Page 3

Three

Before

September 2nd

Well, if it isn’t another successful lake party. I smile from my perch on the kitchen island, admiring the sheer number of people who have shown up tonight, and remember the first party I threw here freshman year. Only about three people showed, and I felt like a loser. Now, almost half of Waldorf is in attendance. This place has become the primo party spot for the entire school, and I am their party queen.

The front door opens, and I watch three sophomores poke their heads in and look around. I grab my phone from the counter and hop down. Partygoers slip out of my way as I cross the room. I vaguely recognize the three boys from the soccer team. Felix probably invited them.

I come to a stop on the landing and smile. “Hey! Come on in. Is this your first time at the lake house?” I ask, knowing full well it is.

The shortest of the three nods vigorously. “Felix told us to come. Is that okay?”

“Of course. There are some house rules though. No fights, no drama, and no damage to the house. If you drink, you have to give up your keys and either get a ride home or order an Uber. You can pick up your car in the morning. And last but definitely not least: if you want to stay, you have to surrender your phones.”

I reach over to grab the already full basket on the entryway table.

The boys look from me to the basket, and the short one speaks up again. “Why do we have to give you our phones?” His voice is squeaky and grates on my ears.

“Waldorf has a zero-tolerance policy for underage drinking, and the last thing anyone needs is an incriminating photo or Instagram story to cause trouble. If nobody has their phones, then what happens here stays here, and we can party in peace.”

Almost everyone here has Ivy League aspirations, and everyone has a future too bright to have it ruined by a party. The point of tonight is to unwind, not risk anyone’s future.

The gangly kid in the back nods toward my hand. “You have your phone,” he says, sounding more than irritated.

My teeth clench but I smile. “It’s my house. And I’m controlling the music. If you have a problem with that or any of my other rules, you’re free to leave.”

They all exchange a look, but in the end, they cave and set their phones in the basket with the others.

“Thanks for coming, guys!” I say, placing the basket back on the table. “You can pick them up again on your way out. Have fun, and don’t break anything.”

They melt into the crowd, and I make my way to my perch on the island, stopping to say hello to people as I go.

This is my happy place.

I lift myself back onto the counter and sigh. I love it here. Both being at the lake house and at the top of the Waldorf food chain. I’m so excited for senior year I can hardly stand it. It’s going to be this every day: The smiles, the adoration, the friends, the attention. The perfect Goodwin daughter having her perfect senior year.

This property was practically made for a good time. Three years ago my parents bought it for the tax write-off, and they use it only a couple weekends a year, which means this massive waterfront house is basically mine. We’re also the only property on the far west side of the lake, so we have all the privacy we need to unwind and press pause on the near constant Waldorf pressure.

The house is immaculate. White walls, cabinets, marble countertops. Cream sofas. Dark wood floors that are surprisingly easy to clean after parties. Warm wood furniture sets that probably cost as much as my car. Lake-themed artwork in vintage frames on the walls. Whether it’s full of dancing teens or a handful of friends enjoying the boat or the fire pit outside, this place shines like I do. It’s a physical manifestation of being a Goodwin: beautiful, influential, and impressive.

I spot Jena and Felix dancing together in the middle of the sunken-movie-room-turned-dance-floor on the other side of the dining space. They’re impossible to miss, even from this far away. Felix’s neon T-shirt is the brightest yellow I’ve ever seen—they could probably spot him from space. And Jena’s silver long-sleeve bodycon dress sparkles in the light.

As I watch, Felix cups Jena’s face and she looks at him like he’s the only person in the room, despite the twenty-something people grinding around them to Nicki Minaj. The sparkles in their eyes have me searching for the person who makes me feel the same way. I find him across the party, near the door, dipping in and out of sight behind a tall kid I think I remember from political studies last year.

Dylan.

Jena said he’d be here, but I didn’t believe it until he walked through the door with her and Felix. Dylan isn’t a partier. His family owns the bookstore in town, and he helps out there after school, on days he doesn’t have soccer practice, and works full shifts on weekends. He’s not going to leave work and drive twenty minutes up into the mountains to hang out with a bunch of drunk classmates. He’s not that guy. He doesn’t even drink.

