Confessions of a Not It Girl by Melissa Kantor Read Free Book Online

though we've never heard of them. She says they're the people who really make movies, which I guess means I'd rather have dinner with the people who don't really make movies, like Julia Roberts and Josh Hartnett.
    Usually Rebecca's parents make a big deal about introducing her to each of the guests as they arrive and being all, "This is our lovely daughter," which makes Rebecca want to puke, but last night Rebecca was still getting dressed when people started arriving. By the time she was ready, her parents were each involved in intense conversations and barely saw her come down, so she kind of floated around the room, drinking champagne and avoiding talking to anyone. She ended up standing by the bar checking out the guests, and she kept making eye contact with this youngish guy who was talking to some older guy. The young guy kept looking over at Rebecca, and Rebecca kept looking over at him, and she kind of smiled, and he kind of smiled, and finally he said something to the older guy and came over to where Rebecca was standing.
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    "I'd heard the Larkins leave nothing to chance, but I didn't realize they hire people just to stand around looking gorgeous," the young guy said. Rebecca was wearing an extremely short strapless blue dress.
    "Is that what I'm doing?" asked Rebecca.
    "More or less," he said. Rebecca didn't say anything for a minute, and then he said, "Are you a lawyer? Are you standing there thinking about suing me for sexual harassment?"
    "Not exactly," said Rebecca. She'd been trying to decide whether it was fair not to tell this guy she was his host's daughter. "I'm Rebecca."
    His name was Brian and he was in his second year at Columbia Law School. He'd been a summer associate at Rebecca's dad's firm, and he was planning on working there full time after he graduated. Rebecca did the math and figured even if he'd gone directly from college to law school, he had to be at least twenty-two.
    He asked what she did and she said, "Oh, you don't want to mix business with pleasure, do you?" and so he said, "You're right. Let's just keep this pleasure," and they kept flirting like that until Rebecca's mom announced that it was time to go in for dinner. So right as they were walking into the dining room, Rebecca's dad came over and clapped Brian on the back and put his arm around Rebecca and said, "Glad my daughter's taking such good care of you."
    Rebecca said it was like something out of a sitcom. Brian practically spilled his drink on himself. He started calling her dad "sir," and saying things like, "You
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    certainly have a very intelligent daughter, sir." Rebecca said nothing.
    Rebecca and Brian were seated next to each other at dinner, probably because they were pretty much the only people there under a hundred years old. Brian was now completely ignoring Rebecca even though she kept trying to talk to him, and finally he turned to her and in this semisarcastic voice said, "You don't like to mix business with pleasure?"
    So she said, "I'm really sorry about that."
    "Were you planning to tell me who you were before or after I made a pass at you?"
    "Were you going to make a pass at me?"
    The whole time they were having this conversation, they were speaking really quietly and kind of fake smiling at each other so anyone who looked over at them would think they were just talking about something innocent, like the weather. By the time the sorbet came, their fight had taken on this whole flirtatious element, and he was like, "How old are you anyway?" and then, rather than say how old she really is, which is eighteen, Rebecca said, "I'm twelve." So then he said, "So you're in, what, seventh grade?" And she said, "Close, sixth." And he said, "What are sixth graders interested in nowadays?" and she said, "Oh, kids today are very advanced," and he said, "In what subjects?" and she said, "You know, math, science, dating." And he said, "Really, what does a sixth grader do on a date?" And she said, "We enjoy martinis at The