by Kit Frick
She’s wearing a tiny pair of white shorts and a bright orange bandeau tank that shows off her sun-bronzed arms and a neon green belly ring. That’s new. She stops abruptly in the middle of the ramp, forcing her fellow travelers to part around her in a sea of grumbles. Her hand shoots into the air in a frantic wave, as if I could have possibly missed her. “Anna!”
“Hey, Kaylee!” I force my lips to part into a big toothy grin and wave back. “Come on, you’re holding up the show.”
She rushes the rest of the way down the ramp, and before I know what’s happening, Kaylee is wrapped around me in a tangle of arms and hair and summer breeze body mist. I stiffen for just a beat, then let my body sink into the familiar comfort of my best friend. I can’t help it. Despite everything, I’ve missed her.
* * *
If Kaylee’s still mad at me, she doesn’t let on. From her perch in the passenger’s seat, she fills me in on everything I’ve missed over the past two weeks, which isn’t a whole lot. She got her belly button pierced on the day I left, a graduation present to herself. I’m a little bit jealous. Kaylee’s eighteen already. I’ve never really minded being the baby of our class, but I won’t turn eighteen until almost the end of my first semester of college. It’s not that I want a neon belly ring specifically, but I wouldn’t mind getting a tattoo at the end of the summer. Something to commemorate my time in Herron Mills, or the start of fall. My new leaf.
As I navigate slowly through the increasing crush of holiday weekend traffic, Kaylee chatters on about Mike’s current hookup and this new Hawaiian-themed bar that’s going in on Seventy-Fourth and Fifth. I wonder if an autumn leaf would be too clichéd, maybe on my ankle?
“Turn here,” Kaylee says, pointing toward an upcoming side road. She has her phone out, directions pulled up on the screen. Her silver hoop earrings flash in the sun.
“Where are we going?” I ask, but I’m already making the turn.
“Supply run. There’s a liquor store in point five miles.”
I narrow my eyes behind my sunglasses but keep driving. Starr used to keep us stocked in booze before she moved, but we don’t have Starr or her ID here in the Hamptons.
“They’re gonna card. It’s a holiday weekend.”
“It’ll be fine,” Kaylee says. “You worry too much.”
And Kaylee doesn’t worry nearly enough, but I figure if they do card us, it won’t be the worst thing. Let Kaylee be mad at the store. We’ll just have to figure out some boozeless activity to keep us occupied.
Suddenly, Kaylee is tugging on my sleeve. “Pull over, pull over!”
I hit the brakes and steer us to the side, startled. The car behind me honks, then swerves around us while I fumble with Emilia’s hazards. Kaylee flings her door open and leaps onto the sidewalk.
“Becca, holy shit!” She wraps her arms around a petite Chinese girl with a nose ring and hot pink streaks in her hair. She’s standing on the sidewalk with a lanky white guy in a possibly ironic muscle shirt and board shorts. They’re both carrying shopping bags. “When did this happen?” Kaylee squeals, releasing the girl from her hug and running her fingers through her hair.
I join them on the sidewalk, and the girl introduces her boyfriend to us as Zeb. “I’m Anna.” I stick out my hand to Zeb, then offer it to the girl.
She giggles and raises a hand to cover her mouth. “I remember,” she says.
Kaylee narrows her eyes at me. “You remember Becca, right? Her hair was blue in the winter.”
I squint at the girl’s face. Becca. She doesn’t look remotely familiar. “Sure,” I say. “It looks so different with the pink.”
Becca giggles again, and Zeb says something about having to get the groceries back to their beach house before the ice cream melts. Kaylee promises to text Becca later, and soon we’re back in Emilia’s car, en route to the liquor store.
“I don’t remember her,” I confess to Kaylee. “How do you—?”
“Really?” Kaylee shoots me an odd look. “I mean, it’s been a few months, but she was at all of Wanda’s parties last winter. I feel like you and Becca had a marathon conversation about some boring shit like acrylic paints once.”
“She’s an artist?”
“Here, here, turn in.”
I steer the car into the liquor store lot. “We know her from Brooklyn?” I ask, pulling into an open spot.
“Where else?”
