Page 29

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dylan

“ W e’re almost there,” Scarlett says over her shoulder.

“You said that at the last door we went through,” I shoot back.

We’ve walked up so many stairs and down so many hallways, I’d be totally lost if Scarlett wasn’t still holding my hand.

Yeah. I’m holding a girl's hand. Like a normal fucking human being. And I haven’t combusted into a pile of ashes.

“I mean it this time.” She laughs, squeezing my fingers.

I squeeze back. Run my thumb across her knuckles because I’m fascinated with how soft they feel.

We round the corner into another narrow hallway, only this one’s pitch black.

Fuck me.

“The door we need to get to is right at the end… Maybe twenty feet up ahead,” Scarlett says, almost like she knows why I’m hesitating.

I’m about to ask if there’s a light like in the other hallways, which at least had a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Dim, but better than nothing. But before I can ask, she’s got her phone out and using it as a flashlight to light up the dingy passage.

“Final stretch, I swear. And I promise it’ll be worth it.”

We walk to the end, just barely fitting side by side. Then through a heavy steel door and up a few stairs. And then we’re outside. Up on the roof and it’s… Holy crap. She’s right. This is so much better than pine nut muffins.

Taking up most of the front part of the roof like they own the joint, are six solid vintage-style neon letters, each about twelve feet high, spelling out the theater’s name: the BEACON. Every letter is a structure all its own; the front a glowing salmon kind of orange, with a rusty metal framework around it. We step out farther onto the roof, closer to the letters and the sprawling town of Sandy Haven beyond that. The warm glow from the lamplights and cars and windows. Twinkling lights from the harbor...The lighthouse farther down on Ocean Drive...

“Whoa,” I gasp.

“Right?” Scarlett laughs, clearly pleased with herself. Which she has every right to be. This knocks the pine nut muffins right out of the park. Good riddance, too.

“You and Seb figured out how to get up here when you were thirteen?” I ask, letting go of her hand to take a few steps towards the edge of the roof, to see exactly how high up we are.

High enough. No coming back if you stumbled over.

“Seb did. Getting into stuff he’s not supposed to has always kind of been his talent.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, and football. Obviously.” She walks over and tugs at my shirt. “Don’t go so close to the edge… It freaks me out.”

See, why couldn’t I be freaked out by normal stuff like that?

I let her pull me back a couple paces, then follow her back to the outside of the covered space that led us out onto the roof.

“Oh my God, it’s still here!” She laughs, approaching a small rusted garbage can. “I wonder if…” She lifts the lid and practically squeals. “Boo-yah!” She pulls out two flat yellow and red packages about the length of a ruler. Hands one to me then starts tearing hers open. “Seb stashed these here… They’re flimsy wood airplane models he got at the dollar store. The pieces just snap together.” She demonstrates with her own. “See? Done… Then we fly them off the building, and later, when we go back down, we go out and see whose plane landed farthest from the building.”

She crumples up the paper packaging and stuffs it in her pocket. “Put yours together and we’ll race them.”

I rip open my plane kit and put it together. Feels like this thing is so flimsy, it won’t even last the flight down to the pavement. Sure as hell going to find out, though. I approach the edge, ready to launch it, and Scarlett pulls me back again.

“God, you’re as bad as Seb. You can’t go that close to the edge – that’s the rule. You have to stand here.” She draws a faint line with the toe of her boot against the thin layer of gravel covering the tar roof.

I do as I’m told. Stand at the line. And when Scarlett counts down from three, we both launch our planes. Mine does a smooth twirl, before swooping out beyond the building and then down, out of sight. Scarlett’s plane pretty much dive-bombs right out of the gate.

“That was just a practice run,” she says, going back and retrieving two more plane packets from the stash in the garbage pail. “That one didn’t count.”

“It totally counts.”

“Fine. Best of three,” she says.

“Cool.”

We put our second planes together and repeat the same launch process. This time, mine soars even more elegantly and farther out. Scarlett’s dive bombs again.

“What the hell?” she looks honest to God pissed. “How come I keep getting the defective ones?”

I scoff. “You don’t. You just suck at flying them is all.”

“I used to win all the time.”

“Sure.” I grin.

“I did.” She pushes the pieces together more firmly when she makes the next one, like that’s going to make any difference. I don’t tell her it’s the way she’s throwing her plane that’s setting her back.

The third and final round plays out the same as the first two. Mine glides and swoops before dipping towards the ground. Hers dive bombs.

