A huge wooden deck circled the house, and a few people were gathered there, drinking beer from tall cans. Evie didn’t recognize them. They weren’t from school. They were older, and they looked pretty tough—long hair, beards on some, dirty ballcaps. Even in the dark, Evie could see the ink decorating every inch of their arms. Their eyes all seemed to track the Buick as it came around the back of the house. Evie shivered and looked away.
Farther down the driveway stood a barn-shaped building with its doors flung open. Music and low light and voices spilled across the gravel drive, where cars were parked alongside a row of slick, black Harleys. Evie could see kids from school hanging out on a sloping lawn on the other side of the barn. A bonfire pit stood in the grass, but it was not yet lit.
Réal parked the Buick and they got out. Now that she was standing outside the car, Evie could hear the high, unsteady whine of dirt bikes not too far off. “Geez,” she said, “they really like motorcycles, huh?”
Ré was bent into the back seat, grabbing a bag he’d picked up at the liquor store on the way, and as he straightened he gave her an amused look. “Just a little,” he said, heavy on the sarcasm. He’d obviously been here many times. The place didn’t seem to surprise him one bit.
She came around the back of the car, hoping he’d take her hand, knowing he wouldn’t. For a second they just stood facing each other in the dark, nearly touching, nearly tipping their heads together, nothing but night between them. She could smell the warm tobacco scent of his cologne, his jean jacket, could almost smell the salt on his skin. All her senses exposed. She wished the whole night was just this, just them.
Then he cocked his head toward the barn. “You ready?” he asked. She nodded. He stepped back, and they crunched through the gravel to the open barn doors.
The building had to be a body shop, because the walls were hung with tools and engine parts, and the floor was smooth concrete stained black with oil. Evie was not surprised to find more motorcycles under the dim amber lights. These ones all looked pretty old, like they hadn’t been ridden in a long time. Some were covered in canvas tarps or were lying in pieces on the floor.
Ré nodded to one that wasn’t covered. “’43 Knucklehead,” he said. “All original.”
“What?” she asked, like he was speaking joual.
“That’s a Harley Knucklehead,” he repeated. “From 1943. It was Alex’s great-granddad’s. Not too many of them left these days.”
Evie looked at it again, not as impressed as she guessed Ré wanted her to be. “Why do they call it a Knucklehead?” She pictured the rider, not the bike.
“The rocker boxes,” he told her, like she knew what those were. “They look like knuckles.” He made a fist and showed her.
It wasn’t the most comfortable-looking bike. The tiny leather seat had no padding at all, worn cracker-thin by, presumably, Alex’s great-granddad’s butt. She remembered Sunny telling her that he was “full-patch.” She didn’t really know what that meant, but Sunny had made it sound pretty heavy. Those spooky, inked-up guys on Alex’s back deck were probably all full-patch too.
“How come you know so much about motorcycles?” she asked Réal.
He shrugged. “My dad’s a machinist,” he told her. “Sometimes he makes custom parts for these guys.” She didn’t really know what a machinist was either, but the answer sounded like it made sense.
A framed picture hung on the wall behind the bikes. She stepped over to look at it. Three young guys leaning on long rifles, and one more sitting sideways on a motorbike with white numbers sprayed across the gas tank. They all wore military uniforms, and all were grinning at the camera. Time had yellowed the photo, but the boys looked so young, maybe only Ré’s age. Handwritten across the bottom was the inscription Stay out of the bathtub, Janeski!
“Janeski?” Evie asked aloud.
Réal came up beside her, looking at the photo too. “Yeah, they changed their name,” he said with a shrug. “Racism, I guess.” He stood so close she could feel his shoulder move. It made her want to tip her head, rest it on his denim jacket, just lean into him. She swallowed and stepped away, careful not to back into the bikes.
Réal took his beer to a vintage-looking fridge. He pulled one can out, glancing her way as if to offer it, but she was already walking toward the back of the barn, putting some space between them.
The back doors opened onto the lawn, blue in the failing light and surrounded by a ring of trees topped with the night’s first stars. To the right, the yard sloped off down a hill, toward the sound of the dirt bikes.
