by Taylor Hale
“So Jenkens was just going to jump?” Miles asks. “That’s screwed up.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“But you know I had nothing to do with it, right?”
Something still doesn’t feel right, but if Miles is lying, he’s really good at making his eyes look honest.
“You were at the party all night,” I say. “There’s no way you could have done it. But you’re not going to tell that stupid squirrel story anymore, right?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay. I’m just glad I ran into West. He handled everything. It was scary.”
“Right. West.” Miles cranes his neck back and focuses on the sky, then me. “You didn’t say why you were with him.”
“I just ran into him.”
“Huh.”
In the calm breeze, my dress flows behind me like a mermaid’s tail. I love the way this dress looks on me, but suddenly I feel naked with Miles, like this thing is made of plastic wrap.
“We’re almost there.” Miles leads me through an opening in the forest. White balls of dandelion fluff bounce off the grassy knoll, and in the center of the hill is a blanket with a picnic basket and cooler beside it.
“Miles, what is this?”
“This is my way of saying sorry.”
“For Mr. Jenkens?”
“No . . . for the cabin. For trying to get you to swim. Keely made me realize it was wrong. I’m so sorry.”
This is way too much like a date for my liking. Still, it’s the sweetest thing a guy has ever done for me. It must have taken him a while to set up.
“C’mon, sit with me!” Miles plops down on the blanket cross-legged.
Smiling tightly, I flatten my dress and join him, but there’s an unsettled awkwardness between us. Alone with him, on this hill, feels secluded. No, confining.
When Miles hands me an egg salad sandwich, I shake those thoughts away. Miles is my childhood best friend, it’s good to be here with him. I take a tiny bite, and my senses are overwhelmed by the deliciousness of egg, green onion, celery, and some fancy Dijon taste. Miles grins, all dimples.
“What’s high school been like for you, anyway?” he asks. “You still killing it with your grades?”
“I guess I am. Math, not so much. But I’ve always been good at Science. What’s Caldwell High like?” I laugh a little. “We used to be so jealous of the high school kids. West and his friends, they were so cool. I always looked forward to going there.”
“Honestly, you’re not missing much. Other than that, I’m the head of the Drama Department, so I totally pick the coolest plays.”
“I knew you’d be a drama geek.”
“Some things don’t change.”
“But some things do.”
“Yeah. Some things do.” His stare lingers on my face a little too long. “You probably have a boyfriend or something back home.”
“A boyfriend? No, I’ve never had a boyfriend. Like, I’ve been asked for a few school dances, but I’ve never said yes.”
“You didn’t like those guys?”
“Not really. Wow, that sounds mean.”
“No, I get it. I’ve never had a girlfriend either.” He bites into his sandwich, swallows, and pats his lips with a napkin. “Figured I’d know when the right girl comes along.” He winks at me, and suddenly I wish I had a shell to hide in. He can’t be hitting on me, can he? He never did when we were kids. And I really don’t want him to.
Thankfully, Miles changes the subject. “Tell me about the big city,” he says.
The big city. West called it the same thing the other night. Miles’s voice is a lot different than West’s. More twangy. West’s is like tires crunching over stones.
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what it’s like! Dude, I’ve always lived in this stupid town. Sure, I’ve traveled the world with my parents and shit, but tell me about New York.”
“The streets get pretty hectic, especially during the day. I take the train anywhere I can’t walk, but these huge rats come out at night, and it’s becoming a pretty big problem for the city.”
“Gross. Well, what’re your friends like?”
“They’re pretty into sports, I guess. I’m on the volleyball team.”
“You’re a sporty girl now, huh?”
“No, not really. I’m just kind of random.” The people who know me in New York City would never imagine how much I once loved the sea. Before the accident, I was Mermaid Girl, the girl who loved to swim, who wanted to be a fish.
Now I’m just blah. I wish Miles wouldn’t ask me to talk about the city; it makes me feel boring.
After we eat, Miles tosses our garbage into the basket and asks me to come back to the house with him.
“Shouldn’t we clean this up?” I ask.
“Nah, I’ve already asked the housekeepers to deal with it.”
Right, housekeepers. Maybe they were the ones to set this whole thing up while Miles was showering. We take a manmade path through the forest back to the wide yard of the estate.
“It’s so weird,” I tell Miles. “I’ve always known you live like this, but I’ve been away for so long, so it’s strange seeing it again.”
“Live like what?”
“Like, you know . . . super rich.”
Miles runs his fingers through his blond curls. “I guess I don’t really think about it.”
“It’s just such a contrast. From West too. I mean, he’s living under a fish ’n’ chips shop and—”
“You went to West’s apartment?”
“Not inside. Just waited out front last night with Jenkens.”
“Oh.”
When we reach one of the many doorways that lead into the estate, Miles holds it open for me and smiles. I duck under his arm and find myself in the kitchen, where their personal chefs knead dough and chop vegetables at the massive marble island. My mouth waters at the smell of onions and baked bread. A woman in a chef’s hat zips to one of the three stoves and pulls out the biggest turkey I’ve ever seen.
