by Janna King
Mia didn’t wait for her to finish, but charged for the front exit. She wove her way through the sweaty, drunk throng of partiers.
“Fireworks in ten minutes!” she heard Eve yell as she left. Some partiers stumbled out the door behind her. Mia found her cruiser next to another Lyndon Wyld bike. The third, Grant’s, was gone. She rode off, not really knowing which way to go. People in town started to get settled in to watch the show, climbing on roofs and heading in groups toward the beach. Her ears were still ringing from The Rabbit Hole house music and loud insanity. She peddled along to the din of the loving families and mellow groups of friends. Some were taking selfies, but most had their faces turned forward instead of down at their phones.
She realized that she had only two Insta Story posts and Lyndon wanted four. She stopped in front of the Island Pie Shop and took a selfie. The store was dimly lit behind her, enough to reveal July Fourth decorations. She could only manage a closed-mouth smile, and captioned:
American as apple pie. #WyldFourth #sweet
She went to Ruby’s Instagram and checked the geotag. The Google Maps directions revealed it was seven minutes away by bike. She followed the navigation. The cobblestones under her felt bumpier than they had on her ride to The Rabbit Hole. She stood on the pedals and pushed down with more force, angry at Cole for leaving. She exhaled with a groan, pissed that the night had gone downhill so quickly. She wanted to trust Cole and that aching desire made her feel humiliated. Her Southie posse of high school Girl Vault friends used to say, “Chicks before dicks.” They would never abandon one another for a guy. Yet she’d chosen to wait for Cole instead of making sure Ruby got home okay.
Furious with herself most of all, she peddled harder.
THIRTY-FIVE
As Mia reached the Wear National estate, the fireworks burst overhead. She couldn’t see them fully because the home was sprawling and the best view was from the beach side. The property looked similar to the Lyndon Wyld estate, save for the Wear National red accents, instead of green and beige.
She leaned her bike against one of the palm trees jutting around the facade as a nod to the brand’s Cali beach inspiration, though Otto hailed from Brooklyn. These trees didn’t jibe with Nantucket, but neither did Wear National.
She walked to the front door and turned the knob, but it was locked. House music thumped from inside. She could see through the window. The interior was void of partiers, which surprised Mia given the rumors about Otto’s underground raves and bacchanalian orgies. She remembered Ruby’s text to Grant:
Evry1’s at the beach. Pool 2 myself.
And that kissy-face emoji.
“What am I doing?” she muttered to herself.
She glanced back at the driveway. The G was there, which was curious, but no other Lyndon Wyld cruisers besides hers. Maybe Grant had brought his around back. She walked to the side of the house into the yard, cringing at her potential faux pas if Ruby and Grant were simply having a good ol’ time skinny-dipping.
Mia’s brow furrowed when the first person she saw was Presley, alone, standing at the edge of the pool, staring into it. That explained the G outside. Having changed out of the daiquiri-stained dress, Presley now wore a white Lyndon Wyld sleeveless jumpsuit, similar to Grace’s at the Summer Solstice Soiree. Her arms were crossed.
“Presley?” said Mia.
Presley’s attention remained on the pool. She looked as if she was deciding on whether or not to buy a new pair of pumps. Mia followed Presley’s gaze. What she saw sent a shockwave down her spine.
At the opposite end of the pool, Grant floated, facedown in the water. Blood feathered out from his lifeless body.
Presley’s eyes locked with Mia’s. “You’re here.” Her voice was calm, almost flippant.
Mia spun away from the pool. “What is happening? What should I do? What is happening? What should I do?” she repeated in a whispered mantra to herself. As fireworks exploded over the harbor, her mind landed on an answer—it was like she’d been programmed: Snap and post. The fact that at this moment, Mia was thinking of her followers and likes, and of Lyndon’s approval, made her hate herself. Still, she smiled brightly into the tiny camera hole at the top of her smartphone.
