I break my silence. “Man, didn’t you hear her? She said no. Jesus Christ.”
Dan stares at me with disbelief. Anger mixes into his expression like blood uncurling in water, and I wait for him to square up to me, tell me to shut up, and start a drunk fight or something.
Then we hear sirens. The tiniest whine at first, but the three of us freeze as one, trading looks. “Is that—” Dan says, and I’m like, “Yeah,” and then Olivia charges forward, yelling, “Turn off the music! Everyone out. Everyone, get out—”
Nobody’s listening until she bellows, “POLICE!” and then someone kills the music, the siren slices through the air, and panic crashes down like an avalanche.
They run. I’ve never seen a charge like this, a clot of people dashing for the nearest exit, cramming themselves through however possible. I press back against the wall, hoping to ride out the storm, but a voice says, “Hey!” and I look to my left. A wild-eyed Valentine Simmons forces his way upstream, battered back by person after person, his desperate words not stopping anyone. “Help—anyone—Juniper’s in a room over there. She locked herself in, and I can’t get her out.”
I yell Olivia’s name, and Valentine beckons frantically. The three of us duck between fleeing people down the mile-long hall to the locked door. Lucas McCallum is kneeling in front of it, rattling the knob.
As we skid to a halt, Olivia yanks a bobby pin from her hair and snaps it in half. “Let me,” she says to Lucas, and as he moves back, she hunches over the doorknob, bending one side of the pin. “Someone check for the police,” she says, and I sprint down the hallway, the tasseled rug slipping askew under my feet. I dodge the bathroom door opening as Kat Scott peeks out. By the time I rush into the foyer and stop at the wide-open door, kids are flooding down Juniper’s lawn like ants.
It’s not police cars at the curb—it’s an ambulance.
And a sleek black car is pulling up the driveway, two horrified adults sitting stiffly behind the windshield. Juniper’s parents are home early.
EARLIER TONIGHT, EVERY PERSON WHO SET FOOT IN this house said, “Holy shit,” but I haven’t let myself stare. Most of my friends here assume I’m rich, because I went to Pinnacle and dress like a Pinnacle kid. If somebody asks, I’m not going to lie, but I’m not going to give away the game by gawking, either.
Now the house merits a “holy shit” for other reasons. The crowd demolished it the way someone might demolish a decadent dessert. Every rug is out of place, their corners folded up. A pair of stout leather ottomans in the front lounge are on their sides. A crystal decanter lies in shards on the yellow wood floor of the dining room, bathed in a pool of whisky that probably cost more than my truck. The hallways ring in the aftermath of Lil Jon’s sneering rap, silent now.
Five of us stand in the foyer, watching the ambulance wail away from the house into the night, Juniper’s parents following in their Mercedes. Valentine, to my left, shifts his weight from foot to foot as if he’s standing on burning sand. By the door, Olivia and Kat Scott argue about something in low voices. Matt Jackson hovers nearby, shooting Olivia looks every so often.
“Okay,” says Olivia, turning to the rest of us. Her sister wears the scowl of the century. “We’re going to clean up before we head out. Do any of you think you could stay and help?”
“Sure,” I say, feeling numb. The sight of Juniper getting carried out on a stretcher, her face as blue-white as marble, glares in my mind. I can’t be alone right now.
Matt nods. Valentine doesn’t reply, just stalks down the hall, as expressionless as always.
“Is he okay?” Olivia asks, nodding after him.
“I think so,” I say. Down the hall, Valentine enters the guest bedroom where Juniper passed out. I jog his way, and the others follow.
Valentine stands at the foot of the bed, staring at the vomit smeared across the floor, disturbed where Juniper fell into it. It’s reddish, the color of the punch. The sight of it makes me want to throw up, too. I look away, twisting my watch around and around my wrist.
“I’ll clean this up,” Olivia says, waving at the vomit.
“You sure? I can get it,” Matt says, although he looks a hundred times more grossed out than she does.
“Nah, don’t worry. Juni’s vomit and I have gotten real friendly these last couple of weeks.” Olivia points back into the hall. “Can you get the kitchen, or move the—”
Someone’s phone rings. We all check our pockets, but I glimpse a phone that must be Juniper’s peeking out from the bedding. I dart around the vomit and grab the phone, frowning when I see the screen. “She doesn’t have the number saved,” I say. “Should I pick up?”
“Might be important. Let me,” Olivia says. I palm it to her, and she hits accept. “Hello?”
A male voice bursts out on the other end, audible from feet away. After a few seconds, Olivia’s face goes slack. She lets out the tiniest noise.