. "Dad wants to talk to you."

  Her lips turn up as she takes the phone. She knows her unexpected visit will make him mad, and she loves making him mad.

  "Pearce, what a pleasure to speak with you." She turns away from me, walking toward the window. "I'm visiting my daughter." She laughs. "Pearce, why must you always assume the worst?...No, I have to fly back tomorrow...Yes, she told me about her little dinner tonight...Of course..." She turns back and hands me the phone.

  "Lilly?"

  "Yeah."

  "If your mother is not treating you well, I will turn this car around right now and come pick you up."

  "No, don't. It's fine."

  "Lilly, I'm serious. I will not stand for her putting you down or insulting you or trying to persuade you to do things you don't want to do, like change your major."

  He knows her all too well. She's managed to do all those things in the short time she's been here.

  "She's not," I lie.

  "If she does, call me back and I'll be right there."

  "I will. Bye, Dad." I end the call.

  My mom now has her phone out and is texting someone. "Your father's always so melodramatic."

  "So where's Conner?"

  "With his father. Or the nanny. One of the two." She puts her phone in her purse.

  Conner is my half-brother. He's 11. She's not a good mother to Conner, either.

  "Did you want to do something before I go to the dinner?"

  "I don't have time." She picks up her purse and slips it over her shoulder. "I told you, I need to rest." She walks to the door. "I'll call you later regarding details about tomorrow. Goodbye, Lilly. Have fun at your little get-together." She gives me a smug grin.

  What does that mean? Is she up to something? I never know with her. Maybe she was just attempting to smile. It's hard to tell.

  After she leaves, that anxious feeling remains. She always makes me nervous. I don't know if it's because she's always criticizing me or if it's just her mere presence. Either way, it's sad that my mother makes me feel this way. I wish we got along better. Despite how she treats me, I love my mom. I just wish she loved me back, and accepted me for who I am rather than always trying to change me.

  I need to get out of this room. Jade said she went running on her first day at college. Maybe I should run, although I don't like to run. I'm a swimmer, like my brother.

  Drawing. That's what I need to do. It always makes me feel better. I take my sketch book and my pencils and head outside. As I'm leaving the dorm, the wind catches the door, ripping it from my hand. It slams right into some guy carrying a big cardboard box. He drops the box but quickly picks it up.

  "Sorry," I say, grabbing the door.

  "No problem." He lifts his hand, giving me a short wave as he continues walking.

  I only got a brief glimpse of him but he was kind of cute, in a bad boy, rocker type of way. Dark hair that's short on the sides but long on top, and I saw a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. He had on a black t-shirt and jeans. Maybe he's in a band. Maybe the band that's playing tonight.

  I'd never go for that type of guy. A guy in a rock band or a guy with tattoos. Guys like that aren't my type, not to mention the fact that my dad and brother would never let me date a guy like that. They'd say he's dangerous and sleeps around and not the right type of guy for me. Then again, they say that about every guy I show interest in, which is probably why I haven't dated much.

  Actually, that's only part of the reason. The other part is that it seems like every guy wants sex and I'm not ready for that. The only real boyfriend I've ever had broke up with me when I wouldn't do it with him. And once the rumor got around that I wouldn't have sex, not many guys asked me out.

  I find a spot under a tree and set my supplies down. It's warm and sunny out today, like it is almost every day. The weather here never changes. I grew up in Connecticut and sometimes I miss having the different seasons, but then I think of the bitterly cold winters and I'm happy to be in California.

  I lean against the tree, my sketch book on my lap, and take in the scene. It's a nice campus, with a large open green space with trees and benches and flowering bushes lining the perimeter. I close my eyes for a moment, and when I open them again, a half hour has passed. I fell asleep. Guess I was tired from all the moving.

  "Hey, Preston, wait up," a guy yells. I look to my left and see a group of guys walking up the hill toward the middle of campus. The guy who was yelling races to catch up to the group. "Are you going tonight?"

  "Yeah," one of the guys says. I'm guessing that's Preston. He's hot, in a preppy type of way. Preppy guys are my type, or at least they have been in the past. And Preston definitely fits that look; clean shaven with short blond hair, wearing a white polo shirt and light-colored shorts.

  He catches me watching him and smiles. I quickly divert my eyes to my sketch book, running my pencil over it in a haphazard way, hoping he'll think I was looking at something behind him and not him specifically.

