His laugh does something to my insides. “I’m aware. Just trying to be polite.”
We set it down on the empty stage and join the new piece to the other half. It’s a metal mess of angry lines and dark shadows—an abstract version of a fire escape. Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t imagine any West Side Story without it.
“It’s crazy good,” I say, gesturing at the set. “You’ll be working Broadway one day.”
He laughs. “I’ll be welding on a construction site. Nobody pays for shit like this.”
“I would.” I run a thumb along a seam in two metal sheets, heat rolling up my neck. “Learn to take a chance on something, Lucas.”
“You’re one to talk.” His gaze drops to my mouth, and it isn’t the first time.
Sometimes, I wish he didn’t stand so close to me. And sometimes, I wish he’d stand closer.
Emily’s laugh drags me out of the memory. She’s shaking her head, like my face is telling secrets. It probably is.
“Whatever you’re thinking, you can stop,” I say. “I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, looking amused. “But I think I might be a little right.”
My lip quirks into half a smile. It’s as close as I’ve ever come to admitting anything. Knowing what happened myself is enough. Maybe I went stupid for a while with Lucas—I know I lost my mind completely on Sophie’s back deck—but that’s not who I really am. That’s my mother.
Everything swoony in me died the morning my mother curled her long, pretty hair just a little too carefully, the same morning she gave me a hug that lingered more than usual.
“You are just like me,” she’d said. “I hope you’ll trust your heart too. No matter where it leads.”
I should have known something was up, but I was fourteen years old, and my mother was north on the compass of my heart. Now, she is a cautionary tale. And I’m smart enough to listen.
“So you were never actually dating though?” she asks.
“I don’t really date.” I shrug. “Not seriously. It seems a little ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
“Sometimes,” Emily says. “To some of us. But I’ve seen you at dances and out with groups. I guess I thought…”
“Casual stuff,” I say. “I just don’t see a point in losing yourself in some person you’ll probably never see again after graduation.”
“Did you lose yourself in Lucas?”
“No.” But I could have. “So, what about you?” I smile wide, ready to deflect. “You have your eye on anyone?”
“My family wouldn’t like that.” She says it like it’s not weird, so I nod and play along.
A dragonfly whirs past on shimmering wings, hovering briefly over Mr. Walker’s tent. He’s still out cold, stretched flat beside his tent door. He hasn’t moved, which is odd.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I say, nodding at him. “He should be getting better.”
“Unless he was drugged again,” Emily says with a soft snort.
I gasp. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“If he woke up while we were gone, he might have had more to drink. Did we check his tent? Did he have any extra bottles?”
Emily doesn’t answer, but she gets up. She slips easily over Mr. Walker’s body and into the tent. There’s a soft rustle, then a silence that starts too quickly and stretches too long. My ribs clamp down like someone’s tightened a screw.
“I found something,” Emily says, but I already knew that.
Emily’s steps are soft when she returns. I don’t need to ask what she’s found because she’s carrying it. Six gleaming plastic bottles that make my tongue scrape like a hunk of sandpaper across the roof of my mouth.
Water. Big bottles too.
Our eyes meet, and her hands shake when she sets them down. We need it badly. I’ve only peed once, before we started rummaging. It wasn’t much. And I’m not sweating anymore, even though it’s still hot.
“That’s not all,” she says, ducking inside the tent to grab something. “His old bottle was empty,” she offers, then holds up the old bottle. It’s not empty now. There’s about half an inch of water in it, but it looks weird.
“There’s something in that,” I say. “It looks cloudy.”
“Yes,” Emily says. “But the other bottles seem fine. The plastic overwrap is still intact.”
“Great. Except that we don’t know where they came from.”
She doesn’t answer for a while because we do know. And if they drugged us once, why on earth would we think they won’t do it again? My eyes drag to the cloudy water in Mr. Walker’s bottle. They already have done it again.
“I’m thirsty.” Emily’s voice is small and desperate.