I spot Brianne trailing behind our orchestra group, her face pale in the glow of candlelight, but I duck before she can see me. I don’t have it in me to make conversation, to explain where I’ve been.
As we file through the open fence onto the field, I’m caught in a flood of memories. I haven’t been back here since junior year, and a montage of happier times plays in my mind—sitting in the stands with Lana, cheering whenever Chace scored a goal, the three of us plus Ryan goofing off when the field was ours after practice, and later…waiting for Chace alone, catching his eye and watching him smile just for me.
Mandy’s singing stops, and I’m yanked out of my reverie by another familiar voice. Lana steps up onto the stands, a microphone in her grasp.
“Today we lost one of the best guys we’ll ever know,” she says, her voice catching on the words. “From the moment Chace arrived at our school, he brought with him an energy you couldn’t help wanting to be around. He was the greatest friend to all of you, and the best boyfriend to me.”
Is it my imagination, or does Lana find me in the crowd just then, giving me a pointed stare?
“He was an amazing teammate, big brother, and son. And—” She swallows hard, and through the candlelight I can see the torment on her face, belying her composure. “We owe it to Chace to do everything we can to help the police find the monster who did this to him.”
This time I know I’m not imagining things. Lana is definitely eyeing me, her mouth curling in distaste. But she can’t think—
The sound of car tires roaring onto the field startles me out of my thoughts. My classmates turn to look, murmuring to each other. Headmaster Higgins is going to have a conniption over this. The Oyster Bay grounds are strictly car-free zones. But then I take in the black limousine, and I understand. Lana drops the microphone into someone’s palm and starts running toward the limo.
The uniformed driver jumps out and hurries to open the rear doors. Mrs. Porter steps out first, unrecognizable from her polished press photos. Her face has a deadened expression, her body hunched over as if carrying the entire weight of the tragedy on her back. The congressman steps out next, his mouth set in a grim line. Twelve-year-old Teddy follows, taking his mother’s hand. The scene is too much to bear, and I turn away, a searing pain blazing in my chest.
But out of the corner of my eye I can see Lana rushing toward them, wrapping Mrs. Porter in a tight hug. Ryan threads through the crowd of classmates to join them, embracing the congressman and crouching down to talk to Teddy.
No one wants me here. And if I thought or hoped that I might feel Chace with me at this moment…I was wrong.
I make my way through the throng and off the field, keeping my eyes on the ground so I won’t have to witness one more sight that breaks my heart.
You’d be surprised at how challenging it is to pull off a decent party at boarding school. With nothing but a corridor to separate the girls’ wing from the boys’, Oyster Bay Prep could be a breeding ground for all sorts of deliciously fun shenanigans—but the constant supervision they keep us under nipped that prospect in the bud a long time ago. So when our astronomy teacher, Mrs. Wakely, announces that a midnight meteor shower will be lighting up the sky on Friday, I’m gifted with a momentary flash of genius: What if we threw a school-sanctioned Meteor Shower Bash (aka coed outdoor slumber party) to take advantage of the last blush of summer while doing something kind of academic?
“I mean, doesn’t it sound incredible? We can take turns looking through the telescope and then sketch what we see by the light of bonfires. We can stargaze and roast marshmallows,” I urge Mrs. Wakely after class. “And instead of just going back to our dorms after the meteor shower and forgetting the whole thing, we can fall asleep in our tents beneath all the action in the sky. What do you think?”
In case you’re wondering, no, I’m not some kind of astronomy fanatic. The first two weeks of classes and the accompanying boatloads of homework have me itching to shed my buttoned-up school uniform, to dance barefoot and sneak sips from a flask, to flirt with Chace Porter and let him see others flirt with me. But I manage to convince Mrs. Wakely that my interest in this whole idea has nothing to do with the social perks.