Inside, Kaylee grabs a small shopping cart and takes off past the wine displays and toward the aisles of hard alcohol like she owns the place. By the time I catch up, she has our cart stocked with a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a bottle of Bacardi white, and a yellow-green jug of margarita mix.
“Have you been here before?”
Kaylee tilts her head to one side and squints at me. “It’s a liquor store, Anna. They’re all the same. See if you can find us some pineapple juice and seltzer in the back?”
I nod and do as instructed. While I’m pulling a six-pack of little pineapple juice cans from the cold case, I hear a throat clear behind me. I straighten up, prepared to move out of the way.
“Anna?”
I spin around. “Penguin guy.”
“I prefer penguin expert,” Max says, grinning. He brushes a piece of floppy brown hair out of his eyes, and it falls right back.
“Of course.” I grin back. He’s even cuter out of his aquarium uniform, and unlike Caden, he’s unlikely to come with baggage of the missing fiancée variety. But despite myself, I can’t help wishing it were Caden standing before me, eyes and smile glittering in the neon liquor store lights.
My gaze drops down to the giant shopping cart parked in front of him. It’s filled to the brim with cases of beer and a few bottles of vodka and gin. “You do your shopping in Herron Mills often?”
He laughs. “Not really. Just finished up at the aquarium, and this is the best liquor store on the way back to Montauk. Most places don’t have both the hard stuff and a great beer selection.”
“Right,” I say, “the party.”
As if on cue, Kaylee wheels our significantly smaller cart around the corner and pulls up next to Max and me. “Party?”
“This is Kaylee,” I say. “Kaylee, Max.”
She sticks out her hand, eyes flashing bright, and he takes it in his. She can have him, I tell myself. You didn’t want him anyway. The bigger issue is Max’s party on Montauk. I’d put it immediately out of my mind after he invited me; it feels like a lifetime has passed between Monday and today. Drinking with Kaylee in the pool house tonight is one thing. We’re unlikely to get into that much trouble, just the two of us. But a Fourth of July party on the beach … As Max gives Kaylee the details, my stomach churns.
“I thought you had to work,” Max says, and I realize he’s speaking to me.
“I did,” I say. “I mean, I thought I did. But Paisley’s with friends for the weekend.”
“That’s settled then.” Max reaches into Kaylee’s cart and transfers our bottles over into his. “These are on me. Meet you in the parking lot?”
“I told you not to worry,” Kaylee says when we’re outside with our bags of seltzer and pineapple juice. I watch Max through the big store window, unloading case after case of beer onto the conveyer belt and chatting with the white-haired man behind the register. He definitely would have carded us.
“Pretty convenient,” I concede, wondering if Herron Mills really has the best liquor store between Riverhead and Montauk. On the other hand, it’s not like Max followed us. The contents of his cart indicate he was definitely in the store already when we pulled up. There’s nothing to be paranoid about.
A few minutes later, Max is handing our tequila and rum over to Kaylee and I’m trying not to be embarrassed that he so clearly knew we were underage. I remind myself it doesn’t matter. He’s too old for me, and I’m not into him anyway. Kaylee doesn’t look embarrassed at all. We stay to help him load up his trunk, then hop back into Emilia’s car with a promise we’ll see him tomorrow. At the ver
y least, I tell myself, anything that happens will be four towns away from Herron Mills.
* * *
I make Kaylee promise to be on her best behavior while the Bellamys are around. She rolls her eyes, but agrees to keep the booze stashed in the pool house until they go to bed. We spend the rest of the afternoon at the pool, eating chips and reading the People magazines Kaylee brought from Brooklyn. As expected, by the time I hear Emilia leave to go meet Tom, the sun is starting its dip toward the tree line. They must get dinner out, because by the time their cars pull back into the garage, it’s after ten, and they go straight up to the second floor.
When their light goes out, we make margaritas and splash around in the pool. I take a small sip, then a bigger one. Our drinks glow like neon Kool-Aid in the pool lights, and Kaylee calls them “belly-ring green.” I have to admit, I’m having a great time. My whole body feels warm and loose. It’s like I’m glowing.