When Presley slapped the phone from her hand as she pressed the “+” icon to post, Mia was smacked back to reality. “Fuuuuuuck,” she muttered, crouching down, knees weak, hands shaking, understanding that the first friend she’d made on this “dream summer adventure” was now dead. She swallowed the swell of tears, knowing that if she released them, she wouldn’t stop.
Another blast of fireworks made her jump. But nothing hit harder than what she saw when she followed Presley into the pool house: Ruby, naked, brutally beaten, and unconscious. Mia threw up, unable to contain the sickening mix of horror, fear, and guilt from her desperate desire to run. The gun in Ruby’s limp hand meant that the party was over, literally and figuratively, for all of them. Grant, forever.
Mia watched Presley, grace under pressure. Presley didn’t post, puke, or cry. She handled it, which made Mia feel relieved and freaked out at the same time, especially because Presley was there. Why was she there?
“You’d eat dirt before going to a Wear National party,” said Mia.
“I thought Mac was here, bringing a keg from the bar.” Presley launched into her drama with Mac, setting Mia off.
“Enough with the soap opera shit, Presley!” she exploded. “We need to call nine-one-one!”
“Whoa!” Presley leaned back. “I was going to do that, sugar, when you arrived.” She lifted the wall phone receiver.
The fireworks finale started outside with a steady stream of pops, bangs, and booms. Presley and Mia froze, waiting for silence. After the finale ended, Presley dialed.
The operator’s voice rose from the receiver. “Nine-one-one. What’s the emergency?” Presley hung up, wiping the phone with a towel.
Mia glared at her. “What? Why would you hang up?”
“They’ll come. Caller ID.”
Presley mopped up Mia’s vomit with the towel, leaving a tiny diamond-tipped coke spoon on the floor in the corner. It could’ve been anyone’s. So many drugs must’ve been consumed at this party. Mia flashed on the Molly in Ruby’s palm and Ruby’s legs buckling at The Rabbit Hole.
Presley shoved the towel at Mia. “Your hurl, girl.” She grabbed Mia’s arm and strode toward door.
Mia resisted. “What are you doing?”
“We are leaving.” said Presley.
THIRTY-SIX
Mia felt like barfing again as she followed Presley around the side of the Wear National estate to the front. The smell of her own vomit in the towel she clutched kept her stomach turned inside out. It was hard to keep up with Presley, whose strides toward the G were purposeful, but not panicky.
Mia glanced around. The estate’s grounds were still deserted, though the palm trees cast shadows that made Mia feel watched. Presley noticed the beach cruiser leaning against one of their thin trunks.
“Did you ride that?” Presley asked, her voice low.
“Yes,” answered Mia.
Presley pointed to the vomit towel. “Throw that in the G because we can’t toss it around here.” She pointed to the bike. “Throw that in, too, and let’s go.” She strode to the car. Mia tossed her phone in the passenger’s seat and dumped the towel in the back before rushing to the bike. She tried to lift it into the back of the G, but struggled with its weight.
“Fuck,” muttered Presley. “If I chip my polish, how am I going to explain that?”
Together, they picked up each end of the bike. Mia’s whole body felt weak. Her arms shook as the they got it in the back of the car. In the process, her long sea glass pendant necklace got stuck on the handlebars and broke. Mia didn’t notice as she clamored into the car. She picked up her phone from the seat and buckled in.
“You’re stronger than you look,” said Mia, breathing heavily. She realized she had never seen Presley break a sweat.
And she wasn’t breaking a sweat now.
“Real strength has nothing to do with looks,” replied Presley as she drove them off.
They peeled down the driveway to the street.
“This isn’t happening.” Mia stared forward, shaking her head.
“It happened,” said Presley. “But not on our watch.”
“What are we doing?” Mia shook her head, the wrongness of this whole situation hijacking her brain.
“We sent for help, Mia,” said Presley. “You can’t save Grant or Ruby now. You have to save yourself. We have to save each other.”
