by Taylor Hale
“Where do you guys keep getting all this booze?” I ask.
“I got my brother to pick all this up,” Shawn says and hands Keely a bottle. She pops off the tab.
We’re lying to Sun and Roger about so many things . . .
“Your cop dad okay with you being here?” Dean asks Keely.
“Yeah, obviously,” Keely mumbles against the lip of her beer, then nods at Miles. “What about your parents? They’re not going to show up, are they?”
“They don’t care about anything we do.” Miles pokes at the fire. Cinders float into the air, and orange sparks pop against the sunset. The effect is hypnotizing, and before I know it, the sun is gone, and relaxation flows through me. I lean back in the chair and stare at the deep sea of stars through the leaves above. I’d forgotten how beautiful the sky is out here. No light pollution, just nature. But as the last shred of sun bleeds from the sky, the fog rolls in. Goosebumps rise on my skin, so I focus on the conversation, even though I haven’t said a word.
“Man, Webster is the worst,” Shawn says. “As soon as a chick graduates, he adds her on Facebook. I swear half his friends list are girls from school.”
“Definitely,” Miles agrees. “Guy’s a creep.”
“Yeah, he weirds me out too,” Faye says. “I saw him lurking downtown once and he couldn’t even make eye contact with me.”
“And he liked one of my posts!” Keely says. “He totally creeps us!”
“Mr. Webster?” I ask. “Didn’t he used to be really nice?”
Dean chuckles. “Are you high? You must be thinking of Mr. Weber from the third grade. We’re talking about Mr. Webster, our asshole Science teacher, Olivia.”
“Right . . . totally.”
“Get with the times, Liv,” Faye says and smiles against her bottle.
How am I supposed to relate with them when I’m so oblivious to their lives now? We were all supposed to grow up together, but now I’m disconnected and detached, a severed artery. I don’t know how to speak or laugh effortlessly like they do, and silence is better than making a fool of myself.
Faye stands and claps her hands together. “Everyone, listen up. I think it’s time we all decide who’s crashing where.”
Keely and I should definitely share a room, but she and Shawn are sitting next to each other on a log, and their shoulders brush as they drunkenly sway. Oh no . . .
“There are only three bedrooms,” Faye says. “Dean and I are sharing the master, but that means there are two left—who’s sleeping where?”
Across the circle, Miles stares at me. A small shudder of discomfort moves up my spine.
“You can crash with me, Keely,” Shawn says. “I’ve got dibs on the room closest to the kitchen.”
“Yeah? I’ll think about it.”
Judging by that mischievous look on her face, she’s into this. But if Keely crashes with Shawn, that would leave me with Miles. I’ve never slept in the same bed as a guy, and maybe I’m not exactly experienced—but I know myself well enough to know this doesn’t feel right. Miles is my friend and everything, but I don’t want to share a freaking bed with him after being back for only a day. The couch is an option, but Miles might get offended. I check my phone. It’s already 10:00 p.m., and I have zero bars of service, only a weak Wi-Fi connection from the cabin. Sweating, I glance into the darkness of the trees surrounding us. They close around me, suffocate me.
I stand. “Hey, I’m going to grab a glass of water. Anyone want anything?”
“Cooler’s empty,” Dean says, “just grab a round.”
“Come with me, Keel.” I nudge her. “I need an extra pair of hands to carry everything.”
Once inside, with the sliding door shut behind us, we’re engulfed by the mustiness of the cabin. It’s an open concept where the living room mirrors a kitchen with a bar. Hendricks family photos line the wooden walls. Brian and his wife, Beatrice. Miles and Faye as kids. Their grandparents. Even some horse on a ranch they must have visited.
Not a single photo of West.
The air conditioner blasts icy air at me. I turn around and a giant deer stares back at me.
I scream.
“What the hell!” I exhale, my hand over my heart. It’s only a head mounted to the wall above the fireplace, but even its glass eyes look alive.
“You good?” Keely laughs.
“That thing is incredibly creepy.”
“Right? Miles’s dad is way too into hunting.”
“I know, but this was never here when I was a kid. I think I’d remember it.”