“Have we been here before?” I ask when I’m two drinks in and my skin is buzzing with tequila and the warm night air. I don’t know why Kaylee would lie to me, but that girl Becca, and the way she seemed to know her way around town today …
“Like, in another life?” Kaylee giggles. “Sure, probably.”
“No, seriously.” I don’t know how to ask this without sounding profoundly uncool. Kaylee drinks as much as I do, more, but she never blacks out. She already thinks I’m a lightweight. “Herron Mills, the Hamptons. Did we ever come out here?”
“What, no.” Kaylee sets her cup down on the side of the pool. Her face is suddenly serious. “Why would you ask that?”
“Forget it,” I say. I dive under and swim toward Kaylee, wrap my arms around her legs underwater. She yelps as I drag her down with me, and we both come up gasping for air.
15 THEN
July
Montauk, NY
ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, we pack the mixers and unopened bottle of rum, and I request a Lyft to take us to Bridgehampton station. Emilia and Tom left around nine thirty; I listened to them load up the Lexus while Kaylee and I were still lounging around in bed. Max said to come anytime after noon; the party is an all-day kind of thing. Kaylee would have had us out of the house an hour ago, but I insisted on cooking us a big brunch and then thoroughly cleaning the Bellamys’ kitchen before we left. Who knows if there’ll be anything to eat besides potato chips once we get there. By two, Kaylee’s eager to hit the road, and I’ve run out of excuses to hang back.
When the LIRR’s path syncs up with the highway, I gape at the line of cars outside. The traffic on Route 27 is epic. The train is packed, but the highway is one giant gridlock. It’s like the whole world is driving to Montauk today. The train deposits us at the station, and I request another Lyft to take us to the beach, trying not to think about how much this weekend is cutting into my college fund. Kaylee texts Max from the car, and he gives us vague directions toward the patch of sand where we’ll find him and his crew.
Once we’re out of the car and burning the soles of our feet on the hot, white sand, I’m surprised—again—by how different the beach here is from the one in Herron Mills. We’re only twenty miles further east, but here at the tip of the East End, there’s a bit of an end-of-the-world vibe. The beach is rockier, wilder. We pound the sand toward Max’s coordinates, steep bluffs crested with a thick tangle of grass to our left and white-capped waves teeming with surfers to our right. I watch Kaylee taking it all in; the beachgoers are young, beautiful, rich. This is the place to be. She tosses back her hair and rolls her shoulders, pink bikini straps flashing beneath a gauzy white beach cover with shiny silver tassels. She probably thinks my whole summer has been like this.
Max and his buddies aren’t that hard to locate; fortunately, there’s a bright red food truck nearby, and Kaylee spots Max tossing a Frisbee around with a couple other guys in the hot midafternoon sun. We spread out our beach towels and I lather myself up with today’s second layer of sunscreen while Kaylee runs off to get in on the Frisbee toss. I was hoping Max’s crew might have an umbrella or tent I could post myself under, but it’s all blankets and towels and unadulterated sunshine for miles. My new hats arrived just in time; the one I’m wearing today is pale blue and enormous, the brim casting a lip of shadow around my shoulders.
Unless I find some actual shelter, though, I’m still going to fry. I’m twisted around and looking behind me, wondering if the sand below the bluffs will get any shade by late afternoon, when something wet and very cold bumps against my knee. I yelp and whirl around.
“Kaylee!”
But it’s Max, pressing a can of Sixpoint against my skin and grinning, all sea salt and mischief.
“Sweet Action?” he asks. “We have cider too, and I think someone brought wine coolers.”
“This is perfect.” I accept the beer and crack open the tab, telling myself I’m officially off the wagon until Kaylee leaves. It’s not like I’m working, and the thought of being the only sober person at this party isn’t exactly appealing. “We brought some rum and mixers. Or I guess technically you did.”
“Thanks, we’ll get them in the coolers.” He motions over a bearded, slightly potbellied friend, who introduces himself as Sam and whisks our tote away. My eyes follow Sam across the beach and land on Kaylee. She’s standing with a beanpole of a guy with John Lennon sunglasses and a very prominent Adam’s apple. Whatever he’s saying, he keeps cracking himself up. Kaylee’s smiling politely and drilling her boredom into the Frisbee with her fingertips.