Kids from school were gathered around a big tin tub that overflowed with ice and beer. A picnic table by the barn was spread with food and bottles of liquor, and a keg sat in a big bucket of ice on the ground beside it, red Solo cups scattered around. Ré totally didn’t need to bring his own. There was enough booze here to get the whole class drunk twice and then some.
She recognized a lot of the kids, but she didn’t really know them. Familiar faces that Evie had never spoken to. Most were not in her grade—it was a grad party, after all, and she wasn’t graduating. She was a little surprised Alex had even invited these kids. A few weeks ago, this party probably would have only been five people. And it might have been on a rooftop, or down at the riverbank, or at the lake. But things were different now that Shaun was gone.
The rattle and spit of two-stroke engines rose from the bottom of the hill. It broke through the tree line, drowning the music, yellow headlights bobbing up across the blue lawn. There were three of them. When they reached the barn, their engines skittered to a halt, and the quiet that followed made her wonder why she’d thought the music had been loud before.
Alex lifted his long leg over the lead bike. He pulled his helmet off and shook his hair out, every tooth he had glowing in the dark.
“What’s up, yo!” he shouted at the crowd, which earned a cheer, red cups and bottles raised. “Let’s get this bitch started!”
He pushed through the crowd to the fire pit, drawing a silver Zippo from inside his leather jacket. He knelt and lit the pile of wood and paper, and the whole thing went up instantly, probably doused with starter before anyone had arrived. Bright sparks popped and whirled into the sky. The crowd loved it, and they let him know.
Flames picked his copper hair out from the dark, the angle of his grin, his narrow eyes, shadows dancing up his cheekbones. Evie hardly recognized him. He looked half wild. Lord of the Flies. King Alex. She thought of that night, of him leaping over the flames, and of the hollow look on his face later, when the fire had died.
He backed off into the dark again, letting it swallow him, letting his guests fill the space he’d left behind.
Evie saw Sunny then, standing at the edge of the firelight. Her arms were crossed over an artfully torn-up black sweater and an acid-green bra. Her face was blank as stone behind the heavy curtain of her hair. Evie couldn’t see her eyes, couldn’t tell if Sunny had seen her too.
Alex didn’t go to her, but back to the two guys he’d ridden in with, slapping their shoulders and laughing. Evie had never seen them before. She was starting to feel like it was a mistake, coming here. The only person she could talk to was Réal, and she wasn’t even sure that was a good idea, by the look on Sunny’s face.
Someone came up beside her, putting a sweaty arm around her neck. “Hey, I know you,” he slurred happily, breath stinking. “You went out with that dead guy.”
Evie threw him a withering scowl. “He wasn’t dead when I dated him,” she muttered, trying to shrug his arm off.
“Duh,” he said, laughing. Then he pushed the red cup in his hand at her. “Here. You look like you could use this.”
She took it. Inside was something black. She sniffed it. Cola. And booze probably. She accepted it, and he wandered off, grinning.
She had every intention of dumping it in the grass, but it occurred to her that, at least for appearances, she should have something in her hands. Being the only person here no
t drinking would just invite more sloppy arms around her neck, more red cups pushed at her chest. She held it like a talisman to ward off others but didn’t take a sip.
“You okay?”
Réal was beside her, like he’d always been there. “Yeah,” she said, nodding, glad.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, looking over the crowd. It had filled out even more since they’d arrived. Theirs was the only high school for three towns, and the grad class was pretty big. Plus there were all those other guys, the ones Alex was with. He’d said he wanted this party to be epic, and it looked like he was getting his wish.
“So they really are bikers, huh?” she asked in a low voice. It felt like something to be whispered, even here, where it seemed like everyone knew. Ré nodded, sipping his beer. She said, “But what does that even mean?”
Réal thought about it. “It’s a brotherhood, mostly,” he said. “They have each other’s backs, no matter what.”
“But how does that make Alex so rich?” She looked around at the rolling property, the barn and the big house behind it. It was hard to understand why Alex even hung out with kids from the east side when he had all this. All those nights in Nan’s tiny front room. It was like a dirty shoe box compared to this place.