“Anyway, what’s up? Because I know you’re totally capable of carrying those bottles, so . . .”
I pass her to the kitchen. “I’m okay, it’s just . . . you’re not going to ditch me for Shawn, are you?” Keely’s silence gets under my skin. I reach into the fridge and take out four beers, a cooler for Faye, and a water bottle for me. “Keely, come on.”
“You don’t want to share a room with Miles?”
“No! Are you kidding?”
“I thought you were cool with him!”
“I am, but not like that. I don’t know. It’s too soon.”
“But I really, really like Shawn.”
“Keely, please don’t make me share a room with Miles.” I shove a few of the beers in her hands. “I’m not doing it. I’ll sleep on the couch if I have to, but that’ll make it so weird. And what ever happened to us spending real time together?”
Maybe I’m being self-centered for wanting her to drop her plans for me, but right now, my own best friend is a stranger. We’ve always had each other’s backs. Even in the fifth grade, when Faye told everyone I was so weird because I’d been dropped on my head as a baby (which was untrue), Keely defended me. Miles didn’t. That was the defining split between them as my best friends: Keely was always there, while Miles often took the side of his bully of a twin. I can’t blame him for that; Faye is literally his other half. But it drove me nuts when we were kids.
“The thing is,” Keely finally says, “Shawn just told me he brought condoms.”
“Seriously? Keely, you’re . . .” She’s a virgin, I’m about to say. I stop myself. Whether Keely wants to have sex or not is her decision, but why does it have to leave me in a room with Miles? “Then I’ll sleep on the couch,” I say, unable to hide the irritation in my voice. As I’m about to slide open the door, Keely sighs.
“Liv, wait.”
“Yeah?”
She kicks at the bear-shaped rug. “Me and you will crash together tonight, okay? You’re right, tonight was supposed to be about us. Besides, I shouldn’t rush into it with Shawn. I shouldn’t do anything with him while I’m drunk.”
“Thanks, Keel.”
Back outside, Miles stands by the fire, the flames contorting his face. “I’m telling a spooky story, so get comfy, ladies.” Miles might dress like a surfer, but he was always a theater geek. Something dramatic is about to happen. I sit on the log, and Keely heads back to Shawn.
Miles takes a deep breath. “This is the tale of old Mr. Jenkens, and how he became . . . the Caldwell Animal Slasher!”
You too, Miles?
“No, he isn’t,” I say, even though I have no idea if that’s true. But seeing Dean yell at Mr. Jenkens earlier was awful, and something tells me he doesn’t deserve that treatment.
“Oh, but he is!” Miles points his finger in the air. “Legend has it, Old Man Jenkens once had a pet squirrel. He was the best squirrel in the world, and they were best friends.”
Keely shivers before she scoots closer to Shawn, and he wraps his arm around her. Dean drinks his beer while Faye checks her phone, totally bored. Miles’s movements are animated and theatrical as he speaks.
“Jenkens came home from fishing one day to discover that his best friend, the squirrel, had run away. It destroyed him.”
>
“Come on, Hendricks,” Shawn mutters. “Where the hell are you taking this?”
Miles holds his finger up again. “Jenkens searched all over Caldwell for his squirrel, but he never found him. As the years went on, Jenkens became so encumbered with grief, that he . . . stopped shaving his beard. The once handsome, bushy-tailed young man was becoming angrier, and bitterer, until one day . . . he snapped!”
When Shawn grabs Keely’s shoulders, she screams. Everyone—including Keely—laughs, and she playfully slaps Shawn’s shoulder, shaking her head like she’s embarrassed. But everyone’s laughing with Keely, not at her. She melts back into the group easily, but none of that comes naturally to me. Not at home in New York, and apparently not here either.
“Anyway,” Miles sings, “Jenkens, by this time an angry old man, discovered that the only way to cure his loneliness and resentment toward squirrels was to take their lives. Now, Jenkens roams forests—just like this one—in search of woodland creatures to tear apart. Limb. By. Limb.”
Maybe this would be funny if we hadn’t seen a maimed squirrel literally last night. Miles is weirding me out.