Sirens blared in the distance but quickly grew closer. Presley turned down a thin alleyway behind the saltbox homes. She parked in the darkness as two police cars and an ambulance sped by, going the opposite direction, toward the Wear National estate. Mia held her breath and when she exhaled, uncontrollable sobs came out. The blood rushed from her head and her hands at the same time, making her dizzier than she’d ever felt. Her fingers tingled like a million tiny pin pricks.
“I killed him!” blurted Mia, crying hysterically.
Presley whipped her head toward Mia. “What are you saying?!”
“Grant . . . he got a text from Ruby at The Rabbit Hole,” cried Mia. “I knew he shouldn’t go over there. She and Axel were so wasted. Something bad was bound to happen.”
“You didn’t kill him!” Presley pounded the steering wheel. “He was an adult. He didn’t act like one, but he made the choice to go. We have no idea what happened when he got there.”
“It doesn’t matter. Now, he’s dead! Grant is dead! And it’s my fault,” wailed Mia.
“Stop saying that!” Presley grabbed Mia’s shoulder. “Look at me! Don’t ever say that again!”
Mia started to hyperventilate. “I . . . can’t . . . breathe . . .” she gasped. Heat radiated through her entire body. More sweat beaded on her forehead and her chest. “I’m going to die.”
Presley released Mia’s shoulder and collected herself. “You’re not going to die. You’re having a panic attack. We call them the vapors where I’m from. Breathe in through your nose for a count of five and out through your mouth for a count of seven, like this.” Presley breathed in through her nose slowly and evenly, then out through her mouth, which was shaped like she was going to whistle.
Mia tried, but she couldn’t control her breaths, her body, her thoughts, or her tears. She squeezed her phone tightly in her hand, her middle finger slicing on the broken glass. Blood oozed from the tip. She was unhinged.
Presley grabbed Mia’s cracked phone and cut her finger on the glass as well. She took Mia’s hand and pressed their bloody fingers together. Surprised, Mia calmed.
“You didn’t just do that.” She stopped crying.
“Damn right, I did.” Presley opened the glove compartment and pulled out a box of tissue. She wiped her finger on one, holding it in her hand.
“Who does a blood promise?” asked Mia in disbelief. With the back of her other hand she wiped the snot that dripped from her nose. “We’re not vampires.”
Presley held the tissue box out for Mia, who plucked one out and blew her nose, then wiped the blood off her finger. The cut was tiny, but she had the urge to slice it more. Ruby would’ve sliced hers more.
“I did that because I want you to know that I’m now your sister,” said Presley.
“Is this some sorority shit? Because you know that’s not me.”
“No, there was no blood involved at the sorority, except that after living together for a semester, we all got our periods at the same time.”
Mia’s breath was still labored. “What are we going to tell everyone?”
Presley’s tone was measured and precise. “We are not going to tell anyone anything, Mia.” She reminded Mia of Miss Skinner, her fourth grade teacher, whose word was the gospel. Miss Skinner told her students that if they didn’t stop chattering, she would nail their feet to the floor and their butts to their chairs. Her students believed her.
Presley continued, “We are going to go back to our house and we are going to hear the news like we’re hearing it for the first time. If you were ever in a school play, then put on your invisible costume and act the fuck out of this shit. Or we could end up in jail.”
“Why? Why would that happen?” Mia’s crying resumed.
“Promise me, Mia, that you will follow the plan. Say you promise,” ordered Presley.
Mia couldn’t get the words out.
“Listen, we’re not lying,” implored Presley. “We don’t know what happened. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. We weren’t supposed to be at the Wear National estate at all.”
Mia tried to control her breath and her thoughts.
Presley turned off the motor. “We’re going to sit here until you calm down and promise me. I’ll wait, however long it takes.” She pulled out another tissue, handing it to Mia. “You got some”—she mimed vomiting—“in your hair there.” She pointed to a lock of Mia’s hair. “Which reminds me . . .”
Presley got out of the car, pushed her seat forward, and reached into the back for the wadded vomit-filled towel. She lifted it out and held it away from her body. Mia wiped her hair with the tissue and put it on top of the towel.