“Throwing a banquet?” I ask Miles with an uneasy laugh.
“My dad’s having a few guests over, some business thing. It’s not important. Come on, let’s go to my room.”
We move through the house, past the library, walls of imitations of Renaissance art and creepy photos of Miles’s dead family members, until we get to the winding staircase. The carpet is soft under my feet, but every step increases the nervousness in my veins. At the top level, I take a deep breath. The door at the end of the hallway used to be West’s room. I only ever went in there once, when Miles and I were trying to find out if he had any cool stuff we could steal. We got caught, of course, and West was mad at us for weeks. But I remember he had one of those car beds. And I remember he had less stuff than Miles did, so I didn’t understand why Miles wanted to steal from him at all.
I wonder if that room is empty now, or if they left West’s furniture when they “disowned” him. Every corner of this estate is haunted by something. Then again, West has haunted me since I moved away.
“Liv, c’mon,” Miles says, and I follow him into his room.
Miles’s walls are the same shade of seafoam they always were, and dark blue curtains sway with the draft from the open window. It’s all so familiar, but especially the smell: laundry detergent mixed with something sweeter. Memories leak through my mind—we built Lego castles and played with toy cars on this very hardwood floor. But Miles used to have cartoon posters all over his walls, and now there’s nothing. Just plain walls. He was a messy kid, crayons everywhere, and now his bed is made up like it belongs in a showroom.
This is the first time I’ve actually been alone in a guy’s room since I became a teenager. The walls close in as Miles sits on his bed. It would be even more awkward to just stand
here, so I join him but keep my distance.
“What do you feel like doing?” I ask.
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
“Not sure . . .”
We’re quiet for several moments, and I bump my knees together. When Miles’s finger pokes me in the side, I flinch.
“What was that for?” I rub the spot.
“Sorry.” He grins and ruffles his hair. “I’m awkward.”
The silence sets me on edge. Shakespeare plays are stacked on the nightstand, and I’m about to grab Macbeth when Miles takes my wrist.
“Hey, so listen.” His touch lowers to my bare knee, his fingers grazing me. Dread stabs me. I want to tell him to stop, but my body is stone. A boy has never touched me like this. This isn’t what I envisioned the first time being like—the first time wasn’t supposed to happen today at all.
“Do you remember what everyone said about us?” Miles asks. “When we were kids?”
With every inch he gets closer to me, my face gets hotter, my body stiffer. A warm wind through the window floods me with his scent.
“Miles?” I stammer. “Can you please—”
Before I can say stop, Miles climbs on top of me, and I become harshly aware of how small I am. I was always bigger than Miles when we were kids. Taller. Stronger. But now he’s a six-foot tall guy, and I’ve barely grown. Backing into his pillow, I try to escape him, but he has me blocked in with both his arms.
“Miles? What—what are you doing?”
His eyes flutter over my face, and he tries to kiss me. I shove my hands into his shoulders. He’s too heavy to move.
“What’s wrong?” He tries to kiss me again, but I force him off me with all my might. Miles’s weight lifts, giving me a chance to slip away.
“What the hell are you doing?” I slowly back toward the exit, and Miles’s face is bewildered.
“Liv, I’m confused . . .”
“You can’t just—you can’t just kiss me like that! You didn’t ask me, you didn’t make sure I was okay with it. What the hell, Miles?”
“Look, I’m sorry.” He gets up. “I just thought, because when we were kids, we—”
“I haven’t seen you since we were twelve. We’re just getting to know each other again. I thought we were friends, Miles.” I put my hand on my forehead. “I don’t think we should hang out for a while. I’ll let myself out.”
I storm through the door, but fingers grip my wrist and pull back so hard I almost topple over. Pain shoots up my arm, because his hand is wrapped around the wrist my elastic is on. His skin is like sandpaper scraping against me, and I wince, but Miles doesn’t let go.
“Wait,” Miles says, voice pleading. “Don’t leave, Liv. Can we talk about this?”
“My wrist—you’re hurting me!”
“What?” He glances at his hand before he drops it. “Shit, Liv, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
I bolt toward the stairs. Miles chases after me.
“Liv, wait!”
“Stay away from me, Miles!” I race down the stairs and nearly slip across the marble floor of the foyer before I’m out the front door.
I’m holding back tears the entire thirty-minute walk back to Keely’s house. This isn’t how things with Miles were supposed to turn out—I never pictured him capable of being so aggressive. I shouldn’t have even worn this stupid dress. It was supposed to make me happy, but now Miles’s touch is attached to it, his lips nauseatingly close to mine. To make things worse, he’s been blowing up my phone since I left.
Liv, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.
I’d never hurt you. I only wanted you to stay.
Can we talk, Liv? Just answer the phone.
Please let me know that you know I’d never hurt you.
But I don’t know that. I didn’t know that when he was cornering me on his bed, and I didn’t know it when his fingers were so tight around my wrist I couldn’t move.
Kicking my shoes onto the mat by the front door, I storm toward my room. Keely’s in the hallway. She tugs her earbuds out, and I can hear pop music playing from them. “Whoa, hey, I thought you were at Miles’s?”
