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“And they’re getting it. She’s going to end up pregnant before she’s twenty. Just watch.”

“They call her Slutty Cutty for a reason. Half of Emerson Bay would have to take a paternity test to determine the father.”

This got the cheer team laughing. Megan and Staceysplit off and headed down toward the bay. They each grabbed a Budweiser and sipped the awful-tasting stuff for ten minutes while they watched boys skip crushed empties across the water. From behind her, Matt grabbed Megan around the waist and hugged her tight. Soaking wet from the pool, he dripped all over her.

“You haven’t even said hi to me yet,” he said in her ear.

“That’s because you’ve been too busy with the topless girls in your pool.”

Matt picked her up, Megan’s back pressed firmly to his chest. “I’m throwing you in the bay for that comment,” he said as he penguin-walked her along the dock.

“Throw me in and you’re dead,” Megan said calmly.

Matt kept walking closer to the water. At the edge of the dock, he rocked her back and forth. “One. Twoooo. Three!” He lifted her up and pretended to throw her in the water. Megan screamed. When he let her go, she turned with a smile and slapped his shoulder.

“I would’ve killed you,” Megan said.

“Yeah,” Nicole said, coming down the stairs. She was also soaking wet, just out of the pool. With her breasts spilling from her bikini top, her bottoms straight across her flat stomach, and the string of dock lights reflecting off her skin, Megan admitted she was gorgeous. On the outside. Inside, Nicole Cutty was ugly. She was a bully. The type of person Megan’s parents always taught her not to be, and not to be around. Nicole Cutty was the type of person Megan had created the retreat to fight against.

“How would she explain to her police-chief daddy that she ended up in the water with all her clothes on?”

“I wasn’t going to throw you in,” Matt said, still smiling and ignorant of the rivalry.

“Where’s your bathing suit, anyway?” Nicole asked. “You know this is a pool party?”

“Thanks,” Megan said. “I figured that out.”

“So where’s your suit?”

“On my body, I just don’t feel the need to parade around in it.”

“Figures.” Nicole laughed. “It doesn’t take a bikini top for everyone to see you’re flat-chested.” Nicole grabbed a beer from the cooler. “Get over it or ask Daddy for some implants.”

“Shut up, Nicole,” Stacey said.

Nicole popped the beer. “Or, since you guys are so scared of swimsuits, maybe you’ll join us later when we go skinny-dipping in the bay.” She laughed again. “Right! The cheer princesses skinny-dipping.” Nicole walked up the stairs. “Matt, tell your buddies we’re getting naked at midnight.”

Stacey made an ugly face as Nicole walked up the stairs. “It must be tough when everything you have going for yourself is in your tits.”

Ignoring the comment, Nicole looked over her shoulder as she ascended the stairs, hips swaying back and forth, and stared at Matt. “You better be in that water with us.”

Megan looked at Matt once Nicole was gone. “She’s such a slut. I can’t believe you hang out with her.”

“Nicole?” Matt said, laughing it off. “She’s cool. Just has, like, a chip on her shoulder about something. Wants to fit in like everyone else. Blow her off.”

Jessica Tanner came down the stairs, smiling as she watched Nicole saunter past. Jessica grabbed a beer. “Don’t let her bother you,” she said to Megan. “She’s got a thing for you.”

“Forme?” Megan said.

“She thinks you’re an elitist. . . .” Jessica opened her palms and shrugged her shoulders. “Or something. Too good to hang with anyone but, you know, your little group. Like Matt said. Just blow her off. She’s harmless.”

“Isn’t she your friend?” Stacey asked.

“Yes. Best friend.” Jessica smirked. “But I’m not a zealot. I can admit when my friend is being a bitch.” Jessica popped her beer. “I think that’s what Nicole hates about your clique. Defending each other no matter what. It irks her.” Jessica took a sip of beer. “Me too, sometimes. But hey,” Jessica said as she headed back up the stairs. “Wanna shut her up? Call her bluff about skinny-dipping.”

It was eleven thirty p.m. when the first group swam out to the raft. It floated twenty-five yards off Matt’s dock and, lighted by a halogen bulb stuck to the top of the flagpole that stood in its center, the raft was a beacon of light in the otherwise dark bay. Made from thick pinewood, it was a small patio deck floating on Emerson Bay, attached and secured to the bottom by a long chain. Two of the guys floated the cooler out and hoisted it up on the deck. It was only a few minutes before a melee broke out among the guys, pushing one another into the water, backflipping and belly flopping. The girls screamed as they huddled on one sideof the raft and allowed the boys to play King of the Hill, which Matt—captain of the wrestling team—won without contest. Next was the girls’ turn, as the guys playfully pushed them into the water. Some fought back, but resistance brought the attention of two or three guys who carried the girl by the armpits and ankles to heave her over the side.

Once things calmed down, they all sat around the edge of the raft dangling their feet into the water. Beers were popped and chugged and things quieted down. The same scene played out every time this group got together at a bay party; someone always talked about skinny-dipping. The boys outnumbered the girls on the raft—twelve to eight—all hoping for the girls to magically slip out of their suits and jump in. They would all do the same, they promised. Dares and challenges and compromises were usually laid down before the group finally got bored and swam back, the journey to the raft resulting in nothing more than a good swim and some laughs.