And yet, here he is.

Jena catches my eye from the den and nods toward him, mouthing a silent I told you so .

This is my chance to talk to him, to really talk to him, but I don’t move from the island. Instead, I reach for my cup on the counter, full of some rum punch concoction that Beau made. There’s a giant bowl of it in the middle of the island behind me, surrounded by discarded Solo cups. I have no idea what he put in it, but it’s strong .

Maybe another cup will give me courage. There’s a lot at stake here.

First, Dylan never comes to parties, so I don’t want to ambush him in the first half hour or this will likely to be his last trip to the lake house. Second, he and Claire only broke up a month ago. I don’t want to seem like a vulture. And third, while we’re friend ly , we’re not friends. Claire made sure of that. When we speak, I have to somehow traverse all of that baggage to get to a place where he not only wants to spend more time with me but is willing to overlook whatever Claire has said behind my back.

That’s a lot of history to get past, and I have one good shot at getting his attention in a meaningful way before someone else does. Someone braver than me.

It’s too much pressure. I’m going to say the wrong thing and blow my chances—

“Hey, cut it out.”

I startle, surprised to find Jena standing at the counter in front of me. “What?”

“Stop spiraling.”

“How do you know I’m spiraling?”

“I can see it on your face. You need to chill out.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m completely fine. Just enjoying the party.”

She raises a perfect eyebrow at me. “Okay, then go talk to him. Tell him about our homecoming plans and see if he wants to join us. The limo is going to be a blast. Plus, he already knows Felix and Beau from the team, so it’ll be like a fun group hang.”

I spot him again, moving deeper into the party. He wades around clusters of people and disappears through the open double doors of my dad’s library. Of course he found the books.

“I don’t know,” I say. “He’s probably still drowning in bad breakup vibes. I don’t want to put him on the spot and make him feel backed into a double date he wants no part of.”

Jena grabs my knees and pulls my attention back to her. “Dylan’s not the kind of person to get backed into anything. Look at how long it took him to show up to a party here. Besides, it won’t just be the four of us in the limo. Beau is probably going to ask half the dance team until someone says yes—or invite a freshman if all else fails. It won’t look like a setup. Ask him. What’s the worst that can happen?”

He could laugh in my face.

Or get super awkward about it and refuse to meet my eye for the rest of the year.

Or Claire could find out about it and set my car on fire.

“You know Claire’s going to cause problems if we get together.”

“What is she going to do from a full county away? It’s not like she kept in touch with anyone when she moved. She blocked us all and fucked off. How would she even find out? And if she did, who cares what Claire Heck thinks? She and Dylan only got together because she wanted to one-up you .”

Snippets of that conversation with Claire flicker through my mind. Her telling me that she and Dylan were dating—a few weeks after I confessed my long-standing crush on him. She’d pretended to know nothing about it, acted like that conversation never happened, then accused me of trying to steal her new boyfriend.

Two months later, her dad lost his job, her family sold their house, and Claire was yanked from Waldorf and sent to public school. She lost everything, but she held on to Dylan by the skin of her teeth. For a few more months at least.

Just to spite me, I’m sure.

Jena squeezes my knee. “Don’t let her ruin this for you again. He’s single. He came to your party, and he’s been smiling at you when you’re not looking. Nobody’s standing in your way this time but you. Goodwins aren’t cowards.”

I sit up a little more. Damn straight, we’re not.

“Yeah,” Felix says, appearing at her shoulder. “What Jena said.”

I laugh because I know he didn’t hear one word of our conversation. They spin off to resume dancing and I pick at my manicure.

Jena made quite a few points. Homecoming is the perfect excuse. If he’s not into it, he can bow out without making it awkward for either of us. A simple Sorry, I’m not going to homecoming or I already made plans to go with some other friends and we both escape unscathed.

Or he could say yes…

I slip off the counter and make my way through the crowd. Who cares that he dated Claire? We may have been friends back in the day, but we’re not anymore. I haven’t seen or talked to her in four months. Besides, my feelings for Dylan predate anything she had going on with him and she knows it. I’m tired of her standing in the way of what I want.

I poke my head into the library, and there he is.

Dylan Miller.