“This is bullshit,” she says, but she doesn’t sound as upset as before. “I don’t understand.”

“You throw model planes the same way you drive,” I tell her. “That’s the problem.”

“There is nothing wrong with the way I drive.”

Ha.

“Or the way I threw those planes,” she adds.

I shake my head, and Scarlett laughs.

My own mouth lifts into a grin.

After a bit, we walk over to the front of the letters. They’re imposing and almost majestic against the deep purple sky. Scarlett climbs up into the lower section of the “B”. She settles in, sitting with her back against the curved inner wall, legs bent, hair back-lit by an orangey-pink glow from the neon lights. It highlights every fluffy strand blowing lightly in the breeze.

“Have a seat!” she calls over to me.

I’m standing close to the very front part of the flat roof with my free hand in my pocket, my own hair blowing around my face as I look out at the expansive scene around us. Still kind of stunned by how awesome it is up here.

“Dylan, seriously. You’re freaking me out standing close to the edge like that,” she calls again, so I turn and make my way over, climbing up across from her. Lean my back against the vertical part of the lower bubble of the “B”, knees bent like Scarlett, the toes of my scuffed sneakers touching her small, probably expensive as fuck ankle boots.

We sit in silence for a while, staring out at the sparkling town sprawled before us, beautiful and as close to perfect as an evening has ever been.

“This is amazing,” I finally say. My voice is low and rusty, like it was down in the lobby earlier.

“Yeah… I kind of forgot about this spot, honestly.”

Another stretch of silence.

“I broke up with Gavin on Friday.”

I drop my head forward to look at her. Kind of surprised she’s sharing this. Also, confused about why. “Thought you had a date with him on Friday.”

“I did.”

Not sure what to say to that. Not sure why I feel kind of pleased to hear they broke up, either. Why I even give a crap. Other than I guess the fact that Gavin is kind of a loser, and Scarlett is… not.

Her right leg is still bent, but her left one is hanging off the side of the giant letter now and she’s swinging it slowly back and forth.

“Those boots cost a thousand dollars, too?” I ask.

She laughs. “You mean like the shoes Cromwell took a leak all over?”

"Yeah."

"Roughly the same. Definitely more than a pair of boots should cost.”

“So why do you buy them?”

She shrugs. “Same reason anyone buys anything. I like them.” She pokes at the bottom of my sneaker with the tip of her over-priced boot. “Why do you buy comic books?”

“I don’t. I stole ’em.”

Her upper body tips forward. Leg stops swinging. “You stole all those comics?”

Wish I hadn’t said that now.

“The ones from before. Mostly, yeah… A couple Eli got for me. And the ones I had the other day at Jays, I paid for those.”

“Huh.” Her leg goes back to swinging.

“I don’t steal stuff anymore—since I moved here. Just… before. It’s kind of what you did if you wanted anything. Eli never held down a job too long, and wouldn’t let me get one, so…” My voice trails off. Not sure why I’m telling her this stuff.

She watches me for a moment and I don't look away. Push through the shame. Then she tilts her head back again. “What’s the favorite thing you’ve ever owned?”

Easy. “Those comics.”

Her laugh bubbles up, like it's something that used to come easily to her. “Okay, that was an easy one.”

It was.

“You?” I ask, expecting her to say some fancy pair of shoes or a purse or something, but she doesn’t.

“This Rainbow Dash snap bracelet my friend Jackie got for me in fifth grade… I was obsessed with My Little Pony, and they came out with these ‘mystery’ My Little Pony snap bracelets where you didn’t know which one you got until you opened the package. And I wanted Rainbow Dash so badly." Another exhaled laugh. "I bought three of them, but none of them were Rainbow Dash—she was the most rare one. Then for my birthday, Jackie used all her Christmas money and bought a bunch of them. She opened them all until she found Rainbow Dash, then wrapped it up for me.” Scarlett smiles at the memory. “It was the same year Jackie moved to Sandy Haven. We’d only known each other for a few months.”

“You still friends?”

The smile disappears. “Not really… We’re not enemies or anything. Just… things change, I guess. I kind of abandoned our friendship. It was shitty.” She sighs. “I still have the bracelet, though.”

I nudge her boot. “Never seen you wear it.”

She chuckles. “It’s more of a special occasion accessory.”

“Bet it’s badass.”

“It’s really not.”

