The Summer I Drowned

by Taylor Hale

  “I don’t want our day to end here,” I say.

  “It doesn’t have to. Come home with me. I’ll get you home before ten.”

  My mouth is dry. “Promise?”

  With a smile, he nods. “Scout’s honor.”

  At West’s apartment, he leads me through a door to a cramped, humid staircase. The smell of fish ’n’ chips from upstairs is overpowered by a distinct basement smell, like concrete and wood. I like it. It’s more like home than the wide property of the Hendricks estate. A place like this suits West more than that lonely mansion ever did.

  Inside, shoes litter the mat by the door and voices come from around the corner. A buttery popcorn scent hangs in the air, and a tall, skinny girl with ginger hair and huge glasses zips into the den.

  “West! There you are!”

  “Sandy,” he says, just as Oscar paws his way toward us, his tail wagging. He nudges me with his head until I pet him.

  “You’re still fixing that little hole in my room, right?” Sandy asks.

  “Yeah, tomorrow cool?” He kicks his boots off.

  “Totally, whenever you have time, no rush!” Sandy’s hazel eyes fall on me. “And you must be Olivia!”

  “Hi, yes, I am,” I say. West talked about me to his roommate?

  “You have no idea how useful West is to have around, girl,” Sandy says. “Punch a hole in the wall? He’ll fix it. Hungry? This boy will literally go out on a boat and catch freakin’ dinner. He is everything.”

  Awkwardly, I laugh. Sandy is really nice, but I’m not good at meeting new people.

  “Yes, Sandy. I’m a handyman,” West says. “We get it.”

  Her giggle is contagious. “Are you ever.”

  Sandy isn’t the type of person I would ever expect West to be friends with, let alone live with. But considering there are Nintendo posters all over the walls and not a single piece of West anywhere, this must be Sandy’s place, and he’s just renting a room.

  “I’ve got Jen and Davies over,” Sandy says. “Come hang with us!”

  The living room is divided from the kitchen by a sectional couch, where a guy in a Walking Dead T-shirt sits with a black-haired girl watching TV. I’ve never seen either of them before. West and I scrunch together on the leather armchair while the others are on the couch. We both fidget. They end up putting on Sixteen Candles, a movie I totally love, but I can’t focus on it with West sitting so close to me.

  Partway through the movie, West whispers into my hair, “We should probably shower. I think they’re noticing we stink like a lake. You want to go first?”

  “No, you go,” I say. Sitting on the couch, watching this movie with these strangers is somehow a good distraction from how overwhelmed I am. I need to catch my breath before using West’s freaking shower. But my hair is definitely crusty with lake water, so it needs to happen eventually.

  “Be right back,” West says.

  Fifteen minutes later, he returns to the living room, and he smells really nice. He waves for me to follow him. As I grab my backpack, Sandy and her friends don’t notice me leave. At the end of the hall, the bathroom is still steaming from West’s shower. He hands me a dry towel.

  “You got a change of clothes?”

  “Yeah, in my backpack,” I say.

  “My bedroom’s right here.” He points to a closed door. “Just come in when you’re done, okay?”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I slip into the bathroom, enveloped by the humidity, and press my back to the closed door. It smells like clean body wash and West. This is all happening so fast it makes my head spin, but we aren’t going to have sex or anything—he hasn’t even kissed me yet. Maybe I want to, a little, but I’m a virgin. Oh God, I haven’t even told him that. Slow down. We haven’t kissed. And there’s no pressure with West. But all of this—being in his apartment and using his shower—is very real. Still, I get into the water, comforted by the warmth and the fact that his shower stall has no window in it.

  After I’m done, I get changed into my clean clothes and brush my hair, smelling like aloe and cucumber instead of the lake. Everything I needed was packed in my backpack in case I showered at the cabin.

  I leave the bathroom, get to West’s door, and take a deep breath before opening it. West is lying on the bed but he stands when he sees me, eyes wide. I close the door behind us. West wipes his palms on his jeans, and my backpack drops on the floor. The others laugh outside, but the silence between us is louder.