“They sell drugs,” Ré said, voice flat. “But I wouldn’t mention it, if I were you.”
“Holy shit!” she hissed, eyes wide.
He glanced at her sharply. “Seriously, Ev. Don’t mention it. These guys don’t fuck around. This isn’t TV.”
Evie zipped her lips. Pictures of Charlie Hunnam flashed through her brain, despite Ré’s words. But this wasn’t Sons of Anarchy. This was the family business—what Alex had told her he was destined for, that day in the cafeteria.
Of course, she’d met dealers before at school. Just punk kids selling dime bags and pills, mostly. She could hardly imagine the amount of weed you’d have to sell to get a place like this. Unless it wasn’t weed they dealt in.
A picture of those guys lurking on the back deck, their eyes sliding sideways with the Buick. Evie felt a rock sinking fast in her gut. For no other reason than nerves, she put the red cup to her lips. The moisture was welcome, her throat suddenly parched. And she was right, it was cola, but there wasn’t any booze in it, just sweet, syrupy fizz. Relieved, she took a bigger sip, letting it slide down her dry throat.
The music volume had swelled with the crowd. Kids pulled lawn chairs around the bright fire pit or sat on the lawn in small groups, the pounding bass keeping their words from Evie’s ears. Every once in a while the fire would pop and crack, shooting a hail of sparks into the night sky, and everyone would cheer.
This is just like any old bush party, she told herself, trying to relax. Trying not to think about Satan’s Own creeping at the edges. She’d been to dozens of bush parties. Bonfires in the fields at rural kids’ farms. Parties you had to hike half a mile in the dark to get to. Wet feet and wet asses, eaten alive by mosquitos and hedges full of thorns, broken bottles everywhere, everybody wasted, bloody fistfights, and girls’ shrill screams…
Yeah, she thought, red cup shaking in her hand. This party is just like that.
29
R
“What’s up, Sun?” Réal lifted his chin at her as she came through the dark.
The look on her face said this was the last place on earth she wanted to be. She threw a disdainful glance at the kids crowding the fire pit. “Fucking amateurs,” she spat. Then she turned back to Ré. “Where’d Evie go?”
He shrugged. “Bathroom, I guess?”
“So…” she said. “You and her, huh?”
Ré cleared his throat. He gave her a sideways glance but said nothing.
“Whatever, Ré, I really don’t care.” But she did, obviously. “You guys suit each other anyway. You’re both quiet and sneaky.”
“Sunny…” he started, searching for the right words. He was so bad at this. It was new territory, all of it. And no matter what Sunny might have thought, he wasn’t actually trying to hurt her.
His eyes darted around for Alex. Not finding him, he hissed between his teeth, “You know we could never be a thing.” He leaned in and spoke even lower. “You’re his girlfriend. He’s my buddy. We just…can’t.”
Sunny laughed, tipping her head back and letting out that cackle that crushed everything in its path. “You are so full of shit, Réal,” she said. “Shaun was your buddy too, in case you forgot. But that doesn’t seem to keep you away from his girlfriend.”
“Sunny, that’s different—”
“How?” She cut him off, her voice too loud. “How is it different?”
He growled at her like a guard dog through a flimsy fence. “I’m not having this conversation again, Sunny,” he warned, eyes slung sideways. “Not here. If you want to be friends, that’s cool. But if you’re just gonna pick a fight, then I’m gone.”
“What, and leave poor Evie here all by herself?” Her voice was taunting, poking the dog. There was a ripple of laughter in it.
He turned to face her. “Don’t start trouble with Evie,” he said. It was as much a plea as a warning. “She’s got enough to worry about right now.”
Sunny closed her mouth and appraised him from behind her long lashes. He couldn’t tell from her expression what conclusion she’d drawn, but it probably wasn’t anything good. She pursed her pretty lips into a sneer, and the memory of her bare, hot skin sliding under his hands leaped up unbidden, her bones and breasts and tongue, memory of the almost.
