Page 19

Nineteen

Before

September 2nd

I forget how nice the lull after a big party can be. The four of us sit around the fire pit, stretched out on glossy black Adirondack chairs with blankets on our laps. It’s the first peace I’ve known in hours.

Me and Dylan sit on one side of the fire. Jena and Felix sit on the other, their backs to the lake. The moon still comes and goes behind the clouds, and every once in a while, the boat dock lights up against the shine of the water. My dad’s precious speedboat rhythmically knocks against the rubber fenders hanging over the sides. The lake laps softly against the shore, and the fire pops and spits sparks into the air as we pass the bottle of Malibu between us.

The boys occasionally toss a giant log into the circular pit, poke at some embers, or throw in a handful of leaves to watch them turn to smoke. I’ll never understand boys and their interest in watching things burn, but Dylan is smiling so wide it’s impossible for me to stop staring at him in the firelight.

The only hiccup is Felix and Jena. When we’re all talking about the school year or Jena’s summer trip to Puerto Vallarta, or Felix and Dylan start debating soccer versus lacrosse, it’s fine. But every time Jena speaks directly to Felix, or he asks a question that she answers, a cool breeze of bad vibes fills their side of the conversation. I can practically see the wall of ice that’s gone up between the two of them since Claire spilled the beans about Beau, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll melt tonight.

Especially because Felix has apparently decided to deal with his feelings by drowning them in huge gulps of Malibu every time it’s passed his way. He drinks more than the rest of us combined, but the tension slowly eases on their side of the fire until they’re at least being cordial with each other.

Soon I have a happy warmth in my veins, and I’m sure if I stand up too fast, I’ll fall over, but I could give two shits. I never want to move from this chair anyway.

Felix hands me the bottle and I take another drink. Again, Dylan passes it back to Jena without having any.

“Not a big drinker?” I ask him.

“Not really. Besides, I have to drive home. I can’t lose my license. My parents would murder me.”

“ Same ,” I say, laughing. “But then again, they’d probably murder me for much less than a DUI. Even if my dad could get me out of it with a single phone call.”

He smiles. “Perks of being a Goodwin?”

“Perks of my dad being on the short list for a judge position.”

“No shit?”

I shrug. “He got the call a few weeks ago. There’s an extensive background check and a bunch of meetings and questions about our family, but my dad has a good chance of getting appointed to the open Polk County seat.”

“Wow. The Honorable Judge Goodwin. Can you imagine?”

Honestly? No. I thought his ambition stayed within the boundaries of the law firm, but it seems they’ve expanded to eclipse that entirely. He didn’t have the news about the potential judgeship for ten minutes before he started talking about other goals, what’s next. That’s him, always moving forward, always finding a new rung on the ladder. Goodwins are nothing if not overachievers. I don’t think he even knows how to celebrate a win, and part of me worries I’m the same way.

“Felix.” Jena leans toward him, hanging over the arm of her chair. “Hey, you might want to slow down a little bit or you’ll be throwing up all day tomorrow. We have plans, right?”

She tries to take the bottle from him but he holds it away from her. “I’ll stop when I want to stop.”

“Felix.”

Me and Dylan exchange a glance.

Felix stands and glares at Jena. “Don’t worry, if I’m too hungover to go to the movies with you, I’m sure you have other options. Beau’s apparently a fan of my leftovers.”

Oh shit. So much for being cordial.

Jena glares at him. “ Felix , what the fuck. Seriously?”

He holds the Malibu bottle out and drops it on the ground. It lands on the grass with a hollow thud. “I think I’m done hanging out. This is just making me angry. I’m taking a nap.”

He stumbles toward the water.

I sit up in my chair, suddenly alert. “In the lake?”

He laughs so hard I think he’s actually going to fall into the water. “No, dummy. The hammock.”

I watch as he stumbles toward the dock, dragging his blanket behind him, and then veers right, along the shore. His silhouette gets smaller and smaller as he makes his way to the other side of the yard where a hammock is strung between two massive trees on the water’s edge. He flops onto it, and the ropes pull tight, flipping him feet over ass. He lands in a heap on the ground beneath it, tangled in the blanket. His laugh carries across the lake.

