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Madison Dalrymple leaned her shoulder against the giant oak tree and tried not to panic.

Cheyenne was late. Later than late. This wasn’t how the plan was supposed to go down.

They had agreed to meet at the park under the oak tree by eight o’clock at the latest. But it was twenty past, and Cheyenne hadn’t shown up or called or texted and she wasn’t answering Madison’s calls or texts, and the combination of heat and anxiety had put Madison into a full-on sweat.

Her shirt was glued to her back. Her shorts were bunching up in the middle.

The bag of weed she’d bought off the old Perv was practically baking in her front pocket.

Maybe meeting at the park had been a bad idea, but Madison’s dad hadn’t given them much of a choice.

He’d sprung it on her yesterday that the whole family was spending her birthday together at the fireworks show like it was a surprise she would actually be happy with.

Turning fifteen wasn’t as big a deal as sixteen, but being dragged to the park with her dad and her stepmom and her whiny half-brother felt more like a punishment than a celebration.

Gnats and mosquitos were everywhere. The food was disgusting.

The punch was like cough syrup. There were at least two hundred people sprawled across the field and splashing in the lake as they waited for the fireworks to start, and Madison hated every single one of them.

“Cheyenne,” she mumbled, her eyes skimming mullets and poodle perms. “Where are you?”

At least the sun was finally setting. By ten this morning, the temperature had soared past one hundred.

The lake felt warmer than bath water. Her sunscreen had sweated off hours ago.

Her skin was broiling. Madison watched heat waves shimmering across the parking lot at the top of the hill.

Cars were packed tightly into the spaces.

Bikes were abandoned along the sidewalk and down the stairs.

Someone had turned off the overhead lights.

The fireworks show was going to start soon.

The whole town was acting like the Fourth of July was hugely important, when nobody knew the difference between the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, and they had to hum most of the words to “The Star-Spangled Banner” when the school band played.

It was just an excuse to eat too much and drink too much so they could all forget they were trapped inside this stinking wet turd of a town.

She gripped her phone in her hand. Her stepmom had already called twice looking for her, pretending that she wanted to be one big happy family, but Madison knew Hannah was trying to put on a show.

Like, pretend that she was Madison’s real mother.

Like, pretend that she didn’t secretly hate Madison.

Worse, Madison’s dad kept acting as if Madison was the problem.

Her actual mother, his wife, had only been dead for eight years, and he wanted to play it like she’d never even existed.

“Shit,” Madison cursed.

She wasn’t going to let Hannah ruin things for her.

Not this time. She checked the time on her phone again.

Cheyenne was officially twenty-six minutes late.

Madison took a deep breath, told herself that twenty-six minutes was nothing.

Once, Cheyenne was an hour late, and a strange car had dropped her off outside Madison’s house.

Not even a Mustang or a Corvette, but a station wagon with those little cartoon characters on the back for a mom, a dad, two kids and a dog.

Hannah hadn’t seen the car, but she’d turned all judgmental stepmother over the fresh hickey on Cheyenne’s neck, narrowing her eyes like what a whore .

“Madison?”

“What!” Madison yelped out the word. She started to sweat for real when she realized the woman who’d said her name was Hannah’s best friend since forever. That Emmy Clifton-Lang also happened to be a police officer brought out an extra layer of panic.

“You’re a little jumpy,” Emmy said. “What’s up, birthday girl?”

“Nothing.” Madison caught herself before she clamped her hand over the bag of weed in her pocket. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. Are you drinking enough water?” Emmy took off her hat. She had naturally curly hair, but she kept it up in a bun like an old lady, even though she and Hannah had both turned thirty years old last month. “It’s hotter out here than people think.”

“I know,” Madison said, because did she think Madison was stupid? “That’s why I’m standing under a tree. In the shade. Alone.”

Emmy didn’t take the hint. She rested her hand on the tree. “You know that saying—don’t miss the forest for the trees?”

Madison rolled her eyes. All people did lately was give her advice she didn’t ask for. “What?”

“Sometimes you think you know who you’re dealing with, and you ignore the signs that maybe they’re not the best thing in the world for you.

