by Trish Doller
“You know what? I’m playing beer pong.” Willa pushes away from the wall, blocking the human bug zapper from of her line of sight.
“Do you even know how?” Taylor asks.
“No, but I didn’t sail across two Great Lakes to stand in the corner of the room, waiting for something to happen.” Willa walks up to the nearest frat boy. He towers over her by at least a foot, and his shaggy brown hair hangs in his eyes, but she’s not looking for a date; she’s looking for a beer pong partner. “I want to play.”
His eyes widen in surprise and he’s slightly flustered as he says, “Sure. Yeah. Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I’m Josh.”
“Willa.” She takes the Ping-Pong ball from his hand and looks across the table at his opponent. “It’s doubles now. Find a partner.”
“Are you good at this?” Josh asks.
She shrugs. “I’ve never played before.”
He gives her a rundown of the rules, but within a couple of rounds—after she’s chugged two cups of cheap beer and her toes have gone tingly—it’s clear that Willa is not good at beer pong. She wanders away from the table, oblivious to the groans of frustration as she abandons the game, and when she looks toward the corner, Taylor is gone.
Willa searches out Campbell and finds him leaning against a doorway with his red cup dangling from his fingers. The pomade has failed and he pushes his hair back as a tanned girl wearing frayed cutoffs and dangly gold earrings walks up to him. She leans in to say something over the music and party chatter, something that makes him grin. She cocks her head toward the kitchen, then says something else.
“Please don’t go off with her,” Willa says quietly to herself.
Cam couldn’t possibly have heard, but he shakes his head a little and the girl’s smile fades. He watches her walk away, then brings the cup to his mouth. Even though she—and all the girls that came before her—should serve as a warning, seeing him standing alone cracks open something inside Willa. Courage crawls out, filling up her chest. She is done playing it safe.
“Hey,” he says as she steps into his space. Closer than she’s ever intentionally been. A smile takes over his face, but before he has a chance to speak, Willa rises onto tiptoes and touches her lips to his. Beer splashes her feet and his arms go around her, one hand cupping the back of her neck as the other pulls her against him. Only then does it register that he dropped his beer to touch her.
Campbell’s lips are as soft as she imagined, but kissing him eclipses any kiss she’s ever had. His fingers tangle in her curls, and she slips her arms up around his neck. The soft sweep of his tongue makes her dizzy, and the party falls away. At least until someone yells, “Get a room!”
They smile against each other’s mouths, and Cam raises his middle finger to the room in general. “Let’s get out of here.”
Willa nods. “Yes.”
“Boat?”
“Yes.”
Taking her hand, he leads her through the crowd, out the door, and into the cool, quiet night. Taylor is far from her thoughts as Cam pins her gently against a tree and kisses her again and again. The five-minute walk to the boat stretches out longer and slower as they stop every few feet to kiss. The buzz is better than beer. Better than anything. Willa could so easily get addicted to him. He could so easily ruin her. But she follows him toward the lake, dark and glittering in the moonlight. Through the marina. Into the cabin. Onto her bunk.
Taylor
TAYLOR SLIPS INTO THE BATHROOM to hide from a drunken frat boy named Skip. He seemed nice at first, someone to chat with while Willa was playing beer pong. And the cherry Jell-O shots were kind of fun, too. Except after the second shot, Skip’s mouth came way too close to Taylor’s mouth and his breath smelled like beer. “Come up to my room?”
Taylor was not interested in kissing a random boy, especially one named Skip. She pushed him gently away and pretended she saw Willa across the room. “Hey, I need to talk to my friend for a second. I’ll be right back.”
Now she sits on the closed toilet lid, wondering how long she’ll have to wait before Skip forgets about her and moves on to another girl. He was pretty drunk, so maybe not too long. Taylor hasn’t seen Campbell since they arrived, and she lost track of Willa when she followed Skip to the kitchen for Jell-O shots.
Someone knocks, and Taylor hopes it’s not him. “You’ve been in there awhile,” a muted female voice says through the door. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, um—just a minute.”
Taylor washes her hands even though she didn’t use the toilet and wipes them on her dress instead of the grubby towels. Just outside the door is a girl, waiting for her turn. Her shiny black hair is swept into a messy topknot, and she’s wearing a Sister Kismet T-shirt, which surprises Taylor. Sister Kismet is one of her favorite bands, but not too many people have heard of them.
“Sorry,” Taylor says. “I was kind of hiding from someone.”
“Skip?”
“How’d you know?”
The girl and Taylor trade places, but the girl lingers against the doorframe for a fraction. Her eyebrows disappear beneath her bangs and her teeth are bright white against the red of her lips as she smiles. “I noticed.”