I get up to make sure the stupid idiot didn’t hurt himself, but Jena holds out her hands to stop me. “Don’t worry. I got it. You guys stay where you are.”

“Please be careful,” I call after her. “The last thing I need is for someone to trip into the water tonight. It’s cold as hell.”

Jena waves me off and runs across the lawn after her maybe-boyfriend, and I sink back into the chair, watching her unwind the blanket from his knees. A minute or so later Felix stands, and Jena holds the hammock for him so he can lie down. Once he’s settled, she stays with him.

Maybe they just needed some privacy to talk things out, and it’ll be smoothed over by the time school starts. It would be nice to focus on starting the year with a bang, rather than with their relationship drama.

Felix lets out another laugh that rattles the night.

Dylan smiles and gestures toward the hammock. “What did I tell you? They’re going to be fine.”

I tuck my blanket tighter around my lap. “Yeah, unless he’s so trashed he doesn’t remember making up with her in the morning.”

“Ah, that’s…a good point. I’ll remind him tomorrow.”

I smile, transfixed by the firelight reflected in his eyes. “You’re a good friend.”

He holds my stare for a few seconds, then clears his throat. “So are you.”

It feels different between us now that we’re sitting here alone. I try to think back to the last time we had a private conversation, and I don’t think we ever have. It’s always been us chatting in class or in the parking lot—surrounded by other people. I wonder if he notices that too.

The silence stretches, and his leg starts bouncing.

Is he nervous?

“You’re not really what I expected,” Dylan says, out of the blue.

“What do you mean?”

His knee bounces faster. “I don’t know. You’re…just…different. Not what I expected.”

“You do realize we’ve known each other for years,” I joke.

“Yeah, but how much have we really talked? We hung out a lot when me and Claire first started dating, but you were always a little removed, separate somehow. I think tonight is the most we’ve talked, ever.”

My hands tighten on the armrests. Of course I kept my distance. My best friend started dating my dream guy, and I had to watch her rub it in my face every day. And after Claire left Waldorf, Dylan stopped hanging out with our friend group. He was only there for her .

“I guess there wasn’t much of an opportunity. I’m glad for tonight though.”

“Minus the bloody nose.”

“Definitely could have done without that.” I smile. “I’m curious now, though, what did you think of me before tonight?”

His knee keeps bouncing until he looks over at me. He grimaces. “It’s going to sound bad, but I don’t mean it to. I thought you’d be more self-involved. All night you’ve been worried about other people: who’s having fun at the party, protecting your friends from Claire’s drama, sticking up for Jena, wishing the best for her and Felix, having compassion for Claire even after she hit you. I never thought you were a bad person, but you always seemed so focused on your goals—and they’re lofty ones. It’s impressive to see you carrying all this thought for other people on top of what has to be a stressful amount of life stuff too.”

I roll this around in my mind, trying to decide if he’s saying he’s impressed I have a soul or that he didn’t expect me to be a nice person because I’m ambitious. I don’t particularly like either option. And I don’t know where this is coming from. When have I not checked in with my people or pretended to care when I needed to?

“Thank you? I think?”

His frown deepens. “Did that sound like I’m surprised you’re a nice person?”

“Little bit.”

“Shit.” He sits on the edge of his seat and angles toward me. “Okay, let me try again: You’re damn impressive, Brooke. I’ve watched you slowly dominate the school since I moved to town, and you always seem so far ahead of the rest of us. Like, we’re all worried about biology homework and you’re thinking about which science class will give you a leg up in undergrad. We’re laughing about someone farting in the hallway, and you’re planning a clothing drive for the homeless and writing an essay about it. You’ve always been next-level, and I guess I assumed the universe would have balanced you out with a mean streak or something. How are you so put together and compassionate at the same time?”

A grin tugs at my face. “That was slightly better.”

He holds my gaze, and then that damn knee starts up again. He looks into the fire. “If I’m being completely honest, you’re also nothing like Claire said you were.”

The blood in my veins runs cold. “Claire talked about me?”

“Constantly. Especially after her dad lost his job.”

Part of me wants to scream about her being brought up again , but the need to know what she said about me—when she knew how badly I wanted him—is a physical ache in my chest. I stop myself before the words leave my mouth, though. There’s no good way to ask that question without looking obnoxious. I change tactics and instead keep the focus on him. Because that’s the kind of consideration that’s earned his attention tonight.

