by Lexa Hillyer
He shrugs. “Okay. I guess I’m game. Life’s short, right?”
Joy stares at him for a beat, his tall body naked in the faint starlight. There’s something completely absurd about it. But then again, there’s something completely and wildly absurd about all of this. “I couldn’t agree more,” she replies.
“Should we get some dry clothes first?” he suggests.
“That’s probably a good idea,” she answers. “But you realize we’re going to have to streak all the way to the cabins to get them, right?”
“Then let’s get a move on.” He gathers their sopping wet clothes in one arm, then grabs her hand and together they run, completely nude, back over the footbridge, through the woods, like some insane version of Adam and Eve. She’s beaming so hard her face hurts, her heart so happy and full it feels like her chest could burst open.
This is life, she thinks, giddy with the realization. This is love.
This is it.
17
From afar, the lights from the party appear to rise up and burn into low-hanging clouds, smoking the sky. An electronic beat throbs through the humid night air. As Zoe, Tali, and Luce walk through the dewy darkness of the Greens’ front lawn toward the lit-up mansion, Zoe can’t help but feel like she’s about to enter an alternate reality.
She’s once again approaching dreamland.
She feels good. She feels ready for something. Ready for tomorrow’s tournament—she’s been drilling ever since she left here this afternoon.
Ready for something else, too . . . ready to be surprised, maybe.
Zoe and Tali wait impatiently as Luce double-checks to make sure the golf cart they stole from camp is sufficiently hidden behind a set of trees. From this distance, Luce looks even tinier than usual, and it occurs to Zoe that she has barely seen her without Andrew’s arm draped around her shoulders. It’s refreshing to have Luce alone, though she can’t help but wonder why Luce didn’t invite Andrew.
As for Joy—she fled after the talent show, and they’re still wondering if she’s going to make an appearance at the party or not. Zoe knows she should probably be worried about Joy, but instead she just feels light-headed, unfocused. Tomorrow is their last day. . . .
“Hey,” Tali bursts out, causing Zoe to do a double take.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing,” Tali says, looking fidgety and itchy.
She wonders what happened to put Tali in such a strange mood. Over dinner, Zoe tried to ask Tali about her impromptu streaking session and Tali just shrugged, saying she couldn’t find Blake and got locked out of the house while she was changing. But she knows Tali’s not telling her the whole story.
“No, what were you gonna say?”
Tali swallows and shifts her weight, keeping her gaze focused on Luce in the distance. “Oh, I was just gonna say I’m sorry about . . . I mean, it sucks how we stopped hanging out. We still go to the same school. We see each other every day.”
Zoe cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t think they allow people like me at your lunch table, if you know what I mean.”
Tali turns to her then. “No, I don’t know what you mean. Why are you always putting up these, I don’t know, false dividers between us?”
“False dividers? Tali, the kids you hang out with, the popular crowd? Ashlynn and Tim and Mike and whoever else . . . I’m sorry, but they’re assholes and they’re mean to anyone who’s not part of their little inner circle. I’m not exactly dying to cross over to the other side.”
“That’s always been your problem,” Tali huffs.
“What?”
“Being so opinionated. Judgmental. You always assume everyone’s out to get you. Ashlynn and all those other people—my friends—they’re fun! And they don’t ditch me without any explanation.”
Now it’s Zoe’s turn to scoff. “I’m sorry, you’re saying I ditched you? Yeah, right.”
Tali shakes her head. “You guys were always leaving me out. Even when we were friends.”
Zoe can feel her jaw practically drop off her face. “What are you even talking about? That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it?” Tali asks, her eyes dark.
For a second, Zoe stops feeling angry and just feels . . . bad. Bad for Tali—which is a new one for her. Tali is the one who got popular and left her behind. It’s not the other way around.
Is it?
Tali turns away. “Whatever. I’m not getting into it. The past is the past.”
Luce returns then, wiping her hands on her shorts. “I think we’re good. Though at this point, if we get caught—” She throws her hands up in the air as if to say, I give up. Zoe is equally perplexed by Luce tonight. She almost missed the entire talent show, arriving only seconds before Joy’s performance with her eyes all red like she’d been crying, and when Zoe tried to ask her what was wrong, she shrugged and whispered simply, “Just getting a heavy dose of reality tonight.”