“For real, though,” Dean says. “If anyone’s slashing those animals, it’s that old creep.”
“He does have all that taxidermy in his shop,” Faye says.
“Your dad has lots of that stuff too,” I say without thinking, and everyone looks at me. Miles and Faye exchange a glance.
“You think my dad is the squirrel killer?” Faye snickers, but her face is flat. “Yeah, right. Do you have any idea how common trophy hunting is? I hate it, but my dad does what he does. Cute little squirrels aren’t his style, but Old Man Jenkens has a stuffed squirrel behind his desk.”
“He does?” Miles asks, still keeping his dramatic voice on. “I mean, of course he does! That’s the body of his ex-best-squirrel-friend. He kept it as a trophy.”
“I thought you said he never found that squirrel?” Keely says.
“I’m changing it. He did find the squirrel, but punishing it wasn’t enough. He now enacts revenge on all of squirrel-kind.”
Thankfully Miles lets his story end there. He sits next to me while everyone else continues with other conversations. It’s weird for his tan shorts to brush my bare leg, and for me to smell the lime on his cologne. Maybe it’s because I didn’t sleep last night, but I can’t think of what to say—all I know is that being next to Miles reminds me of West.
“Miles?” I take an uneasy sip of my water. “Maybe it isn’t my place to ask, but who’s Amelia?”
“Huh? Where’d you hear that name?”
“I accidentally overheard West and your dad talking today.”
“Oh. Amelia is . . .” He shakes his head. “Nah, she doesn’t matter. Trust me.”
“But—”
“Hey, so I was thinking, maybe we could make plans to hang out alone sometime this week? Like after the trip’s over, so we can catch up just you and me.”
“Oh . . . sure.” So, no Amelia questions. I guess it’s none of my business, anyway. And it’s nice Miles wants to catch up, just us.
“Evening, boys,” someone says, and we all turn around to see a man standing in the shadows at the side of the cabin. “And girls,” he adds.
The figure steps into the light of the fire, and my heart stops. It’s West—and he has a girl on his arm.
Miles jumps to his feet. “What the fuck are you doing here, man?”
“West, come on, let’s go.” The girl tugs him back, her voice soft, angelic, her straight brown hair floating down her shoulders. She pulls on West’s arm until he looks at her.
“Hey, it’s okay,” West says, almost like a coo, like he doesn’t want us to hear.
“Let’s just go,” she says. “We should let the kids have their fun.”
“Baby, come on.”
Baby. He called her baby. It’s cheesy, but there’s something endearing when it comes from his raspy voice.
“I’ll wait in the car.” She doesn’t look at us. “Hurry up, okay?”
“Okay.”
He kisses her. It’s nothing but a short peck, but it creates an unexplainable flare of jealousy in me. Of all the things I’ve seen West Hendricks do—from climbing to the top of the tallest tree to reeling in a massive sea bass—I’ve never seen him kiss a girl. Passing my feelings off as nonsense, I watch Amelia-or-whoever take off around the side of the cabin. West’s eyes land right on me.
“West,” I breathe out, but he looks past me to Miles.
Miles’s glare deepens. “What are you doing here? You were going to break in, weren’t you?”
“Didn’t think you’d be here.” West’s face is almost cruel, predatory. He walks into the circle and gives off an intense aura, like we’re on private property and he’s holding a shotgun. Even though I’m here with everyone, it’s like I’m not even part of the group—I’m floating above it, out of my body, watching it happen.
“You don’t have permission to be here,” Miles says.
“You really think I didn’t get an extra key made? Sometimes I like a little vacation too, Miles. And do you have permission to have all these kids here?”
“Of course I do. Mom and Dad don’t care, they just don’t want you using the place for whatever sick shit you’re up to.”
“Maybe not.” West nods at Dean, whose arm is draped over Faye. “But if they found out about that, don’t you think it’d be a little different?”
Faye shoves Dean off her. “You better not tell, Weston.”
“Maybe I won’t. Or maybe I will.”