  “So,” he says, “this is the only room in the house that actually looks like mine.”

  A rustic ship’s wheel hangs on the blue-gray wall beside his bed, where the sheets are messy and the pillows are scattered. Random knickknacks litter his desk: pens, a pocketknife, a wrench. A notebook with some numbers written on it is open next to a pile of stones. When I spot a little wood carving of a boat, I pick it up and smooth my finger along its matte surface.

  “I remember this,” I say. “You made it.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “We were out at the docks.”

  “And you had a little carving knife.”

  “My dad lost his shit when he found out I had that. Pretty sure he threw it right in the trash. I was destroyed. I loved that thing.”

  West reaches over me and takes the boat. It looks so tiny in his big fingers, but I remember when his hand was small, and mine was too. When West puts down the boat, I face him. My breath hitches as he traps me in with his arms, and I scoot onto the desk.

  “Is this okay?” he asks. His eyes, half-lidded under his long lashes, glance at my lips. I nod, but a tidal wave slams my chest and sloshes with different emotions: desire, longing, fear. If we kiss, it could change everything between us forever. But I want that change. I touch the neck of his shirt and breathe in his earthy musk. He leans his weight onto me.

  “West, I—”

  My phone vibrates in my back pocket and rattles against the desk. I go to touch it, but West grabs my wrist.

  “Don’t,” he rasps. “Not now.”

  The intensity in his voice captures me. I slap my phone on the desk, and he positions himself between my parted legs. His fingertips graze my outer thighs, and I’m suddenly very thankful I shaved everything.

  My phone buzzes again. I quickly check it.

  “It’s Sun,” I say. “I—I have to answer it.”

  West groans, but backs off. I mouth sorry at him and press accept.

  “Hello?”

  “Olivia?” Sun says. “Where are you? Is Keely with you?”

  “No, I’m with West.”

  “Did you see the time? It’s after ten.”

  Oh crap. She’s right—it’s 10:03 p.m. “Sun, I’m sorry, I—”

  “Please get back as soon as you can. Keely snuck out of her bedroom and she isn’t answering our calls. This isn’t like her, so we’re getting worried.”

  I lock eyes with West, whose face drops with disappointment. I don’t want to leave—I want to stay right here, on this desk, and find out what West would have done if Sun never called. But I can’t disobey her, especially if Keely took off.

  So I tell Sun that West will drive me home right away, and we hurry out of the apartment, leaving our possibilities to echo in his room.

  13

  When I close the Myerses’ front door behind me, my voice echoes through the empty hall. “Sun? Are you home?” Dim lights shimmer off the hardwood floor as I kick my Vans onto the shoe mat. Keely’s yellow Converse are missing.

  “Olivia? Is Keely with you?” Sun appears at the end of the hallway, pale with her arms wrapped over her housecoat. “Have you heard from her?”

  “No, I tried calling, but she didn’t pick up for me either.”

  Sun places her hand on her forehead and paces. “This isn’t like her at all. She always keeps in touch. Always. Roger is going aroun
d and checking parties, but we still haven’t found her.”

  When I reminded Keely earlier that the rules have never stopped her from getting what she wanted, I didn’t mean for her to sneak out and get in trouble today. I meant more that she could still talk to Shawn. Oh God—I’m such an idiot.

  Sun calls Roger with the house phone connected to the wall. “Yes, Olivia is here now . . . Keely isn’t there? Where else could she be?” She sucks in a breath. “Okay, I’ll try to stay calm. Just get her home safe, Roger. Please.”

  By the time Sun hangs up, her eyes—dark brown, just like Keely’s—are glassy with tears. I want to tell her Keely’s okay, that she must have just snuck out with Shawn, because there’s nothing else she would have done. But Sun looks genuinely scared.

  “Keely is still grounded,” Sun says, “so when we saw she wasn’t in her room, we got very worried. It isn’t like her to sneak out. She didn’t tell you anything at all about where she was going?”

