“So no one else knows? Not even Lauren?”
He stared into his cup. “Honestly? Lauren and I aren’t that close. We shared a womb, but other than that, we don’t have much in common.” He paused, sipping the last bit of coffee. “Everyone thinks they know that I’m gay, I guess. But no. You’re the first person I’ve actually come out to.” He let out another long breath and laughed at the end. “Felt kind of good.” His face went slightly serious. “Do you want to lecture me on going to hell or whatever? Do you hate that I lied to you?”
“Well, I am crushed that we’ll never get married and have lots of tiny, corduroy-hating babies, but I guess I can just continue to casually date Teddy…”
“Thanks,” he said softly. “You’re a really good friend, B. My best friend. And don’t worry; I am going to be just as understanding and supportive when you come out as heterosexual. Is that your secret?”
A slight chuckle. “No.”
“Tell me.”
Brynna tried to think of a funny and light response for Evan, but all she could think about was the dare. The humor slid right out of her, and she chanced a glance over the rim of her coffee cup. Evan’s eyes were still fixed and warm. With the soft leather couches and the cozy, coffee-scented air, she felt a comfort she hadn’t felt since before that night at Harding Beach ever happened.
Brynna sucked in a determined breath. “Back at my old school…back at Lincoln, um, there was this party at the end of the summer. We were partying at this beach house—the whole school was. A few of us broke away and went out onto the beach. It was late, way past midnight.”
Evan’s eyes flashed and he scooched closer, setting his mug down and pressing his hand, palm warm from the coffee, against Brynna’s.
“Go on,” he whispered.
“We were just screwing around. Drinking and whatever.”
Like the flames of the bonfire, the memory flared up, images flicking up in her mind’s eye. She felt Erica’s bare skin pressed against her as they sat shoulder to shoulder on the beach, giggling. She saw the red party cup propped up by the sand, smelled the swirling fruit punch and alcohol smell.
“Someone”—she couldn’t bring herself to say Erica’s name—“someone went into the water. A girl. She drowned.”
Brynna peeked up at Evan who was sitting, rapt. His eyes were wide and he was pressing a hand over his open mouth. “Oh my god, B. And you were there? You were on the beach when this happened?”
She bobbed her head without thinking about it. “Yeah.”
“That must have been awful for you! To watch one of your classmates drown.” He shuddered. “Did you see the body?”
Brynna stared straight forward, not really seeing anything. “No. They said she got caught in a riptide. They said it probably swept her under and…” She cleared her throat but couldn’t force herself to go on.
“And it probably sucked the body out to sea. Did they ever find it? Probably not, right, because of currents and sharks and stuff? Ohmigod, Bryn, no wonder you’re all jumpy lately. Is this, like, the anniversary of it? Or, no, it’s not summer. Her birthday or something?”
Brynna wanted to say something about the call, about the tweet, but the static in her head drowned every thought out. All she could do was shake her head from side to side.
“That’s not everything, is it?”
Brynna snapped her gaze back to Evan then dipped her head again, feeling the weight of her secret closing in on her.
“She was my best friend.”
“Who was?”
“Erica. The girl who died. She was my best friend, and she jumped into the water because I dared her to jump with me.”
Brynna held her breath, waiting for Evan’s face to harden. She was ready for him to spring to his feet and walk out the door or to point an accusing finger at her and call her something horrible.
Finally, after a beat that lasted a lifetime for Brynna, Evan said, “B, you don’t think you’re somehow responsible for Erica’s death, do you?”
Brynna couldn’t have answered if she wanted to; her heart was lodged firmly in her throat.
“Because that’s completely ridiculous.”
“But I was the one who dared her.”
“And who are you, the Queen of Sheba? Erica didn’t have to go through with it.”
The pounding was beginning in her head. “I made her. I told her she had to.”
“So you roofied her, carried her limp body down the beach, and dumped her in the surf? Then you’re right. You did it.”
“No, but—”
“But nothing. She jumped because she wanted to. And you obviously thought it was fine because you did it too. No one could blame you.”
Brynna paused, her teeth pressed against her lower lip. “I think someone does though.”
“What are you talking about?”
She clasped her hands hard, suddenly hyperaware of every noise in the coffeehouse: the hiss of the steam escaping the espresso machine, the weird, new-agey music that was barely audible, the tink and clatter of coffee mugs being stacked on the counter.