  "I'm not getting drunk tonight," I hear a guy say. I think it was Preston but I'm afraid to look up again. But then I do. They've walked past me now so I check out all five of them. They're all preppy, but Preston is the hottest of the five. He seems to be the leader, walking fast and slightly in front of the others, his head held high.

  I'm sure he h
as a girlfriend or sleeps around. A guy that hot gets a lot of girls. Girls who are willing to have sex, maybe even on the first date.

  My gaze returns to the campus, searching the trees to see which one I want to draw. My eyes stop on a large shade tree just like the one I'm leaning against. It's a good tree to draw. It has good form. But there's a guy sitting just below it, blocking my view of the trunk. He's staring at me. Why is he staring at me?

  When he sees me watching him, he quickly stands up and I notice he has a sketch book in his hand. Was he drawing me? Or maybe he was just drawing the tree.

  That's funny. I was going to draw his tree and he was already drawing mine.

  He's walking away now toward the Arts and Humanities building. He seems familiar. Dark hair. Black shirt. Wait...it's the guy I hit with the door. Rocker Guy. So he draws? I guess that makes sense. Music is a form of art, just like drawing. Or maybe he doesn't play music. I just assumed he does because of how he dresses. I shouldn't do that. I shouldn't make assumptions based on physical appearance. That's what my mom and all her friends do, and I don't want to be like that.

  My eyes go back to the tree and I spend the rest of the afternoon sketching it. By the time I get back to my room, I finally feel relaxed.

  My phone rings and I notice it sitting on my desk. I forgot to bring it outside. My family's probably been calling to check on me and now they're panicking because I didn't answer my phone.

  "I forgot to bring my phone with me," I say to Garret. He's the one calling.

  I hear him sigh. "Lilly, you gotta keep your phone on you. You'll give us a freaking heart attack if we can't reach you."

  "I know. Sorry."

  My family is way too overprotective of me and it drives me crazy. They're always worried bad people will come after me because my dad's a billionaire. But they need to stop worrying. Nobody has ever tried to do anything to me.

  "Did you go swimming?" Garret asks.

  "No. I was outside drawing."

  He laughs a little. "That was my second guess."

  Swimming and art are my two favorite things. I'm always doing one or the other. They both relax me. I was on the swim team in high school. Garret taught me how to swim when I was really young and Rachel's been coaching me the past few years. Garret and his mom are both really good swimmers. Garret was on the Camsburg swim team and he keeps telling me to do the same but I don't think I want to. For me, competing in meets is stressful. I'd rather just swim for fun. And being part of a team would take up too much of my time. Time I'd rather spend focusing on my art.

  "I have to go," I tell him. "I have to get ready for that freshman dinner."

  "Yeah, okay." I hear someone say 'dad' in the background. "Lilly, your niece wants to say something. I'll talk to you later."

  "Yeah, see ya."

  "Aunt Lilly?" I hear the tiny voice. It's Hannah.

  "Hi, Hannah. What's up?"

  "Can you come play with me?"

  "I can't. I'm at college. Have Abi play with you."

  "But I want to play with you. I set up the tea party."

  "I'm sorry, sweetie, but I can't. Next time I come to visit, we'll have a tea party, okay?"

  The phone is silent. Hannah's probably nodding. She always does that when we're on the phone, assuming I can see her.

  "I'll talk to you later, Hannah."

  "Bye," she says in her sad voice.

  I spent most of the summer over at Garret's house, hanging out with Abi and Hannah. We went swimming, drew pictures, had tea parties, and played on the beach. That's why they miss me so much. I miss them too.

  I sort through my closet, trying to decide what to wear. The invitation said the dinner was casual dress but I never know what that means. At my private high school 'casual' meant dressed up, but I don't think that's true here, so I go with what I consider casual and change into a loose flowing skirt and a tank top.

  The dinner is in a building across campus. I'd rather not walk over there alone, so I decide to invite my neighbor to go with me. The girl who accidentally walked in my room. What was her name? It wasn't a typical name. It began with a W and sounded like a plant or a tree. Willow? Yeah, that was it.

  I knock on her door and she yanks it open. She must've been standing there when I knocked.

  "Hey." She smiles. "I was just leaving for dinner. Do you want to walk together?"

  "Yeah. I was just coming over to ask you that."

  She steps in the hall, but then stops. "Wait! My ID." She goes back in her room. "We need our student ID for the dinner. Do you have yours?"

  "It's right here." I hold it up.

  She doesn't look. She's too busy sorting through her desk, which is covered in light blue paper boxes.