  Kicking at the floor, I hold my hands behind my back. I can’t lie to Sun, but if I tell her the whole truth about what I said, she’ll be so mad at me. “Keely mentioned she was upset she couldn’t hang out with Shawn anymore, and she did mention something about a party, so . . . maybe she’s with him?”

  “Maybe. Roger has a call out for Shawn.”

  “I’m sure Keely’s okay,” I say, and I mean it. She’s probably at the docks, drinking Smirnoff Ice with Shawn, leaning into him with a flirtatious smile. But saying those words to Sun feels so fake, and it would offer her no comfort.

  I follow her into the kitchen. With a sigh, Sun picks up a steaming pot of tea, and the sweet smell of chamomile breezes with the draft from the open window. Awkwardness pricks my arms, and my hands cross behind my back like a guilty little kid.

  “Maybe you should go to bed, Olivia.”

  “But Keely—”

  “Roger and I will deal with it. Having you up won’t help. We can talk about you being late for curfew after we find our daughter.”

  My shoulders are heavy as I go to my room, shut the door, and press my back to it. Engulfed by the silence, I crawl under the covers of my bed, which, after all these days, has started to smell a little like home.

  When I manage to fall asleep, I dream of being held under water until my airways fill with seaweed and raw fish.

  Footsteps pacing outside my room startle me awake. Golden sunlight pours through the blinds. Roger’s voice booms through the walls, and recollections of last night clap into my head like thunder. Keely must be getting yelled at for sneaking out. I tear out of bed and into the hallway.

  “Hey, is Keely back?” I say, but as soon as I’m in the living room, the answer stares back at me. Tears stain Sun’s cheeks, Roger is still in his uniform—and several other cops are flooding in through the front door. They move through the living room in a row, like worker ants. A female officer ducks into Keely’s room, followed by Officer Jones holding a yellow notebook with sunflowers on it. Keely’s journal.

  “Olivia, come here,” Roger says. I’ve never seen him look so scared.

  “What’s happening? Where’s Keely?” My voice shakes. Gently, Roger pulls me into the living room with him and Sun.

  “Olivia, if you know anything about where Keely could be or who she could be with, now is the time to tell us. Please, no secrets.”

  “But why? Where’s Keely? Is she okay?”

  “They never found her,” Sun says, voice strained. “She’s missing.”

  The room spins. “But . . . no, she can’t be missing. She has to be with Shawn. There’s no one else.”

  Roger’s composure cracks; his shoulders tremble, and the cop demeanor can’t mask the fact that he’s a terrified father right now. “I’ve already spoken to Shawn, Miles, and all of Keely’s usual friends. They were at a party at the Garcias’ house, and according to everyone—including Shawn Watters—Keely just disappeared. No one knows where she is.”

  Pressure builds behind my eyes like an overflow of water in my brain; I want to say something, anything that could help them find her, but I have nothing. Nothing but Shawn. The sudden urge to call my mom pokes at me, but worrying her all the way in New York City won’t help find Keely here, now.

  When Officer Jones comes over and taps Roger’s shoulder, he snaps out of it. “Sir, we reviewed her journal and we can’t find anything helpful other than her interest in Shawn Watters.”

  “Damn it,” Roger says. “Thank you, Jones. Please put it back where you found it. Olivia, is there anything else you know? Anything about where Keely might go or who she could be with?”

  “I’m sorry, I—I don’t know.”

  Sun grabs Roger’s arm. “Roger, you have to go look for her now, please.”

  “You’re right. You stay here in case she comes home.” He nods at the other cops. “Come on, everyone, let’s move!”

  Before I can offer my help, the other cops follow Roger, their footsteps thundering over the hardwood until the last person slams the door closed. The silence they leave behind is suffocating. That image I have of Keely drinking Smirnoff Ice with Shawn at the docks is replaced by my worst nightmares: her body, gutted and mutilated, blood seeped into the earth, throat cut. Exactly like the way the animal killer left the squirrels and deer.

  “I’m going to go look for her too, okay?” I say.

