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“No?” Aly arched an eyebrow. “Not his scene?”

“It’s over. He dumped me.”

Because of what you wrote. She allowed the thought to swell in her mind, to become the reason even though she knew it wasn’tquitetrue.

“What?” Aly looked genuinely shocked. “But you guys are, like, Mr. and Mrs. Perfect.”

“Yeah, well.” Lola picked at her cuticle. “Your article was…” She trailed off, still not sure how much detail to divulge. “Let’s call it a major turning point.”

“I don’t understand why he’d break up with you based on what I wrote. Shouldn’t he have his own opinion of you?”

“It’s not that simple. And I really don’t want to talk about it withyouof all people.”

Aly looked searchingly at the ceiling, giving Lola the opportunity to study her. Aly had a long neck, Lola noticed. It had been hidden under all that long, brown hair. She was like a swan. As mean as a swan too. As untrustworthy.

“So you’re here alone?”

“No, I’m with Ryan.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you won’t be alone,” Aly said, which was irritating.

Lola did not want Aly to be nice to her, to be reasonable. She wanted them to continue yelling at each other. “Areyouhere alone?”

“Oh, me? Yeah,” Aly said. “I needed a break from all the bullshit. I have some friends nearby, though. On Fire Island.”

“All the bullshit?” Lola sighed heavily and then took in the quiet luxury around her, the custom built-ins and the spotless surfaces and the view of the ocean. Aly didn’t belong in this place. “Shouldn’t you be holed up in some sort of Brooklyn writing warehouse for crankyhipsters? I doubt Jack Kerouac spent his summers in a mansion on Private Beachfront Property Lane or wherever the fuck we are.”

Aly winced. Under normal circumstances, Lola would have never dreamed of letting this much snark sail freely from her lips. In fact, she usually went far out of her way to avoid stirring the pot. But she wanted to hurt Aly—maybe as much as Aly had hurt her.

“It’s my parents’ beach house,” she said, the defensive edge in her voice hard to miss. “We came here every summer when I was a kid. I’m not going to apologize for the way I grew up.”

“Oh, right, I forgot that you’re a nepo baby,” Lola said, unable to stop the disdain coming from her lips now that she’d started. “Amazing that you choose to spend your time critiquing a lifestyle you were born into and still apparently indulge in. Do people know you live like this, daughter of publishing royalty? A true beacon of democratized taste, I’d say.”

Aly’s face turned splotchy and red. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Why haven’t you written the next great American novel by now? The great ARC must have something important to say, right?” Lola had the sudden sense that she had won a battle, and a fleeting swell of victory rose in her chest before quickly deflating as she took in Aly’s face.

“You can leave now,” Aly said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

Lola felt the sting of the dismissal. “Oh, I’m leaving,” she blustered, calling forward the indignation Aly deserved. Because she did deserve this after everything she’d done, Lola was sure. But as Lola reached the door, stepping over the scattered glass, she couldn’t help but turn her head, taking in Aly still backlit by the kitchen. “Thanks again for the emergency services,” she added, a bit softer this time.

“Anytime,” Aly said, but she’d turned her back to Lola and stayed that way while Lola limped out of the house.

She heard Aly’s door slam closed behind her.

***

Lola exploded back into Giancarlo’s house.

Her heart pounded in the silence. Ryan was not back yet.

She hobbled up the stairs, kicked her ruined sandals off, and collapsed on top of the unmade bed, still rumpled from her sweaty nap.

She tried to make sense of what had just happened. Of all the cottages in the Hamptons, Aly’s was right next door. Lola would have to spend the whole summer dodging her. Their backyards were separated only by short hedges. If she was in the pool, Aly would be able to see her through the kitchen window. There would be nowhere to hide.

She briefly wondered what Aly did for fun out here, if they’d be at the same parties (that was if Lola even got invited to parties this summer; she wasn’t sure if her status as acancelitaextended out east). But she and Aly were rarely at the same parties in Manhattan, so maybe Aly had a different world here too. One that was cooler than Lola’s. Aly would probably be at private poetry readings and homemade sushi experiences, something pretentious and cringey like that—the kind of party Lola would secretly love to be invited to and probably never would.

She couldn’t wait to tell Ryan that she’d been right.