He’s standing to the side of my father’s desk, studying the rows and rows of built-in bookshelves. There are fewer people in here, and we’re further from the speakers in the other room. The relative quiet feels more intimate. I slip around a group cackle-laughing about something and call his name.

His grin is blinding. He’s wearing a light blue T-shirt and jeans, but he could be the teen heartthrob on the cover of a magazine. He looks like a genetic blend of Henrys, both Golding and Cavil—part chiseled features, part tall, dark, and approachable—and my heart is suddenly beating a thousand times a minute.

I try to pretend it’s not and smile at him. “Hey! You made it!”

He slides the book he was looking at back on the shelf. “Yeah. Jena and Felix piled on about how fun it was out here, so I thought I’d break my long-standing homebody vibe and check it out.”

“And? How do you feel about your decision?”

His gaze dances across my face. “So far, so good. But then again, I’ve always been great at making fantastic decisions, so it’s no surprise.”

I laugh and someone in the other group bumps into my back. I stumble into Dylan, and he grabs my shoulders, maneuvering us in a circle until I’m between him and the books. “You good?”

He’s so close now. My dad’s bookshelves are to my back and he hovers a breath away. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Nothing rattles a Goodwin, right?” He winks.

“It’s one of our greatest features. Well, that and the genetics.”

He looks down at my pink party dress and grins. “There are a lot of features to admire at this party.” My cheeks flame, and he seems surprised that he said that out loud, because he clears his throat and steps back. “So your parents don’t mind you throwing parties like this at their fancy lake house?”

“They might, if they knew about it,” I say, lacing my fingers beneath my chin to feign innocence. “They think I’m at Jena’s tonight.”

Dylan rests the back of his hand against his forehead in mock horror. “You lied to the life bringers? Brooke Goodwin, I never would have guessed.”

I shrug. “These things are always really tame. I make sure everyone gets home okay, and nothing has ever been broken or damaged, so it’s a victimless crime. Besides, we all need a party from time to time to stay sane under all the pressure.”

“Now that I can understand.” He runs a hand through his dark hair with a sigh. “Still, I’m surprised they haven’t caught you yet. Don’t they use this place?”

“Almost never. There are perks to having parents who are too busy climbing their respective career ladders to notice what their daughter is doing. As long as I get straight As, show up to all my volunteer opportunities, and get into Yale this year, they’re pretty hands-off.”

His gaze bores into me. “That sounds exhausting. Especially when you factor in student government and dance team too.”

I wave it off, but I’m shocked he’s noticed so much about my extracurriculars. I could probably recite his entire soccer schedule, but I thought that attention was one-sided. “I’m pretty good at juggling all the plates and keeping them happy. I think our party space is safe for a while.”

He looks like he doesn’t believe me, but he lets it go. Someone calls his name from the doorway, and he turns and holds up a finger for them to wait. But I’m not ready for our moment to end yet.

When he turns back toward me, I tug his shirt until he leans closer.

“Do you want to dance?” I ask.

He straightens and looks at me, pensive. With anyone else, I might be offended that he’s not immediately taking my hand, but I know Dylan. He never does anything without thinking it through, and right now, he’s thinking about where he’s at in his post-breakup timeline and whether he’s ready for what’s in front of him. I know it like I know this party is the start of an epic senior year. Like I know Felix and Jena are endgame, even if they’ve broken up three times this summer.

So when he holds out his hand and says, “I’d love to,” it feels like I’ve won the lottery.

My stomach fills with butterflies. I reach out and his fingers wrap around my hand. His touch sears my skin in the best way. We make our way out of the library to the living room, and I can feel eyes on us.

I’m so wrapped up in the moment that I don’t hear the front door slam until a pause between songs quiets the room, and someone shouts, “Oooh, look. Another party I wasn’t invited to.”

Dylan rips his hand from mine, and I twist to face the door.

Clad in an above-the-knee faux-leather dress, Claire Heck stands on the landing. Her dirty-blond hair hangs in waves around her shoulders, and her ice-blue eyes stare straight into my soul as she takes in me and Dylan standing side by side.

I feel all the blood drain from my face, and I only have one thing to say: “Shit on a cracker.”