  Sun doesn’t reply, just goes into the kitchen, her body shaking. Clearly, she’s too worried to care what I’m doing. Running to my room, I grab my phone off the nightstand and text West to pick me up. Even though I want nothing to do with Miles, he’ll know where Shawn is. I frown at our messages, because there’s an unread text in my inbox sent at 3:58 a.m.

  I’m really sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. I still want to be friends. I just can’t believe you’d go swimming with him, but not me :(

  My skin crawls. For Keely’s sake, I ignore the weird feeling and text Miles back.

  Are you with Shawn?

  Yeah, you heard about Keely?

  Where are you?

  Shawn’s place.

  Stay there, I’m coming over.

  The AMBER alert for Keely blared from my phone shortly after Roger left, and it made this all too real. West drove us here in a hurry. Now we’re at Shawn’s house, and Shawn cradles his head in his hands and sits on his living room couch while I stand over him.

  “I swear, I don’t know where she is,” he says.

  “But she was with you last night, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “Come on, Olivia,” Dean drones from his spot beside Shawn. His arm rests over the back of the floral couch while he picks at a loose string. “We already told the cops everything. Why are you playing detective?”

  Faye leans against Miles on the love seat, a bottle of Gatorade loosely clutched in her hand. Miles hasn’t looked at me or West once since we got here. Apparently Shawn’s parents have already joined the search effort to find Keely. West leans against the wall by the front door and silently watches.

  “I’m worried about my best friend.” My eyes sting, but I try to keep it together. “Shawn, please, what happened to her?”

  “I don’t know! She was at the party and then she was just gone!”

  “Relax, cousin,” Dean says. “You have an alibi. We all saw you.”

  Shawn’s shoulders shake, and his light brown eyes meet mine, desperate and pleading. “Look, I’m worried about her too, okay? But I swear, I don’t know anything. I’ll tell you exactly what I told her dad: we were all wasted, hanging out in Emma’s living room, then Keely went to the bathroom and never came back. Emma said Keely went into the backyard to pee because the line for the bathroom was huge. You know Keely, she’s always doing crazy shit like that.”

  Shawn could be telling the truth, or he could be lying, but the fear on his face is evident
. Either way, I don’t trust him.

  Faye limply stands like this situation is boring her. “Okay, my head is killing me, I feel like death, and this isn’t helping anyone. Shawn doesn’t know anything, Liv, so are you going to do something about Keely or just keep wasting time?”

  “We should look for her,” I say.

  West stands from his position against the wall. “I agree.”

  “The cops are already searching the woods,” Miles says and flashes his phone screen. “It’s all over the news and the Caldwell Police’s Facebook page. The adults are saying they don’t want kids involved, they’re worried more of us will get lost or something.”

  “You’re going to sit here and do nothing, Miles?” I say. “This is Keely we’re talking about.”

  Dean laughs. “That girl was wasted, Olivia. Like always. They’re going to find her passed out on the side of the road somewhere.”

  “Don’t you guys get it? She could be hurt! Some sick person is murdering animals in town, and now my best friend is missing, and—”

  When West’s arm wraps around me, I suck in a breath and hold in my tears. “Hey, we’re going to find her, whether they help us or not,” he says, and his voice is the only comfort in this strange place. We share a quick, shy smile, reminding me of what almost happened last night—but now is not the time. I can feel Miles glaring at us.

  Out of the four of them, Faye is the only one still standing. “Olivia is right,” she finally says. “The least we can do is look for Keely.”

  “You serious?” Dean says. “Babe, you saw how drunk Keely was. She’s probably fine. The cops will find her.”

  “You don’t have to come, Dean.”

  “I want you to stay,” Dean says.

  Faye avoids his gaze but keeps her posture strong. “We should start at Emma’s house.”

  “That’s where the cops started,” West says and smooths his hand over my shoulder. “It’d make more sense to start farther out and move in. We should split into groups to cover more ground. Keep your phones on you so we can stay in contact and know whether they found her or not. Agreed?”