Presley tossed the heap in a nearby garbage can, then got back in the driver’s seat.
“Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
Mia sniffed.
“Here’s what’s what.” Presley stared into Mia. “You don’t know how long I was at that house when you arrived. I don’t know if you were already there before I arrived. You could’ve been hiding.”
Mia shook her head.
Presley continued, “I’m not threatening you, sugar. I’m leveling with you. We don’t know shit about each other, so a promise is mutually beneficial. We’re presenting a united front.”
Time stood still as they sat in the darkness of the alley.
The trees rustled as if they were shushing Mia, telling her to keep quiet. She prayed that nature would protect her. That false solace was obliterated by the siren that returned as the ambulance raced by in the opposite direction.
“Do you think Ruby’s okay?” Mia asked Presley.
“Even if she is, she isn’t,” answered Presley.
After a half hour, Mia still didn’t know if she could face the other seasonaires back at the estate. Presley received a group text from Lyndon. She showed it to Mia:
Everyone meet back at the house. Now.
Mia looked at Presley and said, “I promise.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Mia tried to keep her breathing steady as Presley drove them closer to their estate, which was about twelve blocks from the Wear National house. To Mia, they were worlds apart but far too close.
There weren’t many cars on the residential streets. The families who had been at barbecues and picnics had all gone in for the night. Presley turned the G at the corner with the saltbox house with the Slip ’N Slide in the front yard. The porch lights reflected off the water that slicked the yellow plastic. A tabby cat sat perched on the picnic table cleared of food and the beers that Grant had shared with the dad of the house.
“I say this with love after chatting so closely with you in that alley, but, honey, you need gum,” said Presley.
“I’m sure lots of people vomit on the Fourth of July here,” Mia whispered, barely having enough energy to speak.
“We’re not ‘lots of people.’” Presley pointed to her white patent leather handbag on the floor by the passenger’s seat. “I have some in there.”
The last thing on Mia’s mind was her breath, although now that Presley brought it up, she realized that her mouth tasted like spoiled cottage cheese. In the handbag, she found a pack of sugar-free gum next to two condoms. One wrapper was open and empty. A white lace thong was shoved in the bottom corner. Mia put a piece of gum in her mouth and chewed. The sweet mint cooled her off.
They pulled around to the front of the
estate and stopped. Cole was sitting in an Adirondack. He walked to Mia.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
“Where did you go?” Mia shot back. The anger that rose up in her over his ghosting her at The Rabbit Hole helped burn away her fear.
“Lyndon wants to Skype with us. Who screwed up?” said Presley. “Where’s Grant?” She chuckled. Mia noticed that Presley’s smile wasn’t twitchy or nervous, though she avoided Mia’s eyes.
“How do you know anyone screwed up?” asked Mia. “Maybe she just wants to wish us a Happy Fourth of July, since she didn’t do it earlier.”
Cole checked his watch, his expression curious. “It’s the middle of the night in London.”
A Subaru pulled up and Vincent got out. “Thank you, Andy.” Mia noticed the Lyft sticker on the back.
Vincent handed Andy a woven Free To Be Wyld swag bracelet from several in his camera bag. “Will you put this on and let me take a photo for our social? You’ve got a great look.” Vincent held up his phone with the Lyft app on the screen. “There’s five stars in it for you.”
“For sure,” said Andy.
Vincent snapped a photo of Andy making hang ten fingers.
Andy looked at the bracelet. “I met a dude who shills for this company about a week ago. I think the girl he was with worked for M-Kat.” He nodded to the estate. “You get dope digs—this and The Wauwinet.”
“That’s Jade and J.P.,” said Cole.
“I guess they rendezvoused at Nantucket’s finest resort, because this house isn’t good enough for them,” remarked Presley with a swift exhale.
Andy offered a peace sign and drove off.
Vincent joined the others. He motioned to Presley in her white jumpsuit. “You cleaned up nicely.”