A pause thickens the air and accentuates the sounds of the forest around us: mosquitoes buzzing and crickets chirping. We’ve been dropped into the middle of a dysfunctional family war zone, and every word loosens the pin on a grenade.
“Fine, West,” Miles says. “What do you want?”
“Next weekend, I want the cabin.” West slides his hands in the pockets of his dark denim jacket. “Don’t tell Dad.”
“Fine. Now will you leave?”
West looks at me once before he takes off. It’s only when he’s gone that I realize I’ve been clutching this water bottle with trembling hands. Without the drunken chatter in the air, West’s engine clearly revs out front.
“Yo,” Dean slurs, “your brother wheels the hottest girls.”
“Shut the hell up,” Miles and Faye spit.
“Seriously, Miles,” Dean goes on, laughing, “you didn’t get his game at all.”
Shawn chuckles like an idiot with him, before a palpable silence pours in. The fire dies as the embers fizzle to ash.
Miles bounces to his feet. “Anyone need a drink?”
Everyone nods. Faye doesn’t carry the same fake joy—her thumbs tap erratically at her phone. I don’t blame her. Apparently, she isn’t allowed to date. Or maybe she isn’t allowed to date Dean. From what I remember of her parents, anyone who isn’t a billionaire’s son isn’t good enough for her, and Dean’s family is on the low end of middle class like mine.
“That was so weird,” Keely whispers to me. “With West, I mean.”
“Yeah. Do you know that girl?”
“Not at all. I didn’t even know West had a girl. Then again, I guess he has a lot of girls. She’s definitely not from Caldwell.” She leans closer to me so no one else can hear. “You know what else I noticed about her?”
“What?”
“She looks like you.”
But she isn’t me.
My chest sparks a pop and fizz of jealousy. Childish emotions I thought I could keep buried. I can’t believe I’m jealous over a girl I don’t know dating a guy I have nothing to do with. So, West grew up to be hot. It doesn’t matter. Miles is hot too. But I’ve never felt the same surge of energy for Miles as I always have for West.
Even right after Mil
es and I became friends, Miles’s nature was always tepid, easy to be around. I was never nervous near him—not until I met his older brother for the first time.
Miles and I had been playing in the sandbox in the backyard when West emerged from the forest in his Boy Scout uniform: a tan button-up with a sash covered in patches. Apparently he’d been tracking a deer to test out the skills he’d been learning. West’s dad was a hunter, but West would tell me later that he’d never kill anything with legs—he just liked to track animals. Maybe just to prove he could.
When West came into the sandbox, Miles told him to go away, and West kicked over his sandcastle. I said something along the lines of, “You’re mean!” and tried to shove him, but West didn’t budge.
“Who are you, anyway?” he asked, and I focused on my feet, intimidated by his size.
“Olivia . . .”
“What kind of name is Olive?”
I puffed up. “It’s Olivia.”
“Sounds like Olive to me.”
In that moment, I hated it. But West never stopped calling me Olive, and somewhere along the line, it blurred into something I silently adored; something only he said.
Coming back to Caldwell was supposed to help me move on—but I should have known all it would do is make me relive the past.
5
A few hours later, everyone’s voices become drunk gibberish in my ears. No one even notices when I sneak into the cabin to call it a night. When I get into the room I’m sharing with Keely, I shut the door behind me and press my back to it. Cackles sound through the windows, but they’re muted enough that I have a moment to breathe.
The double bed takes up most of the room, and a fox skin hangs on the wall across from the window. Not looking at it, I change into a pair of plaid pajamas and crawl under the soft linen sheets. A photo frame with a picture of Miles and his dad on a golf course sits on a nightstand. Shutting off the lamp, I sink into the pillow, well aware I won’t be sleeping much tonight, even though I’m exhausted.
Light from the full moon seeps through the window, and the shadows of tree branches sway like fingers behind the glass. Just as I’m drifting away, everything goes quiet. I open my eyes to the wooden, knotty ceiling. Everyone must have passed out, because all I can hear are insects trilling and the AC rumbling. Suddenly wide awake, I peer out the window. Embers smolder in the firepit, and a thin stream of smoke curls into the night. The seats are empty.