  "What's in the boxes?" I ask.

  "Just stuff for school. I like being organized, but today, for some reason, I'm the complete opposite. First I lose my phone and now my ID." She digs through her purse. "Got it!"

  As she was searching for her ID, I was checking out her room. It's very sophisticated, with dark gray bedding accented with simple white throw pillows. Her bedside lamp is metal with a glass shade, and in the corner she has a butterfly chair with gray metal legs and a white canvas cover.

  "I like your room," I say. Her room is a little too monochromatic for me, but it looks nice.

  "Thanks! I like yours too. It's really colorful. But I can't have all that color around me. It puts me on edge." We go out in the hall and she locks her door. "I can only handle small pops of color."

  That explains the boxes on her desk. And her outfit. She's wearing a white sleeveless dress with a bright pink belt and matching wedge sandals.

  "So you wouldn't wear this?" I point to my skirt, which is a mix of bright blue and green that blend together like my watercolor comforter.

  She checks out my skirt as she opens the door that leads outside. "I'd wear the tank top."

  I laugh because my tank top is white. "So why don't you like colors? I mean, you obviously like black and white, but why not other colors?"

  We walk down the path that leads through the center of campus. Groups of other freshmen are in front of us, all heading to the dinner. Some are in shorts and t-shirts and others are more dressed up.

  "It's not that I don't like colors. It's just that too much color makes me hyper, especially really bright colors. I prefer soothing colors, like grays and blues. If you knew my parents, you'd understand."

  "What do your parents have to do with it?"

  "They're hippies. They wear rainbow-colored clothes. Their hair is way too long. They prefer to sit on the floor instead of on furniture. They eat granola all the time."

  "Really?" I ask because Willow does not at all seem like the hippie type.

  "Yeah. That's why I have this name. Only hippies name their kid Willow."

  "I like your name. I think it's pretty."

  "It is, but it's not professional. Nobody in the business world will take me seriously with a name like Willow."

  "Is that your major? Business?"

  "Business administration. I want to be a CEO someday. You should've seen my parents when I told them. They both started crying."

  "Why? A CEO is a good job."

  "They think the business world is evil and that CEOs are basically the devil, out to destroy the Earth and mankind as they pursue profits over all else. That's their wording, not mine."

  "My dad was a CEO and he's not evil."

  "It's that one." She points to the building ahead of us and we turn down the path that leads to it. "So what company?"

  "Kensington Chemical."

  She laughs. "Oh my God. My parents would hate him. Chemical companies are right up there with oil companies as the most evil companies in the world, stealing all the natural resources and polluting the planet." She stops suddenly. "Wait, are you a Kensington?"

  "Yeah. Lilly Kensington."

  She laughs again. "My parents are going to die when they find out I'm friends with a Kensington. Oh, w
ell. They'll get over it. Let's go."

  We continue down the path. From her comment, I guess we're friends. That was fast. I've only been here a few hours and I've already made a friend? This is turning out to be a good day.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "Where are you from?" I ask.

  "Berkeley." She rolls her eyes. "Where else would hippies choose to live? My parents have an organic farm. It's a pretty big farm so they actually make a decent living. They sell their stuff to local restaurants and co-ops and at farmers' markets."

  "Then they're business owners. So why are they so opposed to you going into business?"

  "They don't think of themselves as business owners. If you called them that, they'd cringe. They'd tell you they're organic farmers, saving the planet by growing pesticide-free food. They have a hippie accountant guy to handle all their business stuff."

  "I didn't know hippie accountants existed." I picture a guy with long hair in a tie-dye suit, wearing sandals.

  "They do in Berkeley."

  We're now at the building where the dinner is being held, but we have to wait in line to check in.

  "So you never explained why too much color makes you hyper," I say.

  "I can't say for sure but I think it's because growing up I felt like I was living inside a rainbow. Every wall was a different color, sometimes multiple colors. It's like a paint store exploded inside the house. It gave me a headache. My school was the same way. Too much color everywhere. Thank God I didn't have to go there past the eighth grade."

  "Was it a private school?"

  "Yeah. They called it an alternative school." She puts air quotes around 'alternative'.

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means you learn at your own pace, and if you decide you want to just play outside and skip class, you can. There were no rules. One of my mom's hippie friends ran the school out of her house. She'd been a teacher at a public school but didn't agree with their teaching methods so she started her own school."

  "You could skip class to play outside? As a kid, you must've loved that."