“We don’t have to talk about Claire. Your breakup wasn’t that long ago. It’s probably still hard.”

He nods. “It’s harder to watch her struggle than it is to talk about it. Especially tonight. I’ve never seen her like that.”

The last thing I want is to find more reasons to talk about Claire fucking Heck, but this is the bed I made for myself. “Why did you two break up?”

Dylan shrugs and looks out at the lake. I think he’s not going to answer me, until he lets out a sigh.

“When her dad lost his job, it changed things. She got super resentful and talked about it all the time. The firm, your family, how unfair it was that they were losing their house and her parents had to sell her car… I couldn’t imagine what she was going through. I tried to be there for her as much as I could, but weeks became months and she got more and more angry.

“I went to help them pack last May, when they moved out of their house, and I found her throwing things around her room: trophies, photo albums, dance team medals, framed awards. She started screaming about how none of it mattered anymore, and that it was all your fault and your family was the root of all evil.

“I couldn’t see how this was your fault, and I guess I made the mistake of saying that. She looked at me like I’d slapped her. It was never the same after that. I hung on for a few more months, but I barely saw her over the summer. When she called to break it off, I knew it was coming. I hadn’t seen her in weeks.”

“Wait.” I hold up my hands. “You two broke up because you defended me?”

He nods. “She said I had the chance to pick a side and I chose the wrong one. That she couldn’t have any more backstabbers in her life if she had any chance of starting over. I tried to get her to meet up so we could talk, but in the end she told me I’d already served my purpose and there was nothing left to talk about.

“After that, she blocked my number. I didn’t see or speak to her again until she came to the bookstore this morning to apologize, and I stupidly told her about your party. Seeing her standing at the register was like looking at a ghost.”

My hands ball into fists and I watch as my knuckles turn white. Did he know what she meant when she said he’d served his purpose ? Because I sure as hell do. The flat-out audacity of telling the boy you only dated to spite someone else, that he’s worthless because you can’t use him anymore, is vile. And she said it to his face .

“God, Dylan, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“You know what’s really sad?” He rests his head against the back of the chair and stares up at the sky. “Part of me keeps waiting for her to go back to the way she was. Even today, when she walked into the bookstore, some part of my brain thought, Maybe this is it; maybe the old Claire is back. She used to be the happiest girl I’d ever met in my life. Her joy was infectious, you know? And now she’s…a black hole. One hundred percent resentment. It’s like the old Claire died and a stranger took her place.”

I have to work to keep my mouth from falling open. The happiest girl he’d ever met? Claire? I mean, yeah, she was always laughing, but it wasn’t happiness. More often than not, she was enjoying someone else’s downfall or making jokes at their expense. It certainly wasn’t all good vibes and sunshine.

It’s like we knew two entirely different people. But I want to relate to him, to be someone he feels comfortable talking to, so I think back—way, way back, before our entire friendship became a competition—and a long-buried memory comes to mind. “Do you know how we met? Claire and I?”

He shakes his head.

“First day of kindergarten. My dad was running late and dropped me off in the hallway outside the classroom. I didn’t know where to put my bag, or where to sit, and I’d never spent a lot of time with other kids my age so I felt totally out of my element. I stood by the door all nervous until this scrawny little girl with two missing teeth popped over. We’d been in class for maybe two minutes, and she already knew almost everyone’s name. I’d never seen someone smile so much in my entire life. She pointed at my pink dress, declared pink her favorite color, and that was that. We were instant friends in that way that only happens in elementary school. We did absolutely everything together, just the two of us, until Jena moved here in middle school.”

“I didn’t know you guys were friends for so long. I can’t name anyone I went to kindergarten with.”

An unexpected pang of sadness makes me sit up and clear my throat. “I wish things had been different, honestly. The rivalry just got out of hand.”

“When did that start?”

“I first noticed it freshman year, but it didn’t get really bad until right before she left school. We’d always been a little competitive, but last year it became all-consuming. Suddenly everything I wanted, she wanted. And she started making really reckless decisions, acting out. She also really hated Jena and Felix together and kept trying to tell Jena that she could do better, so they were constantly arguing about that. It was a whole mess. This time last year, Claire, Jena, and I were basically inseparable. It’s wild how much can change in a single year.”