” Emmy shrugged. “Sometimes, you miss the big picture because you’re too focused on the little stuff like having fun and sneaking out of the house and doing things you know you’re not supposed to do.

Then suddenly, one day, you’re hit with the consequences of your actions. ”

“God,” Madison groaned. She knew exactly where this Cheyenne Baker Is a Bad Influence lecture was coming from. “Tell Hannah to get a life, okay? She can stop sending people to talk to me. I’m leaving this stupid town as soon as I can.”

“I hear you,” Emmy said. “College is a long way off, though. A lot can happen in three years.”

“Sure.” Madison wasn’t going to tell her the truth, that if the plan worked, all she and Cheyenne had to do was wait out the next two months, then they would move to Atlanta and never have to deal with people telling them what to do ever again.

Emmy offered, “I could show you around Mercer if you want. The campus is beautiful. I loved it there. Met some really cool people.”

Madison rolled her eyes again. “I don’t care about college, okay?”

“Maybe not now, but listen, you’re supposed to babysit Cole next weekend. Why don’t you come early and we can talk about—”

“I’m late.” Madison made her voice dead cold. “I told Cheyenne I’d meet her at the SnoBall stand ten minutes ago.”

“Okay, but give me just one more second, please.” Emmy held onto her hand, which was weird. Then she squeezed Madison’s fingers. “I want you to know—you should already know—that Hannah really loves you.”

Madison’s heart suddenly got jumpy. She felt the warmth of Emmy’s hand wrapped around hers. Inexplicably, she wanted to cry.

“She watched you grow up.” Emmy smiled. “We both did. We both love you.”

Madison swallowed the lump in her throat. “Whatever.”

She slipped her hand free, leaving Emmy alone with her old lady bun and her stupid smile and her stupid son who still watched baby cartoons even though he was eleven years old.

Madison waited until she’d reached the bleachers to wipe her nose with the back of her hand. She looked at the time on her phone again. The panic flooded back in. Cheyenne was officially thirty-one minutes late. Had Madison gotten something wrong? Were they supposed to meet at the house?

She shook her head, because that wasn’t right.

She hadn’t gotten anything wrong. They had gone over the plan dozens of times, even walked the route with a stopwatch, then taken their bikes because it felt safer to cut across the backroads instead of going through downtown where some busybody could spot Cheyenne and screw up her alibi.

Madison couldn’t wait to tell Cheyenne about lying straight to Emmy’s face.

They weren’t meeting at the SnoBall stand.

They were going to meet under the oak tree, then ride their bikes back to Cheyenne’s house, then they were going to borrow Cheyenne’s dad’s car and boost some of his scotch, then they were going to go joyriding around town while all the stupid people watched the fireworks.

She had thought about it so many times that it felt like it had already happened: Mr. Baker’s brand-new Jetta zooming over a hundred miles an hour down the stretch past Main Street, Madison sticking up from the sunroof, arms wide, the air whipping her hair around while Rihanna blasted through the speakers.

Two months. That was what Madison really needed to think about.

The plan was going to work. They were really going to get away from here.

It was actually going to happen. All they had to do was hold on until September.

They were going to hitch a ride to Atlanta and stay in a suite at the Ritz-Carlton and get VIP tickets to Music Midtown and meet some older guys who could get them into clubs and they’d probably end up married to football players and living in mansions.

That was Cheyenne’s prediction, at least, and just like when they were in middle school, she was bringing Madison along for the ride.

Which was great for Madison. She had never been popular, never fit in, always been too nerdy or too weird.

Then Cheyenne’s dad had moved the family to Clifton to take a job at the factory, and Madison’s life had changed completely.

Before then, she’d never been in trouble, never attracted attention, never talked back, never worn make-up, never even been kissed by a boy.

She might as well have been dead.

Only Cheyenne had been able to bring her to life.

She knew how to have fun and, despite what Emmy Old Lady Bun was blabbing on about, how to get away with it.

Cheyenne had shown Madison how to purse her lips, turn on her little girl voice, pretend like she was stupid so that men felt like they were big, strong protectors, and then they gave you whatever you wanted.

That was Cheyenne’s secret trick—to go after men.