Zoe wasn’t sure if she meant her punishment—cleaning up garbage around the lake—or something else.
And then of course, there’s Joy, missing in action since she ran from the talent show with the coveted Miss Okahatchee crown on her head.
For two years, Zoe had been content to allow them all to grow apart; it had seemed an inevitable part of growing up. But now she can feel the invisible barrier between them like it’s an actual, tangible thing, a substance, a fog. If only the sun would rise and burn it all away so she could see her friends again—really see them.
A scream pierces through the music now, followed by laughter, and the girls turn back to face the mansion. Zoe gulps.
As soon as they open the door, they’re enveloped in sound and haze. The music’s so loud it feels like an external heartbeat. Dozens of beautiful, unrecognizable people filter past her wearing everything from sequined dresses to bikinis. By comparison, Zoe’s standard summer uniform of cutoffs and a man’s T-shirt over a bathing suit looks totally out of place, but it doesn’t matter—she slips into the stream of people invisibly, savoring the power of anonymity, yet also kind of liking being part of something so big, so wild.
A girl with thick liner and huge fake eyelashes steps in front of her and winks. Then she stands there with a hand on her hip and says, “Well?”
“Well what?” Zoe says, and then realizes the girl is wearing all black and white—she’s a waitress—and she’s holding a tray of shots in shot glasses made of actual glass. They twinkle with something pale green sloshing inside. Bravely, Zoe grabs one and downs it, feeling the foreign liquid tingle and burn inside her. When she turns to give the empty glass back and check on her friends, the waitress has already disappeared, fairylike. So have Luce and Tali—carried away by the party’s current. She finds an empty space on a mantel and puts the glass down, then catches her reflection in the mirror. Flat blond hair. Wide-spaced blue eyes. Boring all-American-looking face. Spontaneously, she grabs her hair, scrunches and swishes it around until it looks like she’s been riding cross-country on the back of a motorcycle. Better. Wilder.
The living room is almost the size of the entire downstairs of Zoe’s house in Liberty. She sees now that there’s a full bar next to one of the brass-studded leather couches—a real bar, made out of mahogany or something else dark and glossy.
She forces her way through the packed crowd, following the tickle of breeze that’s coming from the far doorway. Through it, she enters a dining room lined with huge windows, then a giant kitchen with a sitting area that opens out through a screen door into the backyard. She can see it’s only one of several exits to the expansive property that lies behind the house.
There are people everywhere—sprawled out on the lawns, dancing on the tennis courts, playing in the pool, laughing on balconies, and spilling out of the game room and wine cellar below the deck. Zoe can only assume most of them are Ellis and Blake’s high school friends, though she recognizes one or two othe
r campers in the mix as well who must have similarly braved sneaking out past curfew and found rides here. Zoe scans the crowd before it occurs to her that she’s looking for Ellis. After all, Ellis is the one who invited her, and besides Tali and Luce, she’s one of the few people she knows here, even if she is Zoe’s competition.
But she can’t spot her.
No surprise—that’s how Ellis is, Zoe’s beginning to realize. Elusive. There and then not there. It’s what makes her so skilled with a sword in hand. She flits around so much, like a butterfly, that it’s hard not to want to pin her down to get a better look.
Zoe resolves to get herself a proper drink instead, and pushes her way into a long, winding line by one of the bars . . . right behind Russ Allen. She’d recognize that stupid lumpy backpack anywhere.
Shit.
“Albright!” he says, catching her before she can flee. With his buzz cut and broad shoulders, he’s not terrible looking. Her taste isn’t that bad. He’s just . . . awkward.
“Russ!” she says back. “What are you, um, doing here?”
“Partying, obviously,” he says. “And hoping to run into you, of course.”
“Of course.”
He smiles, clearly getting his hopes up. “So, do you, like, wanna go somewhere?”
“Right now?” Zoe asks. How disinterested does she need to be for him to get the hint? “Russ, I just got here.”
