by Taylor Hale
Sliding the bowl on the table away from me, I whisper, “So I ran into West last night.”
Keely drops her phone. “Wait, you saw West? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to upset Miles, then things got a little crazy.”
“Did he say anything? About ignoring you for literally years?”
“Does it matter? I probably just imagined we were closer than we were. I mean, Miles was my best friend.”
“I don’t know, you spent a lot of time with West too.”
“Do you know what happened? With him and Miles?”
“Not a thing. You know how it is here, everyone talks about everyone. But who knows what’s true? Miles and Faye say that West got kicked out and that’s that. There’ve been tons of other rumors about him over the years.”
“Okay, tell me. Please, you’re killing me.”
She picks up her spoon and licks it clean before dipping it back in the bowl. “The rumors range from everything to drug dealer, to serial killer, to not even being related to the Hendrickses at all.”
“Of course they’re related. They have the same eyes. And dimples.”
“Hey, I didn’t say I believed it. That’s just what people say.”
“And serial killer? Really? People need to get a life.”
“I can see it. Well, I can’t not see it. I mean, the guy comes from one of the richest families in Caldwell—like literal millionaires—yet he works at the body shop. It’s a little weird. Plus, he’s so quiet and closed off. He doesn’t hang out with any of the guys he used to in high school.”
“That doesn’t make him a friggin’ serial killer, Keely. He was ‘disowned,’ remember? He must work so he can like, pay for his life.”
“Whatever, Liv. What’s with all the West, West, West? I thought you liked Miles? Especially after that hug last night.”
My cheeks flush. “Miles and I are just friends.”
This is causing major déjà vu. One time in the fifth grade, Keely and I were having a sleepover in her room when we snuck out past midnight to use the Easy Bake Oven in this very kitchen. Keely poured chocolate batter into the tiny pan in my hands when she asked for the first time, “So do you like Miles?”
“Obviously,” I said, oblivious, and once the batter was all in, I set it on the counter and dotted it in silver sprinkles.
“My mom and dad think you two are going to get married.” Keely slid the pan into the tiny oven.
“What? Gross! I don’t like him like that. He’s just my best guy friend.”
“Yeah, that is gross,” she eventually agreed. “I mean, if I had to pick any of the boys, I would definitely pick Carter. He has the longest eyelashes.”
“Carter’s cute,” I admitted, even though at that age, none of us really knew what it meant to actually like a boy. All I knew was that it wasn’t Carter I liked. Or Miles, or anyone else in our grade. Keely and I used to tell each other everything, but this one I kept a secret, like a locket around my neck. I’d known it—maybe even for years—but it didn’t start to make sense until I got older. Keely must have forgotten that I’ve never claimed to like Miles as more than a friend. He probably doesn’t like me that way either.
I hope not, anyway.
When someone knocks at the front door, my body jolts and knocks the table. Milk spills everywhere, and I quickly dab it with a paper towel.
“Jeez, you okay?” Keely asks. “It’s just the door.”
“Who’s here?” I don’t know why my voice trembles.
“Don’t know, let’s find out.” She runs out of the room, and seconds later, “Miles!”
Crap, I didn’t expect him here so early. I’m still in grubby gray sweats and a volleyball T-shirt. Miles was practically a brother to me when we were younger, but it’s weird now for him to see me like this. Keely’s pajamas are cute, while I look like a hobo, so of course she invites him inside.
“You’re here early,” she chimes, “but come on in.”
Miles walks through the archway to the kitchen wearing a sleeveless shirt that shows off the lean muscles on his arms.
“Hi,” I peep.
“How’s it going?” He sits in front of me and smiles.
“Mr. Hendricks.” Roger walks over. “I’m seeing a lot of you in the last twenty-four hours. How are your folks?”
“Hi again, Chief Myers. They’re good, I’ll tell them you said hi.” He pauses. “Sorry to ask, but did you guys find anything else out about what happened last night?”
At least Miles had the guts to ask what I couldn’t.
