“Look, let’s just get this out of the way, okay? I know you don’t want me here,” he says, almost urgently, like he had been bracing himself all summer to say it. “You made that clear from the beginning. The very beginning.”
I bite my lip, remembering that first day under the dock. The way Eliza and I had watched him walk toward us before we dipped beneath the water, reemerging in that secret space. How interesting: that female instinct to duck, to hide, like prey catching sight of glowing eyes in the night. Something inherent in our very genes, our very DNA. I wonder now if he knew we were down there all along, planting his feet and refusing to move.
If he liked the feeling of being on top of us, smothering us. If it made him feel big.
“But I’m here,” he continues. “And I’m not going anywhere, so you’re going to have to get used to it.”
I remember the way I used to walk up to them, after, once they became friends. Smiling politely as I plopped down, too. The way an awkward hush would settle over the three of us, whatever they were saying before screeching to a halt.
“We don’t have to be enemies,” he continues, and I think about the way he would smile back, biting his cheek, hating me for existing. For being there, too. “We both loved her—”
“Stop,” I say, holding out my hand. Remembering his silhouette in the yard, watching her in the dark. I can’t listen to him say that word. “Just stop talking.”
“I swear I didn’t mean—”
“Stop,” I repeat.
A sharp whistle erupts from behind us and I spin around, grateful for the interruption, my eyes landing on Lucy. She’s making her way down one of the lanes like a model on a catwalk, a single pin in one hand slapping against the opposite palm. Her legs are long and lean in those little short shorts, crisscrossing each other in flashy finesse, and I think of Eliza again, sauntering her way down the dock.
They are so similar, those two, reveling in the watching. The wanting. The risk.
“Everyone, gather round!” Lucy yells. “It’s game time!”
I watch as she makes her way to the front of the lane and plops down at the base of it, pretzeling her legs on the floor. Then she places the pin in front of her and flicks it, sending it spinning in a circle.
I look back at Levi, registering the way his eyes swell at the sight of her. Then he cocks his head, intrigued, before turning back toward me.
“Do you know her?” he asks at last, a curiosity in his voice he can’t contain.
“That’s Lucy,” I respond. “She’s my roommate.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again, apparently deciding against whatever he was about to say, and I wonder if he sees it, too. The similarities between them. The magnetism of Lucy and the way she pulls people in against their own will. The power she has over everyone else, a dominant force like gravity itself.
I wonder if he feels it: that elusive aura, tugging at us both just like Eliza.
CHAPTER 18
“The game is Spin the Pin,” Lucy says, satisfied with starting now that we’re all in a circle. It’s amazing how quickly she can command the attention of a room; the way a cleared throat or snapped finger sends us all scampering, so eager to please. “It’s a mash-up between Spin the Bottle and Truth or Dare.”
I feel a catch in my throat, thinking of Levi. I can’t bring myself to look at him, but I know he’s thinking it, too. There is no way I could kiss him. If I spin that pin and it lands on him, Eliza would be the only thing on our minds. It would feel like a gross betrayal—on both our parts—and suddenly, I’m so angry at Lucy for not thinking of that.
“Rest assured, there will be no making out,” she says, as if reading my mind. “Not yet, at least. The night is young.”
Lucas whistles and shoots a wink at Sloane, who rolls her eyes before taking a long sip of her drink.
“We go around the circle and spin the pin,” Lucy continues, flinging it again and watching it wobble. “Once it stops, whoever it’s pointing at will choose between truth or dare.”
“And if we don’t want to do whatever stupid thing we’re dared to do?” Sloane asks, looking back at Lucas, though I have a feeling she’s only asking so I don’t have to.
“Then you’re lame,” Lucy says. “And you drink. I’ll go first.”
We all watch as she reaches into the center with one long arm, the bowling pin between us rocking back and forth as it twirls. I look around the circle, mentally tallying the players. There’s me, of course, and Levi sitting on the other side of it, as far away as humanly possible. There’s Nicole and Trevor; Sloane and Lucas. Lucy, obviously, and three other guys who I’ve met before but whose names, up until this point, I’ve never bothered to remember. Will, maybe. James sounds right. Something that starts with a G.
“Nicole!” Lucy shrieks as the pin slows to a stop. “My first victim! Truth or dare?”
Nicole groans, taking a dramatic sip of her drink.
“Truth,” she says at last.
“Where’s the raunchiest place you and Trevor have fucked?”
Trevor barks out a laugh while Nicole flushes red, hiding her face behind her cup. I see Sloane smirk, like she already knows the answer, while the rest of the guys take self-conscious sips, trying to hide the fact that they’re already picturing it.
“Probably right there,” Trevor says, laughing, pointing to the red bench behind us before Nicole can chime in. Lucas belts out an “Oh shit!” jaw dropped low, while Nicole’s eyes bulge impossibly wide, her hand reaching out to slap her boyfriend’s shoulder.
“Trevor, what the fuck?” she whispers, her face burning brighter. He just shrugs, smiling into his drink and looking satisfied.
The game keeps going, each of us taking our turn with the pin, and with every passing round, I can see our eyelids growing heavier, our cheeks flushing warmer. The familiar mutation from sober to buzzed to something else entirely making our skin droop like overworked clay. Someone brought a collection of bottles over to the circle so we didn’t have to keep getting up to refill our drinks, and every time the pin lands on me, I hold my breath and pick dare. My legs feel tingly when I stand, that rush of cold blood as it floods back in, and so far, I’ve taken three shots of Rumple Minze, given James a lazy lap dance, and eaten a slice of room-temperature pizza some customer left beneath a table, a single bite mark already nibbled out of the crust.
“That’s disgusting,” Lucas muttered as I forced myself to chew, the coagulated cheese sticking to the roof of my mouth.
I have no idea how long we’ve been playing—minutes, maybe. Hours. Days. It could be light outside for all I know, but in here, underneath these fluorescent bulbs, it feels like we’re in a vacuum. Like we’re the only people in the world.
I vaguely register Sloane to my left, though she’s more of a smudge than anything; a blur of color as she shifts her weight, flails her arms, whatever story she’s telling growing more animated by the minute. Lucas is rambling on about his latest truth, turning what should have been a simple answer into something heady and profound. The more we drink, the more we talk—our inhibitions are lowered, emotions raised—and the room is spinning slightly, Stevie Nicks still seeping through the speakers around us, her raspy voice pulling me into a trance as she drones on about things lost and had.
I close my eyes, drop my head, my mind once again wandering over to Eliza. She would have fit in so perfectly here. This is all she ever wanted, really: all those nights when she had tried to pull me away from the safety of our bedrooms, begging me to get out. Meet people. Do something. I never wanted to go. I was perfectly content with the way things were—just the two of us, the way it had always been—and suddenly, I feel like a hypocrite for even being here. For living this life she wanted more than anything.