“Later, then?” he asks, and she hates the desperate squeak in his voice.
“No, Russ. Never.” The dismissal flies out of her mouth automatically, and she’s amazed how much easier it is this time around. After Cal, she’s got rejection down pat. “I’m sorry,” Zoe adds quickly. “It’s just that I’m, ah, dating someone else. Currently.”
He crinkles his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
They move forward in the line. “Am I sure? Yeah, Russ, I’m sure.” It’s all Zoe can do not to roll her eyes. She’s trying to make this easier on him and instead he’s questioning her lie. Of course it’s a lie. She’s trying to be nice!
“Okay, well, I can get you a drink at least,” Russ says, seeming deflated.
Zoe shrugs. “Okay.”
By now they’re almost at the bar. Once he hands her a vodka tonic, she turns to head off into the party without him, but he grabs her shoulder. “Zoe.”
“Yeah?”
“Whoever it is, they’re lucky.”
He lets her go, but his comment has unsettled her, and no matter how hard she concentrates as she allows the crowd to absorb her back into its pulse, she’s unable to pinpoint why.
Several hours, several beverages, and several “emergency” primping sessions with Tali later, Zoe finds Luce being carried on the shoulders of some burly-looking dude who has got to be at least a college freshman. Jesus. Whatever that “dose of reality” she took earlier was, it’s got a powerful hold on Luce now—and so does all that pink punch she’s been downing since they arrived.
“Come down!” Zoe screams up at her. The burly dude ignores her, pushing through the thick crowd of dancers and slapping another guy five.
“I’m fiiiiiine, Zo!” Luce shouts down at her, swaying to the music, clearly very drunk.
“Dude, what are you, her babysitter?” the guy slurs, accidentally dropping a beer bottle. They both watch it shatter on the ground as though in slow motion.
“I’m her friend,” Zoe states desperately.
All of a sudden Luce squeals. “Joy baby!” she shouts. “You’re here!”
Luce clambers clumsily down off the guy’s shoulders as Joy approaches, with Doug Ryder not far behind her. Joy appears to be wet, as though she’s been swimming. Her cheeks glow rosy pink.
Before Zoe can check to see if Luce is okay, she and Joy are dancing—bouncing up and down and wildly waving their arms. Both have a huge smile on their faces, and Zoe effortlessly joins in—it’s not a decision, really, more like riding in on a tide. Tali appears in their midst. Doug Ryder might still be there, too, and Russ Allen. Zoe isn’t even sure. It’s mayhem. A song comes on that they all know the words to, and now they’re jumping, shouting the lyrics at the tops of their lungs.
What could be minutes but must be hours pass by in a dimly lit blur of dancing, singing, laughing. Zoe looks up at her arms, at the haze-filled sky beyond, feeling the bass pump through her body as though it’s part of her blood. The night air is cool against her sweaty skin. She could keep dancing forever—the planet has stopped spinning and time no longer exists. Everything falls away—her stress about the tournament tomorrow, missing Cal, avoiding Russ, her suspicions that Tali’s keeping secrets, her worry that something’s up with Luce, questions about why Joy ran off earlier . . . all gone.
It’s neither the past nor the future—everything that has happened before now mashes up to everything that will happen one day, and she feels endless: young and ancient at the same time, like she’s always existed, like she’s shining brilliantly. She feels beautiful.
But just as quickly, she’s coming down, sliding out of the party-induced high, looking around her at the spinning faces and writhing bodies. Teeth flashing in the strobe light. Arms waving like a field of tall, wild grass. She’s hot. She’s thirsty.
“I’m getting water!” she shouts.
The other girls keep bouncing and swiveling and spinning. Joy gives her a grin and a nod. She tries to get Luce to focus. “Do you want one, too?” Zoe asks.
Luce just shakes her head, stumbling slightly into a stranger dancing behind her, then laughing and pushing her glossy black bangs out of her eyes.
Zoe winds through the dense mob, relishing the refreshing gulp of air when she gets to the outskirts of the dance floor. She’s almost tempted to dive straight into the pool. Two couples are playing chicken, splashing everywhere. Zoe heads to the indoor bar instead, where there’s likely a shorter line.
