Paige sashays past Em, right up to the counter, and props her elbows on it. “I heard there’s a party tomorrow night at the Penningtons’ farm. Do you know where that is? Are you going?”
Em laughs, harsh, like gears grinding. “Des doesn’t do parties.”
“Is that right?” Paige gives Des a conspiratorial, purple-lipsticked smile. “The parties here are so boring, you don’t even bother?”
“It’s not the parties that are boring,” Em mutters.
The blush starts on Des’s chest and works its way up her freckled throat. She can’t believe Em is acting like this in front of Paige. “I don’t drink.”
“Great, then you can be the designated driver.” Paige grins.
She could. It hits her again: she could be anybody with Paige. She could have new friends and new hair and new ways of having fun too.
“Come on, Desdemona. I need a wingwoman, and I don’t know anybody else in this hick town who’s under forty,” Paige pleads.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Em echoes, disbelieving. “You never go to Dylan’s parties.”
Des throws her hands up in the air. “You said that I need to have more fun!”
“With me!” Em shouts. Then, quieter, “I meant with me.” She looks from Paige to Des. “Whatever,” she snaps as she storms out, slamming the door behind her.
“That girl needs to chill,” Paige says over the jangling of the bell. She gives Des a frank look. “I don’t know what I walked in on here, Desdemona. Are you coming to this party with me, or were you just trying to piss her off?”
It’s not the parties that are boring.
You don’t do anything but work.
You’re nineteen, not ninety.
“They aren’t mutually exclusive,” Des decides. “I’m definitely coming to the party.”
Chapter Six
BEA
“You’ll have to add that to your list,” Erik says.
“Right. My list.” Bea’s voice is flat. She isn’t sure what she’s supposed to be adding, because she wasn’t paying attention while Erik was rhapsodizing about all the touristy Washington, DC, things they can do on the weekends. Like she’s going to have copious free time between papers and reading assignments and her work-study job to check out the Tidal Basin and the Library of Congress with him.
“Hiking boots,” Erik says. She isn’t sure if he’s repeating himself or prompting her to write that down too. She doesn’t know why she would need hiking boots in the city, but Erik’s been really into geocaching with his dad lately. He keeps telling Bea how relaxing it is to be out in nature.
“Hiking boots. Got it,” she says.
Erik hesitates. “You’ve started making a list of things to pack for Georgetown, right?”
“Of course I have,” she lies. Bea makes lists for everything. She should have started a list for her dorm room. Actually, she might need a few lists: items to pack, items to buy, and items to discuss with her roommate when she gets her assignment in August, so they don’t end up with two mini fridges and four lamps and no microwave.
Why hasn’t she started those lists?
It’s still eight weeks away, Bea reminds herself. Eight weeks is a long time. Two whole months. Normal people wouldn’t start making lists yet.
But Bea would. And Erik knows her so well. He’s going to figure out that she’s lying, that she hasn’t made any lists yet—that she doesn’t want to make any lists, that she hasn’t looked at the guidebooks or the course catalog or dorm room Pinterest boards. He’s going to know, and then he’s going to ask her what’s wrong, and she doesn’t know how to answer that.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Bea looks around the crowded coffee shop. A family of tanned blond tourists in polo shirts and khaki shorts sits on the weathered leather couch: a mom and dad and two pigtailed girls fighting over who gets the last chocolate chip muffin. Her retired fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Emerson, sits in the blue armchair, doing crossword puzzles and drinking a giant mug of tea. Madison Ross, a rising senior and the girls’ tennis champ, holds court at the back table with her friends Amira and Kaitlyn. The music rises, and Justin Bieber croons over the speakers. Erik is watching her, his blue eyes full of concern.
He deserves better than Bea. Better than the way she’s been avoiding him lately, better than her lies and half-truths. She has to tell him.
But tell him what? That the idea of going to Georgetown with him in eight weeks makes her physically ill? They’ve worked so hard for this. They decided Georgetown was their goal when they were fifteen. And it was always their goal—not Bea’s, not Erik’s—theirs, together.
I can’t do this.
The fear sweeps over her, threatens to pull her under and drown her. Bea feels flushed and hot despite the roaring air conditioner. She tugs at the top button of her cardigan, then remembers the coffee stain on the white shirt beneath. It’s too warm in here, too noisy. She feels sick. Like she can’t get enough air to breathe.
“I forgot,” she blurts out, heart racing. “I have to stop at Carl’s and grab some vanilla. I’m making cupcakes for family dinner.” She’s being too specific. That’s how people can tell when someone’s lying; the liar gives more details than if she were telling the truth.
Bea did make dessert for family dinner. She’s a stress baker, and lately, she is always stressed. Last night when she couldn’t sleep, she made a big strawberry crumble with the rest of the strawberries Des got from the farmer’s market.
Erik doesn’t know that, though.
“Want me to come with you?” he asks.
“No!” She says it too quickly, too forcefully, and smiles to soften the rejection. “I mean…that’s okay. You stay here and find more fun things for us to do in DC.”
Saying it makes her feel even more sick and panicky.
“I’ll make a list.” He smiles back. Waits. His smile fades. “So…I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess?”
“Yep. See you tomorrow.” Bea toys with one of the buttons on her cardigan. Shit. He was expecting her to invite him to family dinner.
On Friday nights, after Arden Books closes at eight—because everything in Remington Hollow closes at eight—Des and Bea and Kat and Vi and Gram have dinner together. It’s a tradition from before the accident, when Gram used to take them for sleepovers on Friday nights to give their parents a break. It’s sacrosanct now. Only people who are practically family get invited: Des’s best friend Em, Kat’s best friend Penelope, and Erik. Bea doesn’t ask him every week but often enough that he looks disappointed now.