“Still, think you should wear it sometime.”

She tilts her head and her eyes get this… look. Not sure what it is, but she leans in closer, bringing her left leg back up onto the low ledge of the giant letter we’re perched in. “Tell you what—I’ll wear my Rainbow Dash snap bracelet to school tomorrow,” she says in this low, conspiring voice. “If you tell me why you did those ads.”

I scoff. Mirror her tilted head. “Fuck off.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She laughs. “Okay. Well, the offer’s ongoing. So anytime you feel like sharing, I’ll pull out Rainbow Dash and have her ready to snap on my wrist at a moment's notice.”

“Don’t believe you even still have it.”

“She's in my jewelry box. Swear on my sister’s life.”

My phone buzzes then with a message at the same time as Scarlett’s. A text from Phil.

Phil

Intermission finishing in 5 mins. You coming for the 2nd act?

“It’s sweet how he checks in,” Scarlett says at the same time as I say, “ Fuck's sakes. ”

“Okay, yeah.” She laughs. “It must be annoying as hell… But he just loves you so freakin’ much.”

Not sure what to say. Not even sure if she’s right. Seems weird… the idea of someone loving me. A guy who barely knows me. And I’m aware a lot of dads love their sons, but that’s when they’ve known them their whole lives. And like the kind of person their kid is.

Scarlett asks if I’m going back.

“Not a chance,” I say, and she laughs again.

“Agreed. We’ve got the best seats in the house up here.”

I text Phil back.

Dylan

Gonna pass

Phil

Everything ok?

Dylan

Yeah

Phil

Where are you?

Shit. Don’t want to tell him where we are, so I just say:

Dylan

With Scarlett

There’s a short delay before Phil texts back.

Phil

Ok. Meet us in the lobby at 9

Dylan

K

I do the whole thing using voice to text, so Scarlett hears everything. A couple minutes later, her phone buzzes again.

“Probably Phil again,” I scoff. Only when I see the expression on Scarlett’s face when she looks at her phone, I know it isn’t.

“ Fuck ,” she mutters. Doesn’t look up, though. Keeps staring at the screen, like she’s not even here right now. More like she just saw a ghost.

“Gavin?” I assume, out loud.

“No.” She lets her head fall back against the surface behind her, hard enough that it makes a thunking noise. “Fuck,” she says again. Then doesn’t talk after that for a while. Never seen her like this, looking upset. Almost scared or sick or something.

“Everything okay?”

“No,” she says, her eyes closed now. “Everything’s not okay.”

Which is nowhere near the sort of thing I ever expected to hear from Scarlett Thiels. Beautiful, badass, popular Scarlett Thiels.

“Sorry. That was dramatic.” She kind of laughs. “It’s just this guy… This asshole I knew a couple years ago.”

I watch her, trying to tell if she’s mad or upset, or something else. Trying to figure out what sort of asshole she’s talking about. Hard to read anything, because her eyes are closed. “Did he do something?”

“Yeah… He did.”

Shit. Don’t like the sound of that. But I don’t say anything.

Her business if she wants to say more. She doesn’t for a long time. Then, finally, she tilts her head forward. “Carter's this guy I had a huge crush on. His aunt and uncle had a cottage on the same lake as ours. His father was killed in a car accident a month before that and his mom was still a mess, so he came to stay with his aunt and uncle at their cottage for a couple of weeks. I thought he was the coolest. Turns out… he wasn’t.” Her eyes flicker to the side, trailing a seagull swooping past the roof. “He filmed me on the dock when I was… indecent , and we were kind of fooling around. It was partly my fault. I was totally na?ve and just… stupid. I knew he was doing it. I felt special that he was doing it.” She rolls her eyes. “God, it’s embarrassing what a cliché the whole thing was. What a clueless cliché I was… Anyway, he group-chatted the video to some of his friends. One of them happened to be Seb, who called me as soon as he got it—after texting the group chat and telling everyone to delete the video and threatening anyone who didn’t. And calling Carter and threatening him personally.”

“I ended up telling my mom,” she continues. “I was fifteen—a total wreck, and didn’t know what to do. Mom and I have always been pretty close, so even though it was the most humiliating thing to tell her, I did.” Scarlett's chest rises and falls with a huge sigh. “Long story short, my parents talked to his mother, and it was awful. And so awkward, because she’d just lost her husband. Carter had just lost his father. Maybe he wasn’t even a jerk before that. Anyway, it felt like we were the assholes , bringing this thing to their doorstep on top of everything they were already dealing with.” Scarlett traces her finger back and forth along the edge of the metal surface we’re sitting on. Waits a few seconds before she continues.