She enters the house through the door next to the deck—the one that leads straight into a “wine cellar,” and then up a few stairs, through the game room, and then into some sort of library or study where, sure enough, there’s a nearly half-stocked bar with no one at it. Zoe can’t help but wonder what it would be like to grow up in a house this big—did Blake and Ellis ever get lost in it? All the furniture seems to shine like the leather or wood has been recently polished, much of it featuring tufts and darts and brass studs, subtle touches that make it seem even more expensive.
“Psst!”
Zoe spins around.
It’s Ellis—her hair pulled tight from her face, emphasizing her cheekbones, and that sly grin creeping onto her face, then disappearing just as fast. She’s wearing ripped shorts a lot like Zoe’s, with a loose button-down (Blake’s school shirt, maybe?) tied in a casual knot over her belly button, the white halter strap of a bikini showing at the neck.
“The punch is one of Blake’s nasty concoctions,” Ellis informs Zoe in a warning voice, reaching around the bar, then squatting down so she’s out of view. Zoe hears bottles clinking. “We have something better back here, I’m pretty sure. Aha. Here we go.” She stands up with a bottle of whiskey in her hand and proceeds to pour them each a glass with ice cubes.
“Thanks,” Zoe says, taking hers, both curious about where Ellis has been and vaguely resentful. You’re the one who invited me here in the first place, she thinks. But quickly the feeling passes—Ellis probably invited a ton of friends.
She takes a sip, and the liquor burns her throat, but she tries her best not to cringe.
“Smooth, right?” Ellis says, taking a much more confident sip, then swirling the ice in her glass like an expert. The whiskey catches the light, winking.
“Um, yeah, sure,” Zoe says. She clears her throat. “Thanks again for inviting me over. My friends and I are having a great time. Good DJ.”
“I figured you wouldn’t have anything better to do at camp,” she says, wi
th a puzzling look of amusement, her dimples showing.
“True,” Zoe says, taking another, slightly braver sip. Heat from the alcohol sinks through her. “So,” she announces, raising her glass. “To a fair tournament tomorrow.”
Ellis nods. “And to unexpected wins,” she adds cryptically.
They toast, and then Ellis downs her drink like it’s a shot.
Zoe tips back her glass, too, almost choking on the stinging, intense liquor. It leaves the taste of honey and ashes on her tongue. She feels dizzy as she hands the glass back to Ellis, their fingers grazing lightly, and for some reason Zoe imagines they’re opening up a bout—Ellis’s initial contact is always light and easy, she’s noticed, almost gentle: a tap to say Let’s get started before she’s fully into the match.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ellis nudges Zoe with her shoulder, like they’ve just shared an inside joke. And then Ellis runs her hand up Zoe’s arm, spins her so that her back is to the bar, and kisses her.
There’s a brief second where Zoe’s mind shuffles itself back into place—Ellis is kissing her. Soft lips. Curious tongue. Slow and suggestive.
Zoe yanks back, a little too violently, elbowing the pitcher of remaining punch and overturning it. Red liquid spills over the glossy bar top and drips off the edge, splattering across Zoe’s shirt and shorts. “Whoa. What . . . what are you doing?” she blurts out, confused about what to focus on—her stained clothes or Ellis’s curious, foxlike face, or the fact that a girl just kissed her. Ellis kissed her. What the hell?
Ellis shrugs. “Having fun. It’s no big deal.”
Zoe stares at Ellis. The floor spins beneath her. It’s no big deal. Is this how all ridiculously rich kids act? They make out with whoever they want, boy or girl, whenever they feel like it?
“I mean no one even knows we’re in here,” Ellis adds, playing with her ponytail. “Oh, come on, Zoe, don’t be ridiculous about it.”
Zoe shakes her head, overcome with the mixed urge to slap Ellis, to laugh, to run. But she doesn’t do any of those things . . . because part of her is completely intrigued. It’s like Ellis has no rules—on the field or off. She just . . . does whatever she wants.