“Sorry, son. Nothing yet.”
“Damn, that’s too bad,” Miles says. “Anyway, I actually came over to ask you something else. Since it’s sort of a special occasion that Liv’s back in town, I asked my parents if we could hang out at our family’s cabin for a couple days. But I wanted to make sure it was okay if I invited Keely and Liv to come.”
The Hendrickses’ cabin was Miles’s favorite place to go when we were kids, but it’s outside of town, so we only went when his parents brought us. It was the one place where Miles felt like a king; West was never there, and I wasn’t bossy, so we played whatever games Miles wanted and swam in the lake nearby. As much as I’d love to see it again, the request catches me off guard. It’s only my second day here, and I haven’t even adjusted to Keely’s house yet. Besides, movie night with Keely sounded just like old times.
Roger’s brows furrow. “I don’t know . . .” He looks at Keely. “Do you want to go, Lemon?”
Keely glances at me, then to her dad. “I mean, hell yeah, of course I do!”
“Olivia?”
Everyone’s eyes fall on me, and I tense up.
“Sure,” I say. I don’t want to become The Grinch of Summer, I just hope I can catch some sleep, because the irritated, dry sensation in my brain really sucks.
Sun sets a bowl on the table, and steam rises from the orangey-red liquid. “Will anyone else be going, Miles?”
“Nope, just us. And maybe my sister.”
Faye. I was bound to see her eventually but was hoping to put it off for a while longer.
“I don’t see a problem with it,” Roger says. “As long as you girls keep your phones on in case we need you. And it goes without saying: no drinking, no sex, no—”
“Dad!” Keely exclaims. “It’s just Miles. We’re not doing any of that.”
It’s both impressive and scary how good Keely is at lying. Roger eats it up like a bowl of ice cream, even pats her head with a warm smile.
“I know, Lemon. You’re the responsible one.”
“I’ll call your parents, Olivia,” Sun says. “Just to let them know the plan.”
“Okay, so we’re good?” Miles stands. “My dad’s going to let me borrow his Jag, so after you guys get packed, come to my place, and we’ll drive over.”
Keely shouts, “Yes! Can’t wait!”
I’m probably going to regret this.
A giraffe-shaped tree looms over our heads as Keely and I walk the cobblestone path to the Hendricks estate, our backpacks thrown over our shoulders, the afternoon sun hot and sticky. English ivy intertwines on the reddish-brown brick of the mansion that towers three stories above us. Keely knocks on a mahogany door that looks like it’s built to accommodate seven-foot tall giants. An iron hanger shaped like a snarling lion’s head is mounted to the center of it, and when no one answers, Keely bangs that too. Birds flock from a cherry blossom nearby.
“Okeydokey, no one’s getting the door,” she grumbles. “Maybe he’s around back.” Keely adjusts her crop top. “Want to go check? I’ll keep on knock, knock, knocking.”
“I guess.”
Leaving Keely at the front door, I crunch across the gravel of the driveway to the side of the house. This excessively huge estate has bee
n in the Hendricks family for generations. Miles’s great-grandfather, Barron Hendricks, sold gunpowder in the early 1900s, which made him a millionaire. Since then, the estate has been passed down to the eldest son. If that’s their family tradition, then it should go to West next . . . but considering he’s “disowned,” I’m sure Miles will be the one to inherit this property. Personally, I never understood why anyone would want to live here, anyway—there’s too much space, and it intimidates me.
I’m hidden behind the hedges when I hear voices.
“Look, the money’s not for me. It’s for Amelia.” West. I didn’t even see his car, but the parking lot does extend along the other side of their house.
“Amelia isn’t here, is she?” That baritone voice belongs to Brian Hendricks, West’s father. “Weston, if you ever hope to become a part of this family again, you’d better clean your goddamn act up.”
“Fuck off, seriously? I work harder than Miles and Faye could ever imagine. Forget it, I don’t want to be part of your messed-up, narcissistic family.”
