“It’s okay.”
I open my mouth to say something—anything—but then Miles appears at the side of the house.
“West,” he growls. “What are you doing here?”
West pushes past Miles and says, “Leaving,” before he vanishes around the corner.
“What an ass.” Miles scoffs. “Anyway, forget him. I’ve got my car packed. Where’s Keely?”
It takes me a second to regain my composure. “Banging down your front door,” I say. “Let’s go.”
By the time Miles and I reach the front of the house, West’s car is zooming away from the estate.
“I can’t believe your dad lets you drive this thing,” Keely says as we get into Miles’s dad’s black Jaguar. I hop into the passenger side, swallowed by the smell of pine and cough drops, as Miles gets behind the wheel.
“This isn’t even his best car, honestly,” Miles says in a way that is somehow not braggy, but his voice has a sharp edge, likely still annoyed from encountering West. Miles puts on a pair of Ray-Bans and says, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to hide away for the rest of the weekend.”
“Totally agree,” Keely says.
It takes ten minutes to drive from the estate to downtown, and then we’re reaching the outskirts. We pull up to Caldwell’s final stoplight before the countryside. After all these years, it still takes forever to turn green.
My arm rests outside the open window, and the sun beats down on my skin. On my right, an old man hobbles up to a convenience store and grabs one of the newspapers from the rack. Though the weather in Maine is hot in July, he wears a dark green raincoat and a bucket hat, a scraggly beard covering his face.
Old Man Jenkens. When I was about five, he was the first—and only—person to ever show me how to hook a worm at his fisherman’s supply shop. I didn’t like fishing too much because I always viewed fish as my friends. (Yes, Finding Nemo was my favorite movie.) Mr. Jenkens had laughed when I said that, a short, gruff laugh. But I thought I must have been pretty special, because I had never seen anyone else make him smile. Everyone else at school was scared of Mr. Jenkens; they said he kept bodies in his basement, or that he was actually a ghost who came out of the fog to haunt us. The years haven’t been kind, and his beard is three shades whiter than the last time I saw him. But he’s never scared me.
A rusty silver minivan pulls up beside us with an unnecessary rev of its engine. Dean Bowman is in the driver’s seat with his arm thrown over the wheel, Faye Hendricks on the passenger side with her feet on the dash. I almost want to hide my face, but if Faye recognizes me, she doesn’t acknowledge it. The back windows are tinted, but I can make out another figure through them, probably Shawn.
“Yo, Hendricks!” Dean shouts, and his aviators reflect the sun, Miles, and me.
Miles leans over, and I shrink beneath his weight. The blond hairs of his arm tickle my cheek. “Hey! Race you to the cabin!”
“Yeah right, you rich asshole.” Dean revs his engine again.
“Wait, what?” I whisper to Miles. “You said it was only going to be us.”
Miles opens his mouth to reply, but he’s interrupted by Dean honking his horn over and over again while he looks in the direction of the convenience store. With a huge grin, Dean yells, “Hey, Jenkens, you goofed any kids yet today? Old creep!”
This isn’t right. The light turns green, and Dean rockets ahead. Mr. Jenkens, still clutching his newspaper, spits on the ground with a disgruntled scowl. His eyes lock with mine before Miles flies us past him.
The cabin is more of a single-story house, with terracotta-stained logs lining the exterior to create a “natural” look. The air in the woods is dense with earth and moss, and the sun barely peeks through the cracks in the canopy of leaves above our heads. We’re completely remote out here—Miles’s family owns the whole lake and rents out some of the other cabins in the area, but there isn’t another property within shouting distance. Dean’s minivan is already parked outside, and laughter echoes from behind the cabin.
“I just don’t get why you didn’t tell us Dean and Shawn were coming too,” I say and slam the car door behind me. “You said just Faye might come. You lied to us, Miles.”
Keely slings her backpack over her shoulder and gets out of the backseat. “What’s with you, Liv? Who cares! Obviously we weren’t going to tell my parents there’d be other guys here.”
“Sorry, Liv.” Miles ruffles his hair. “I wasn’t trying to trick you.”
Suddenly I feel dramatic, like I’m totally overreacting. “No worries,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “Sorry, guys. I don’t mean to be so on edge, I’m just overwhelmed by . . . everything.” I plaster a smile on my face. “No more moping, I promise! I can be fun too.” Maybe.
“I know you can,” Miles says.
When we get around to the back, Faye Hendricks is standing around a daytime campfire. She passes through a cloud of smoke on her way to us.
“Did you guys get lost on the way or something?”
White-blond waves reach below her ribs, and freckles stipple her cheeks. Her legs are long and willowy as she moves with the same whimsical, ballet-dancer grace she’s always had. Miles and Faye are twins, but their faces look nothing alike. Their similarities are their blondness and paleness and susceptibility to sunburns. The skin beside Faye’s pink spaghetti straps and Miles’s cheeks below his sunglasses are a matching shade of red. I feel bad for thinking all her photos were Facetuned because she really is that pretty.
“Wow, Olivia. You look amazing.” Faye’s lips curve, but her voice is hostile. There was a time when I blamed my accident on her. I’d think, if Faye never taunted me, I never would have been on that cliff. But Dr. Levy helped me understand that Faye never made me do anything. I chose to be on the cliff that night. Blaming her will only redirect negativity and stunt my healing process.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Seriously, I didn’t expect you to be so tall.”
I’m not tall. I’m five foot six.
Dean appears behind her and slings a limp arm over her shoulder, wearing the same white shirt he was in at the boat party, only now a leather jacket is thrown over it. I wonder if he’s washed it since, or maybe he just has a bunch of the same shirt. He kisses the side of Faye’s head, but he’s looking at me the whole time.
Gross. Why is Faye with this guy? I guess beneath his sliminess, there is something decent-looking about Dean, but his slit-like brown eyes and long nose are serpentine.
I never cared about “adult gossip” when I was a kid, but I do remember my parents talking about how Dean’s dad yelled at his wife all the time. Sometimes when I biked around the block, I’d see her smoking cigarettes at the curb of their house, looking thin and sad. But despite how close our houses were growing up, Dean and I never had a single playdate. He only ever hung out with Shawn, so I’m not surprised to see he’s here too.