“We didn’t press charges or anything. As far as I know, those guys all deleted the video… But a couple of them had already forwarded it, and even though they said they’d told those guys to delete it, it’s just unreasonable to think they all did. Seb saw it surface a couple times that summer with guys from another town who were boarding school friends, and he did whatever he could to shut it down.” She shrugs one shoulder. “I’m pretty sure no one from SH Prep saw it. I never heard about it, if they did. And I feel like I would have heard about it if it had got out here. I think Seb told Xave to keep an eye out, and Xave’s basically considered a God at SH Prep, so if someone had started to leak it to any guys there and they knew Xave was against it, they would stop the chain just out of fear of becoming total social outcasts. We never talked about it, but the way Xave acted around me the rest of that summer and at school in the fall—just kind of extra protective—it was like this unspoken thing that he knew, but never brought it up, because he knew I would be embarrassed.”

Scarlett drops her leg again and swings it lightly back and forth. The movement creates these weird blurred shadows against the neon light. “Anyway, the whole thing was… really horrible. Humiliating and shitty and just—I wish I could go back and make it so the whole thing never happened.” She inhales a shaky breath. “But it did. And it’s in the past and I want it to stay in the past. I want nothing to do with that asshole. Nothing. ” She meets my eyes. “But he’s started texting me again suddenly, saying he wants to meet up, and I have no idea why… And I want him to stop.” She lets her head fall back again. “Only I don’t want him to think I even care that he’s texting me. Or if I see him or not. I don’t want him to know he’s even a blip on my radar.”

“You need to tell him to go to hell.” My voice is practically a growl. This guy sounds like he’s gonna bring nothing but shit to her doorstep.

“Were you even listening? I said I don’t want him to think I give a crap.”

I reach my hand out. The one that doesn’t have a cast weighing it down. “Show me your phone.”

“I don’t want you typing anything.”

“Not gonna type anything. I told you I’m shit at texts. Just let me see, and I’ll tell you what I think you should say.”

She hands me her phone, and I read the brief string of texts.

“Yeah,” I say, handing it back. “You need to tell him to fuck off.”

“Not helpful.”

“Yeah, it is. Simple. Two words: ‘Fuck’. ‘Off’. If he doesn’t know what that means, he’s stupid on top of being an asshole.”

“He isn’t stupid. That’s part of the problem.”

“Doesn’t matter. Fuck off is universal.” I tilt my head. “You want him to fuck off, right?”

“God. Yes,” she answers right away.

I arch an eyebrow at her. Pretty obvious what she needs to type, then.

“It’s not that simple.”

“More simple than you letting him keep messing with your head,” I tell her. And yeah, I’m aware it’s rich that I’m dishing out this kind of advice. Really aware. “You’re gonna feel like crap no matter what you text back, right? ’Cos of the shit he did and who he is. So, better to feel like crap and at least be the one calling the shots, than feel like crap and him be the one still calling the shots.”

Scarlett narrows her eyes and studies me for a minute. Sighs. Reaches in her pocket like she’s looking for something, then pulls out a tube of that watermelon lip stuff. Opens the cap and glides it across her bottom lip… back and forth. Top lip… back and forth. And fuck me. I can’t stop staring at her lips now.

She pockets the tube. Her lips shiny now and even more perfect. “Why are you staring at me?”

My eyes snap up from her lips. “I’m not.”

“You totally were.”

I poke my tongue against my lip ring. Now she’s the one staring at my lips. Then our eyes meet. Both trying to figure out what the other one is thinking.

I think.

Then she sighs. Says, “Fuck it.” And types into her phone. She holds it up for me to see.

Scarlett

Fuck off Carter

She lifts that same eyebrow again. “Happy?”

I nod. “Yup.”

And I am, I realize. I’m glad she told that asshole to fuck off. More than that—I’m just honest to God happy right now. Up here on this rooftop with Scarlett, talking and looking out at the town lights. We both lean back and sit in silence. I track an airplane from somewhere beyond the horizon, across the water and over the town. A dog barks down on the street.

“I was going to run away.” My voice sounds hollow. Softer than when I was dishing out advice to Scarlett just a few minutes ago. “That’s why I did those ads.”