“Tell me about it.”

Dylan and I fall into a comfortable silence. For a while, the only sound in the whole yard is the lake water washing up on the shore and the crackling fire.

He gets up to adjust a log, and a fresh cluster of sparks dances up into the air. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” he says, sitting back down, “but I’m very glad I came to this party.”

I laugh. “I’m very glad you came to this party too. Almost makes the punch in the face worth it.”

Definitely. It was definitely worth it, but I’m not about to be caught sounding desperate.

He looks up over my shoulder and I turn. Jena’s stomping back from the hammock with a scowl on her face. Both hands are fisted at her sides.

“Don’t mind me, just passing through.” She swipes the bottle of Malibu off the ground and wobbles toward the boat dock. Mumbling about boys being fucking idiots.

I sigh.

“Really glad I drove them both here,” Dylan says. “That’ll be an interesting car ride. What do you think will come first, puke or tears?”

I laugh. “Luckily, I have the power to save you from at least one of those possibilities. Jena can crash here with me tonight. I’ll drop her at home in the morning. As for the other, I suggest you crack a window.”

Dylan barks out a laugh. “If he throws up in my car, I’ll be the one crying.”

He sits back down, pulls my hand into the space between the chairs, and laces his fingers with mine. My stomach is made of butterflies. I smile like a damn fool. Excitement and nerves war for dominance and his gaze drops to my mouth.

Is he going to—

Someone clears their throat with a gross, phlegmy cough, and he jerks away from me.

Claire stands behind his chair, arms folded. “Sorry to interrupt your little…whatever this is.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

Dylan launches himself out of his chair, looking extraordinarily uncomfortable. “You didn’t interrupt. I was heading out anyway.”

I jump to my feet. That can’t be how our moment ends, with yet another Claire interruption. A few more minutes alone and I would have had him. “It’s not that late. We could go for a walk around the lake before you go? There’s a footpath that circles the whole thing.”

So much for not sounding desperate.

Claire’s arms drop to her sides and her expression morphs from sarcasm to pleading. “Actually, Brooke, I came back to apologize. I don’t know what got into me back there.” She waves aimlessly at the house. “But we clearly have some things to hash out. Do you have a minute to talk? Privately?”

WHAT?? No!

“Actually, Claire, I think we’ve said enough for one night. Me and Dylan are busy—”

He holds up a hand. “We can talk on Monday. You two should sort this out. I need to get Felix out of here before Jena kills him anyway. I’ll, um…see you later, Brooke.”

I watch, helpless to stop him, as he turns tail and trudges over to Felix. He makes quick work of nudging the idiot from his hammock and they stumble around the other side of the house. Before I know it, Dylan’s gone, and I’m left alone in the backyard with fucking Claire.

My emotions are so out of control that I feel like I’m vibrating. My skin is prickly, my hands are clasped so tight I can no longer feel my fingers, and my chest is filled with white-hot rage-fire that she pours gas on.

Loud, belligerent barks of laughter replace her fake-ass-pleading expression and she practically doubles over with the effort of it.

“Oh my god,” she wheezes. “He straight-up ran away from you. How embarrassing.”

My fingernails dig into my palms.

“I told you. You never had a chance with him,” she continues, wiping tears of amusement from her eyes. “You’re a consolation prize, at best, but you’re still making goo-goo eyes and falling all over yourself to weasel your way into being his second choice. How pathetic do you have to be?”

“How the fuck are you still here?” I demand.

“Oh, I didn’t actually leave. I’ve been walking that little path around the lake, trying to sober up. I was about to head home when I realized you still had my phone. This whole thing”—she gestures at Dylan’s now vacant chair—“was a hilarious by-product.”

She holds out her hand, like she expects me to be walking around with her phone in my pocket.

My brain straight-up malfunctions with rage.

I hate her so much I can’t even breathe around it.

I want to say the perfect thing to hurt her the way she constantly hurts me.

I want to go grab her phone and stuff it in the garbage disposal.

But more than anything, I want her to slink back to the hole she crawled from and die there.