“Whose house is this?” I ask.
“Tark Culpepper.”
“Tark Culpepper?” I say. Tark is a name?
“He goes to the Academy,” Margo says. “But some of his friends go to Central. You know, like Mitchell Lumpkin? And Chase Warren?”
“Yeah,” I say, though those names mean nothing to me.
“So, are you dating Donal Murphy?” Aimee asks.
“The Irish dude?” Margo asks.
“No,” I say. “We’re just friends.” Which is true. Right?
“Someone said you were,” Aimee says.
“Nope,” I say, wondering who said that. Did Donal tell the other guys about the day at his house? My face reddens.
“He’s a cutie. You should go for that,” Aimee says.
“Speaking of, Tark is a total hottie,” Margo says. “Grace and I are totally going to fight each other over him.”
“We are not,” Grace says, laughing. “He’s all yours.”
“Well, sorry to burst your bubbles, but I heard Simone and Tark hooked up,” Aimee says. “At Harrison’s homecoming party.”
“Ugh, Simone,” Margo says. “Figures.”
They keep talking, throwing out names of more people I don’t know—Leslie, Jed, Harrison, Cecily. These girls have an easy rapport with one another. But I feel tongue-tied. I can’t follow what or who they’re talking about. What am I doing here, I think. But it’s too late to back out.
We finally pull up to where the party is—a big brick house with a circular drive, with tons of tall pine trees everywhere, like we’re in a magical forest.
The party inside is packed, and there are some faces I recognize, but mostly faces I don’t. I shield myself behind the girls as they make their way through the crowd. They stop and talk to the other partygoers, but I just stand there awkwardly, like an afterthought. I see people heading to one of the back rooms—the kitchen—so I break off and make my way there. In the kitchen I see a keg and bottles of liquor set out. A guy pours vodka into a plastic cup with ice, then pours orange juice, and stirs it with a long spoon. “Want one?” he asks, noticing me. I nod and he hands me the drink. “Thanks,” I say, but he’s too busy mixing another one for himself to acknowledge me.
I walk from room to room, not stopping. Stopping means standing there and looking like I don’t belong.
My drink is strong, but the orange juice makes it taste bearable. I start to feel calmer. Grace walks up behind me. “Hey! Where’d you go?” she says. She’s flushed, grinning, with some guy in tow. He’s got insanely green eyes and carefully combed dark brown hair. He’s so chiseled he almost looks like a cartoon character. “This is Tark,” Grace says.
“So you’re the famous Beth Walsh.” I can’t tell if he’s being jokey or flirty or something else. He reaches out his hand and I shake it. He holds on a bit longer than I’m used to.
“I’m not famous,” I say, twitching inside at the reference to Sam. I take another quick sip of my drink.
“Uh, yeah, you are,” he says. “Your story’s like something out of a movie.”
“A movie. Totally,” Grace says. “Beth, who would play you?”
“So, how’s your brother doing?” Tark asks, ignoring Grace.
I have no idea. “He’s okay.”
“That’s great. That’s really awesome,” he says, smiling like he’s posing for a yearbook photo. “Hey, come meet some of my friends,” he says, grabbing my hand and tugging me to a side room, where some of his private-school friends are holding court. I shoot Grace a look, but she’s smiling, like this is what she had in mind all along, parading around her “famous” friend.
“Hey, guys, this is Beth. Beth Walsh. Her brother is the kid that vanished and then came back.”
“Omigod,” some girl says, bounding up from her seat. She’s in a shimmery cocktail dress, like she’s at some fashion show instead of a dumb high school kegger. “I saw you on TV!”
“Who?” some guy sitting on the couch asks. His hair is long and looks dirty and he probably thinks he looks cool.
“The girl whose brother went missing,” she says, sounding impatient.
“We were just talking about how Beth’s life could be made into a movie,” Tark says.
“Oh, totally,” the girl says. “Or maybe a miniseries!”
I shake my drink cup around. “I think I need another,” I say, and then I turn around and walk away. I know I’m being rude, but I can’t stand there anymore. I make my way back to the kitchen and try to pour myself the same drink that guy made me, but it tastes way worse than before.
When I turn around, Tark’s behind me. “Did we scare you off?” he asks.
“No,” I lie. “I just needed a drink.”
“Come,” he says, “I’ll show you the lake.” I follow him, and as we walk through the crowd I spot Aimee from a distance, and when she sees me with Tark, she sticks her tongue out and smiles.
Outside, the night air is cool. Tark leads me across the deck, past more clumps of people, down some steps, and then along a slight dirt path that weaves through a bunch of trees. Once we clear the trees we are on a wooden boat dock, the lake spreading out before us, gentle ripples visible in the moonlight.
“It’s pretty,” I say, walking to the dock’s edge. I take another sip. And another. The dock creaks as he moves closer to me, closer, till I can smell his cologne.
“You’re pretty,” he says, putting his hand on my back, cupping himself behind me.
I want to like this. I want to want this. I want to feel like this is a world I could walk around in—parties, drinking, hot guys. But this whole night is wrong. When Tark starts to nuzzle his mouth on my neck, I step to the side, and walk to the other side of the dock.
“Um, okay?” he says. Maybe I’m the first girl who hasn’t swooned and fallen into his arms.
“Listen, it’s nothing personal.” My voice sounds wobbly. “You’re only giving me the time of day because you think I’m some celebrity. The girl with the brother who came back from the dead. The famous Beth Walsh.”
He stands there, across from me, and turns to face the water, maybe to look at the moon—at anything besides me. I’ve ruined the moment he had in mind. But I don’t care.