Fuck Sunny, he thought, looking away. He took a gulp of his beer. He shoved his other hand in his pocket and made a fist. She just seeped in like nerve gas. Like sexy goddamn poison.
“I’m not the one getting Evie in trouble,” she said, her voice slow and low and clear, pushing the knife in and pulling it back out again.
She stood there for a second more, then walked off, arms still crossed over her bright-green bra. He stared after her. What TF did that mean?
E
Evie looked in the bathroom mirror. The light was awful. Way too bright, after the darkness of the yard. It picked out every flaw on her face, every blemish, every splotch of red. She’d thought she was going to puke when she got in here, but nothing had come up. Did you still even get morning sickness this far along? She dashed cold water over her cheeks and succumbed, finally, to the banging on the other side of the door.
“Took you long enough!” snapped a girl Evie didn’t know.
Evie brushed passed her, mumbling, “Sorry.” She went out to the picnic table and found the big bottle of cola. It was lukewarm now, but she was so thirsty she didn’t care. She unscrewed the cap and refilled her empty cup.
Evie turned, looking for Réal, but he wasn’t where she’d left him, and she didn’t recognize anyone who’d taken his place. Everyone seemed to be looking at her, smiling, but when she blinked again, they weren’t at all. They were just lumps of shadow in the dark, indistinguishable. She shook the strange image from her head and stepped through the crowd.
People seemed pretty drunk now. They bumped into her as she walked, and the ground was surprisingly uneven. “Hey!” a girl yelped as she passed, but Evie didn’t turn to see why.
She stopped at the thin edge of the firelight and looked at the crowd huddled near the flames. The heat was so intense. How could they sit so close to it? A sweat broke out along her scalp. She sipped again from her cup. Faces seemed to drift into focus, all staring at her, but just as quickly they slipped out again, leaving trails of smeary light behind.
She stepped back, heart racing. There was something wrong with them. People shouldn’t look like that—smeary. Someone laughed, and it fell to pieces, her brain unable to make its proper shape. She caught more strange eyes looking her way, half moon faces trapped in amber firelight, smiling, laughing in weird, jagged pieces…
A picture bloomed and flickered on the other side of the flames. Sea-blue eyes. White teeth grinning ear to ear. Blond hair hanging limp an
d bloody beside a perfect smile. Shaun’s voice echoed in her mind. Do you remember, Evie? it said. Do you know what happened to me?
She blinked down at the red cup and opened her hand. The cup slipped away, bouncing on the grass, sloshing black cola over her shoes. She stumbled backward, away from the fire. So stupid, she thought. Why did I drink from that cup? I didn’t even know that guy.
She turned and stumbled back through the crowd. People’s faces glowed blood red, toothy smiles crawling right up into their eyes. Laughter fell from jeering mouths. She fought through them and away, down the sloping lawn.
“Where are you going?” someone asked.
Evie turned, eyes struggling to make out a shape against the dark.
“Did you hear me? Why are you sneaking around down here?” The voice came closer, and then Evie could see her—black hair, black sweater, acid-green bra, with a crown of yellow bonfire.
Her heart snapped off at a gallop, remembering Sunny’s hand on her shoulder, yanking her up from the bathroom sink at the Olympia. The fear that Sunny might fight her. At least I waited till my boyfriend was dead.
“I’m sneaking around?” Evie said, swallowing. Pictures of Sunny on the hood of the Buick, pictures of a switchblade smile. “How long have you been sleeping with Réal?”
Sunny laughed, a bitter green sound. “Is that what he told you?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“He didn’t have to tell me.” Evie knew she shouldn’t, but the words wouldn’t stop, whatever was in that drink letting them all spill out. “Anyone could guess. I bet even Alex knows.”
“Oh, shut up, Evie,” Sunny said. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know you’re using them,” Evie said, mouth barely working around the words. “Seriously,” she slurred, “why don’t you just break up with Alex already? Or is Ré too low-class for a rich girl like you?”
Sunny was silent, letting the noise from the party roll down the hill and fill the space between them, filling Evie’s head with fizzy lights.
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