My feet are frozen in the grass, my back pressed to the wall, and the thorns prick my skin through my blue tank top. If I get caught, West will think—
“Olivia?”
Crap.
West appears in front of me, his eyebrows pulled together. “Were you eavesdropping on us?”
“No, I was just, I was—”
“What did you hear?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Whatever, bye.”
I jog in front of him, stopping him. “West, wait.”
With our bodies so close, his face changes—his anger fades, and a flicker of something I don’t recognize takes over. I take a step back, embarrassed by my rashness. Where did I get the guts to stop him?
“What?” he asks.
“Are you all right?”
West rubs his eye with the palm of his left hand, just like he did when he was a little kid. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just frustrated with my dad. Look, sorry I snapped just now. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay.”
I open my mouth to say something—anything—but then Miles appears at the side of the house.
“West,” he growls. “What are you doing here?”
West pushes past Miles and says, “Leaving,” before he vanishes around the corner.
“What an ass.” Miles scoffs. “Anyway, forget him. I’ve got my car packed. Where’s Keely?”
It takes me a second to regain my composure. “Banging down your front door,” I say. “Let’s go.”
By the time Miles and I reach the front of the house, West’s car is zooming away from the estate.
“I can’t believe your dad lets you drive this thing,” Keely says as we get into Miles’s dad’s black Jaguar. I hop into the passenger side, swallowed by the smell of pine and cough drops, as Miles gets behind the wheel.
“This isn’t even his best car, honestly,” Miles says in a way that is somehow not braggy, but his voice has a sharp edge, likely still annoyed from encountering West. Miles puts on a pair of Ray-Bans and says, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to hide away for the rest of the weekend.”
“Totally agree,” Keely says.
It takes ten minutes to drive from the estate to downtown, and then we’re reaching the outskirts. We pull up to Caldwell’s final stoplight before the countryside. After all these years, it still takes forever to turn green.
My arm rests outside the open window, and the sun beats down on my skin. On my right, an old man hobbles up to a convenience store and grabs one of the newspapers from the rack. Though the weather in Maine is hot in July, he wears a dark green raincoat and a bucket hat, a scraggly beard covering his face.
Old Man Jenkens. When I was about five, he was the first—and only—person to ever show me how to hook a worm at his fisherman’s supply shop. I didn’t like fishing too much because I always viewed fish as my friends. (Yes, Finding Nemo was my favorite movie.) Mr. Jenkens had laughed when I said that, a short, gruff laugh. But I thought I must have been pretty special, because I had never seen anyone else make him smile. Everyone else at school was scared of Mr. Jenkens; they said he kept bodies in his basement, or that he was actually a ghost who came out of the fog to haunt us. The years haven’t been kind, and his beard is three shades whiter than the last time I saw him. But he’s never scared me.
A rusty silver minivan pulls up beside us with an unnecessary rev of its engine. Dean Bowman is in the driver’s seat with his arm thrown over the wheel, Faye Hendricks on the passenger side with her feet on the dash. I almost want to hide my face, but if Faye recognizes me, she doesn’t acknowledge it. The back windows are tinted, but I can make out another figure through them, probably Shawn.
“Yo, Hendricks!” Dean shouts, and his aviators reflect the sun, Miles, and me.
Miles leans over, and I shrink beneath his weight. The blond hairs of his arm tickle my cheek. “Hey! Race you to the cabin!”
“Yeah right, you rich asshole.” Dean revs his engine again.
“Wait, what?” I whisper to Miles. “You said it was only going to be us.”
Miles opens his mouth to reply, but he’s interrupted by Dean honking his horn over and over again while he looks in the direction of the convenience store. With a huge grin, Dean yells, “Hey, Jenkens, you goofed any kids yet today? Old creep!”
This isn’t right. The light turns green, and Dean rockets ahead. Mr. Jenkens, still clutching his newspaper, spits on the ground with a disgruntled scowl. His eyes lock with mine before Miles flies us past him.