“Anna?”
“Huh?” Whatever Max just said, I missed it.
“Just making sure you’re having a good time.”
“Thanks, definitely.” I flash him a tight smile. I’m not really feeling the Max Adler vibe today, if I ever was. It’s like as soon as I told myself Kaylee could have him, it really hit that he’s at least four years older than me—and mostly, he’s not Caden. “I think I need to check on Kaylee.”
* * *
Four hours later, it’s as hot as ever, but the sun is mercifully beginning to fade. Despite constant sunscreen reapplication efforts, my shoulders are definitely pink. I’ve spent most of the afternoon talking to Max’s sister and her friend, who are home from their first years at Vassar and Northwestern, respectively. They’re nice enough and seem more interested in geeking out about the latest Cassandra Clare novel than drinking, and so we’ve been getting along just fine. They push up from the sand and head toward the coolers to forage for snacks, with the promise to bring me back something salty.
Kaylee is a couple yards down the sand, somewhere between lit and full-on wasted, and I’m more than happy to hang back while she hangs off Max’s shoulders and garners the glares of two nearby brunettes. At some point, Becca and Zeb arrived with a NY Islanders cooler and a giant inflatable beach ball, which has been slowly making its way down the beach. Kaylee must have texted them. I should probably go over and say hey, but I still can’t remember a single previous interaction with Becca before yesterday’s run-in, and besides, they seem to have made themselves totally at home with Max’s friends. Everyone fits in here better than I do.
My scalp is sweating under my sun hat, so I let it hang down my back and shake my mane loose. A wave of exhaustion washes over me. It’s probably all the UV rays, I think, lying back on my towel and pulling my hat over my eyes as a large white cloud drifts across the sun and I’m finally blanketed in shade.
* * *
When I wake up, I’m hot and cold all at once. I’m not sure how long I was sleeping, but the white cloud is gone, replaced by a chill in the air and the last gasp of a gorgeous sunset over the water. I blink at it hazily through the hat’s pale blue mesh. The right side of my body is warm—body heat warm. I wiggle my fingers and find them locked with someone else’s.
“Zoe?” It’s a man’s voice.
I pull the hat off my face and twist around. Max is sprawled on Kaylee’s towel next to me, but Kaylee is nowhere in sight. His hand is clasped in mine, and the
side of his body is pressed up against my arm and leg.
“You’re awake,” he says. His words are thick and slippery, like mercury sliding around in an old thermometer. He’s very, very drunk.
I twist my hand out of his. “You called me Zoe.”
“What?” He stares down at his hand, as if he’s not quite sure where mine went. Then he flops onto his side and squints at me.
“Forget it.” I shove myself up onto my knees and rummage around in my bag for a T-shirt. Gooseflesh prickles my skin, which is a deep rose pink. When we get home, I’ll match Emilia’s azaleas. Perfect. “Where’s Kaylee?” I ask, tugging the T-shirt over my head and fishing back in the bag for my shorts.
“Who?”
“Seriously? Kaylee, my friend. You were flirting all afternoon.”
Max’s face splits open into a wide, sloppy grin. “Just jokes,” he says, but I’m not sure I buy it. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Hey, lighten up. I don’t know where she is. Sam and Shiri went in for a dip a little while ago; I think I saw her go with them.”
I scan the shoreline, but the sun is slipping away, and it’s hard to make out who’s who among the throng of bodies splashing around in the surf.
I start to turn back toward Max, but before I can even get my head all the way around, his mouth is on mine, and we’re kissing. More accurately, he’s kissing me, all rough, sun-chapped lips and too much tongue.
“Stop!” I push him off me and swipe my arm across my lips. It comes away smeared with spit.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is all innocence spiked with male privilege. As if whatever’s wrong, he’s here to save me from it, not the other way around.
“I’m not into this.” I gesture in the air between us. “Sorry,” I add, even though I’m not. I stand up, cutoffs in hand, and step into them. Suddenly I want to be wearing much more than a two-piece. If I had a trench coat, I’d put that on too.