Scarlett shifts to look at me.

I hold her gaze. “I was in lockup at Clive. Like, full lock up. On eyesight, which means they have a staff member watching you the whole time. Even when you use the can. Like, literally all the time. I’d done a couple things that… staff were worried, I guess—when I found out the truth about Eli, and my mother, and Phil and everything a few weeks before that. I was pissed. Just so fucking pissed—at everyone. At everything. At me .” I shrug, looking away now. Back at the airplane that looks like it’s going in to land somewhere nearby. “Figured if I did the photoshoots and commercials and stuff, that would be my only chance to get away.” I pause for a second. Drop my voice even lower. “Eli… he got this suitcase a while back. Packed to the brim with clothes and different fake IDs than the ones we already had, and an envelope of money. Put almost all the money he made for a long time in that suitcase. He stashed it in this locker only he and I know about, with everything we’d need if we ever needed to run. Because of… you know. The shit he did… The murders.” I glance at Scarlett.

She’s watching me, her whole body still as a statue. Her mouth slightly open. Eyes showing a hint of surprise. Curiosity. No judgment though, so I continue.

“He’d drilled it into me for a few years. Where it was hidden, where we’d meet up after if we got split up. How to get there. Everything. I knew it all by heart. So when everything went down—when I was arrested, then he got arrested and the lies blew up, and I got locked up at Clive—and this modeling gig came up, it was like this golden ticket to get out and get to that suitcase and just… start over or whatever. I didn’t think I would have to even do any of the modeling stuff. Figured maybe the first day of the photoshoot, I’d go along with it, wait to see where the location was, the best way to get away and stuff, then split the next day.”

“So?” Scarlett leans in. “Why didn’t you?

I look over towards the horizon again. The plane’s gone. Landed somewhere, probably.

“They sent two of the staff from Clive to the shoot with me. And Phil hired a security guy. Tailed me the entire time. Just as bad as the staff at the facility. Worse, because there were three of them and one of me. Big dudes. The security guy was fast as hell, too.”

“Did you still try? To get away?”

“Yeah. I made a run for it the last day of the shoot. Figured I had nothing to lose. Knew it was a longshot but had to take my chances before I was locked back full time at Clive." I sigh. "Made it maybe a couple hundred feet. Security guy tackled me to the ground. The whole thing freaked out the entire crew. And Phil… You can imagine. Think he suspected all along, though. It’s why he hired the extra security guy in the first place.”

Scarlett watches me. Nods a couple times. “It’s why he’s extra paranoid now,” she says. Probably dead right. “After the kidnapping, then finally getting you back fourteen years later, only to have you try to get away again.”

“Yeah. Guess so.” Never thought about it that way before.

“Did you—I mean, have you tried to take off since then?”

I shake my head. “No point. Everyone recognizes me now… Nowhere to go, anyway.”

“But if you thought you could get away with it, would you do it? Do you…” her voice trails off. Then she tries again. “Do you really hate it here that much?”

It’s a loaded question.

I sigh. “Hate it everywhere.”

Then I feel bad saying that. Imagine Phil hearing those words. So I add, “I don’t hate Phil. Or Diane or anyone else here.” My shoulders lift in a shrug. “They’re nice. It’s fine. It’s just… Fuck. I don’t know… Everything feels like a lot.”

“God… I’m sorry, Dylan,” Scarlett says. She crawls across the space between us and slides next to me, and I let her. There’s not a lot of room for two people, so she leans in close. Her head is right up against my arm. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats. “About everything that happened to you. That you had to go through all that. And that you’re still dealing with so much stuff even now.”

“It’s fine,” I say. Feel bad I didn’t tell her sorry for what happened to her. Not sure how to do that, though.

She squeezes my arm, kind of like she did earlier when she first showed up down in the theater lobby. “I think I get it, though—why you say you hate it everywhere. Because it probably seems like this whole thing… like it follows you everywhere.”

“Yeah,” I say, “like the thing with that asshole from the lake feels like it’s following you, probably.”

She laughs. “Kind of a big difference between that and what you went through, but yeah.”

I tilt my head down. Slowly… Slowly… until it’s resting against hers. Inhale vanilla. “I didn’t hate tonight, though.” My voice sounds rusty again. “Up here. Flying those planes and talking and stuff. I didn’t hate this,” I say.

She covers my large hand with her small one. “Same,” she whispers. “I didn’t hate tonight either.”