The cabin is more of a single-story house, with terracotta-stained logs lining the exterior to create a “natural” look. The air in the woods is dense with earth and moss, and the sun barely peeks through the cracks in the canopy of leaves above our heads. We’re completely remote out here—Miles’s family owns the whole lake and rents out some of the other cabins in the area, but there isn’t another property within shouting distance. Dean’s minivan is already parked outside, and laughter echoes from behind the cabin.
“I just don’t get why you didn’t tell us Dean and Shawn were coming too,” I say and slam the car door behind me. “You said just Faye might come. You lied to us, Miles.”
Keely slings her backpack over her shoulder and gets out of the backseat. “What’s with you, Liv? Who cares! Obviously we weren’t going to tell my parents there’d be other guys here.”
“Sorry, Liv.” Miles ruffles his hair. “I wasn’t trying to trick you.”
Suddenly I feel dramatic, like I’m totally overreacting. “No worries,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “Sorry, guys. I don’t mean to be so on edge, I’m just overwhelmed by . . . everything.” I plaster a smile on my face. “No more moping, I promise! I can be fun too.” Maybe.
“I know you can,” Miles says.
When we get around to the back, Faye Hendricks is standing around a daytime campfire. She passes through a cloud of smoke on her way to us.
“Did you guys get lost on the way or something?”
White-blond waves reach below her ribs, and freckles stipple her cheeks. Her legs are long and willowy as she moves with the same whimsical, ballet-dancer grace she’s always had. Miles and Faye are twins, but their faces look nothing alike. Their similarities are their blondness and paleness and susceptibility to sunburns. The skin beside Faye’s pink spaghetti straps and Miles’s cheeks below his sunglasses are a matching shade of red. I feel bad for thinking all her photos were Facetuned because she really is that pretty.
“Wow, Olivia. You look amazing.” Faye’s lips curve, but her voice is hostile. There was a time when I blamed my accident on her. I’d think, if Faye never taunted me, I never would have been on that cliff. But Dr. Levy helped me understand that Faye never made me do anything. I chose to be on the cliff that night. Blaming her will only red
irect negativity and stunt my healing process.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Seriously, I didn’t expect you to be so tall.”
I’m not tall. I’m five foot six.
Dean appears behind her and slings a limp arm over her shoulder, wearing the same white shirt he was in at the boat party, only now a leather jacket is thrown over it. I wonder if he’s washed it since, or maybe he just has a bunch of the same shirt. He kisses the side of Faye’s head, but he’s looking at me the whole time.
Gross. Why is Faye with this guy? I guess beneath his sliminess, there is something decent-looking about Dean, but his slit-like brown eyes and long nose are serpentine.
I never cared about “adult gossip” when I was a kid, but I do remember my parents talking about how Dean’s dad yelled at his wife all the time. Sometimes when I biked around the block, I’d see her smoking cigarettes at the curb of their house, looking thin and sad. But despite how close our houses were growing up, Dean and I never had a single playdate. He only ever hung out with Shawn, so I’m not surprised to see he’s here too.
Unlike Dean, I can see why Shawn is appealing. Though he and Dean are paternal cousins, most of Shawn’s genetics came from his mother’s side. He has tawny skin and an athletic frame under that Nike jersey. Keely practically levitates to him, and I get the feeling she’s liked him for a long time. How did I not know this? I guess being away from Caldwell for so long made me less privy even to my best friend’s secrets.
We go to the fire, and I sit on an empty lawn chair. Dark smoke pillars into the afternoon sky, shielded by the forest, and a pile of firewood is stacked carelessly next to the pit. Faye is about to drop onto a log when Dean stops her.
“No, babe. Not there. Over here, beside me.”
I want Faye to tell him to go fuck himself, but she obeys without question. Wow, the Faye Hendricks I knew wouldn’t let anyone tell her what to do, not even teachers. The only person in the world she listened to was her mom. People change. Maybe this new Faye won’t be as mean as the old one.
Dean opens a cooler full of ice and beer and passes some to Shawn.