“I left.”
“What happened?”
When I don’t answer, she pulls me into her room and shuts the door. I collapse on the stool by her vanity. Keely’s bedroom is the same sunflower yellow it’s always been, but instead of the Polly Pockets she’d had lining her dresser, there are bottles of foundation and golden highlighters. Keely sits on her bed next to a giant Tweety Bird plush.
“Did Miles do something?” she asks, stepping over her words.
“Yeah. Sort of.”
I want to say I trust Keely more than anything, but she said it herself: I’ve been gone for a long time. She might think I’m overreacting. She might take Miles’s side, since she’s been around him way more than me over the past five years. My wrist is sore from where he grabbed me, so when I snap the elastic against it, the pain is magnified.
Even if Keely takes Miles’s side, I have to tell her, starting from the picnic and ending with the texts he won’t stop sending. Keely looks shocked, and I nervously anticipate her reply.
“Holy shit,” she finally says. “Did you feel like, threatened?”
“A little,” I say. “I was shocked, mostly. Now he won’t stop texting me saying he’s sorry. I’m not replying to any of it.”
“Wow, that’s so awkward and terrible. Guess he got the wrong idea from you guys staying in touch all these years. But don’t feel bad, Liv—you did the right thing by getting out of there. No guy should make a move if you don’t want him to.”
“Really?” I laugh, relieved. “I was a little worried you’d take his side.”
“Are you kidding? He tried to force a kiss on you—twice—and grabbed you. That’s not okay. My dad would be pissed if a guy did that to me.”
“Let’s not tell Roger, please. Maybe forget this ever happened.” I crawl onto the bed with Keely and bury my face in her pillow.
“Forgetting sounds good.” Keely pulls out her laptop, which is covered in smiley face stickers, and opens it. “Let’s watch Netflix?”
“Sure.”
I curl into a ball as Keely scrolls through the movie selection, but the sick feeling inside me won’t go away. I would expect something like this from a slimeball, from someone who gives me the creeps. But never Miles. Never my childhood best friend. Sadness weighs on me, and I’m starting to think my mom was right.
Maybe this trip was a bad idea, after all.
8
The world beyond the window of my room is obsidian, darkness so thick and opaque I can’t see anything past the branches that scratch and poke the glass. I’m frozen under the blankets of my bed. My breathing comes out weak, grating, but I’ll die if I don’t inhale soon. When I try to scream, only a weak sound comes from behind my closed lips. Moving is like wading through the heaviest quicksand.
Wake up. I need to wake up.
I have a 360-degree view of the room. Bubbles fizzle beyond the glass and algae scrapes the window. At three knocks, I freeze. A man floats outside and looks in on me. The top half of his face is obscured by shadows, but his smile is luminescent. Bright white teeth, a wide grin, a fist that taps slowly. Foam festers from his lips as he mouths something at me. He waves his hand. Back and forth, back and forth, before he opens the window. Water comes rushing in and fills my airways with the taste of seaweed and raw fish.
“Liv! Liv!”
I wake up drenched in sweat.
Keely is above me. Her hands are firm on my shoulders, worry all over her face. Half-buttoned pajamas hang off her thin frame. Remnants of glow-in-the-dark star stickers remain on the ceiling from when this was Keely’s playroom. Low, brassy thunder rumbles outside, and raindrops pound the window. A flash of lightning flickers be
fore everything goes dark again. The green digital clock reads 5:08 a.m.
“Keely.” I put my hand on my sweaty forehead.
“Liv, you were screaming.”
“I was? I . . .”
My thoughts race, trip over each other, and fall down. I can’t keep up with reality. That dream had been so real that the pain of drowning still reverberates through my lungs.
“I’m okay,” I lie. “I’m good.”
Keely fidgets with her bracelet. I can smell alcohol on her; she was partying again last night while I stayed home. It’s been a week since what happened with Miles, and I’ve managed to avoid him, but my nightmares are getting worse.
“I don’t think you are,” Keely says. “This is the third night I’ve woken up to you screaming. If my parents hear you—”
“They’ll call my parents. I know. But they’re just night terrors, they happen at home too. It’s not a big deal.”
“If you say so,” Keely says, unsure. “You going back to sleep? Because I think I’m up for good now. I’m still a little tipsy, so the hangover hasn’t started yet, but I can feel it coming.”
“Yeah.” I swing my legs off the bed. “Let’s just stay up.”
Through the windows, the dark blue sky is brightening, and a gentle rain falls. The lights in the halls are dim but the coffeemaker crackles from the kitchen, along with the strong smell of espresso. When Keely and I reach the corner of the hall, she halts.
“What?” I whisper.
“Shh!”
Roger and Sun are talking in the kitchen.
“It makes me sick, Sun,” Roger says. “This whole thing doesn’t sit right.”
We peek around the corner. Sun’s arms are crossed over her lilac housecoat while Roger is already dressed for work. There’s an ill air between them.
“And you really have no idea who could be doing it?” Sun asks, voice hushed.
“There are no leads. No DNA. We got an expert in and she says she’s seen this behavior before—called it potential zoosadism.”