“And no one,” Ally finished, a weak attempt to cover Lauren’s slip-up. Weak but sweet.
Hil was sitting so still, she looked like a statue—Pixie in Red Bikini. I dropped down next to her on the chaise and wrapped my arms around her. I could almost not blame Lauren; we were all used to including Hil’s ex on the list of guys to invite, but Lauren tended to misspeak a little too often, and look a little too innocent afterward.
“Sorry, Hil,” she said.
“It’s fine.” Her words were sharp. It was the tone that made freshmen flinch and made me buy cookie dough and schedule a girls’ night for us—a voice she used only when she was hurting. Usually because her parents were involved in another custody hearing. Not because they were fighting over who got to keep her, but because neither wanted to.
“Mia, it’s hot, stop hanging on me. I’m fine.” Still the razor voice, but she was leaning into my hug. I didn’t move. “Keith’s an asshole. I don’t need him.”
She pulled her shoulders back, pulled away from me. In a fluid movement she rose from the chaise and dove into the pool, swimming a length before she surfaced and shook water out of her face. “Laur, Mia, Ally! Get your asses in here.”
Potential sunburn forgotten, Lauren obeyed instantly—the pull to be included stronger than her sense of self-preservation.
My phone beeped again as I stood. I gathered my hair into a messy knot with one hand and pulled up the texts from my mother, placing the phone on my chair so I could read them while I secured the hair elastic.
Drs called. I moved your appt to today. 4 pm.
Leaving now. Be ready when I get home.
“Aren’t you coming in?” Ally was already bobbing in the water, her toned arms wrapped around a pool noodle. “It feels amazing.”
“My mom.” I pointed to my phone. “Can’t. We’re going somewhere at four. If I’m not dressed and ready to go when she gets here …” There was no need to finish the sentence; we had years of friendship and my mom’s dramatics in our collective history. “Stay. Swim. If you’re gone before I get back, I’ll call you later.”
They were just bruises. It must have been a slow week at her advertising firm for Mom to make such a big deal about them. I probably had a low iron level or something—Lauren claimed she skewed anemic every time she went on a diet. I probably just needed to take a vitamin.
I paused before closing the door and shutting out the sounds of Ally’s high giggle and Hil’s throaty chuckle. Lauren shrieked, “You guys!” I leaned out, plucked one of the flowers off Mom’s bright-pink clematis from the trellis beside the door. Counting the petals as the door closed behind me:
One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret, never to be told …
Seven petals.
I crushed the flower in my hand.
Chapter 2
Coming tonight had been a mistake. I did a quick survey of the party: Hil mixing drinks on a makeshift bar made from hay bales; Ally and Lauren dancing; Ryan cocking his wrist to throw a Ping-Pong ball into a cup of beer. Since they were all occupied, I allowed my smile to slip, let my cup dangle loosely at my side, and stepped back into the shadows that formed along the wall beneath the hayloft.
“Drop the drink, Mia. We’re leaving.” It was Gyver’s voice.
He didn’t belong here. Not that the rest of us did, but we used the old Nathanson barn for parties more often than the East Lake Historical Society used it for their reenactments, so it felt like ours.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He grabbed the red plastic cup from my hand and threw it into the hay. “Seriously. I don’t care if I have to carry you. We need to go. Now.”
The action and the words clicked: he was the police chief’s son. “I’m not drunk. I can walk.”
“Then do. Quickly.” He grabbed my wrist and began to pull me past the stalls containing couples mid–hook up. Past the blaring iPod-speaker combo set up on the ladder to the loft and the barn door balanced on hay bales, where one game of beer pong was ending and guys were fighting over who was next.
“But what about—” Twisting back toward the loudest part of the crowd, I tried to locate Ryan or the girls. I stepped in someone’s knocked-over drink and slipped; my flip-flops had no traction on the dirt floor.