The door closes and Taylor leans against the wall, her cheeks flaming and her pulse racing, neither of which has happened to her in a very long time. She should go find Willa or Cam, but part of her wants to stay here until the girl comes out of the bathroom.
“Taylor!” Skip shoulders his way through a group of girls to where Taylor is standing. “There you are!”
Beside her, the door cracks open. The girl’s hand reaches out, pulls Taylor into the bathroom, and slams the door in Skip’s face.
“Thanks for the rescue,” Taylor says.
“My pleasure. I’m Vanessa, by the way.”
Vanessa’s hazel eyes are ringed with dark, thick lashes, and her nose turns up a little at the tip. On her chin, near the bottom corner of her mouth, there are a couple of pale pimples covered with concealer, but they disappear when she smiles. The whole effect leaves Taylor feeling a tiny bit . . . breathless. “I’m Taylor.”
They stand for a few awkward seconds, just looking at each other. Or maybe it’s just awkward for Taylor, who is unsure how to handle being attracted to a girl who isn’t Finley. It feels as if Taylor has a kick drum in her chest. She’s about to suggest they go somewhere other than the bathroom when someone outside the door shouts, “Cops! It’s the cops! Run!”
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Vanessa exclaims. “I can’t get busted for underage drinking. My parents will kill me.” She pushes up the window, pops out the screen, and swings a leg over the windowsill. “Coming?”
Taylor follows Vanessa out the window and makes the short drop to the ground below. Vanessa scales the low chain-link fence at the back of the yard, and Taylor does the same.
“Over here,” Vanessa says, beckoning her behind a hedge in the neighbor’s yard. Taylor crouches beside her and they watch from between the leaves as people scatter in every direction. Taylor doesn’t see Willa or Campbell anywhere, only the flashing blue and red lights of the police car and people scrambling to not be arrested.
“Do you live in Oswego?” Vanessa whispers.
“No. I’m from Ohio,” Taylor whispers back. “I’m heading to Key West by sailboat. We start down the canal toward Albany tomorrow.”
“Really? That’s . . . incredibly cool.”
There’s something liberating about meeting someone who doesn’t know the whole story, but at the same time it feels like a betrayal to leave Finley out. “There was supposed to be three of us,” Taylor explains. “But our best friend died, so now it’s just me and Willa.”
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
Vanessa’s fingers brush the back of her hand, and Taylor feels too many things at once. She wishes she hadn’t mentioned Finley, then feels immediately guilty. Vanessa is too close, but Taylor doesn’t want her to go away, either. �
��I, um—I need to get to the park,” she says. “We arranged to meet there if the party got busted.”
“I’ll walk with you, if you want.”
“Yeah.” Taylor nods. “Thanks.”
They creep out from behind the hedge and skirt the neighbor’s house in the shadows, emerging on the other side of the block, where there are no police cars. They walk in silence until they’re across the next intersection.
“Have you seen Sister Kismet?” Taylor asks.
“Four times.” Vanessa ticks off on her fingers. “Twice at Warped, once when they opened for The Joneses, and once at this all-ages show in the city. What about you?”
Taylor and Finley bought tickets to see Sister Kismet at the Agora Ballroom in Cleveland, but when Finley got sick again, it was clear she wouldn’t be able to go. She died a few weeks before the concert and Taylor forgot all about it, until she found the unused tickets in her desk drawer. But to Vanessa, she just says, “Not yet.”
“They’re amazing live,” Vanessa says. “Hayden’s voice . . . that raspiness . . . well, I don’t have to tell you, right? Sister Kismet is that one band that I want everyone to know about, but at the same time I don’t want them to get so big that everyone knows about them.”
Taylor smiles. “Same.”
They talk about music the whole way to the park, comparing favorite bands, favorite concerts, favorite songs. Taylor is usually the playlist maker, the one who knows first about a band. But a Venn diagram of Vanessa’s tastes and hers would overlap almost completely.
When they arrive at the park, it’s deserted. No Willa. No Campbell.
“What if they got arrested?” she says as she texts her brother.
I’m at the park. Where are you?
“We probably shouldn’t panic yet.” Vanessa hoists herself onto the railing of the entrance to the playground. “Maybe we got here first.”
“True.”
Vanessa takes a pair of headphones from the pocket of her skirt and untangles them. She plugs the jack into her phone and offers one of the earbuds to Taylor. “Have you heard the new Shiri Gray album? It just came out this week.”
Taylor leans against the railing, and Vanessa leans down to share the headphones. Her dark hair is soft against Taylor’s temple. After the first three tracks, neither Willa nor Campbell has shown up yet.
“I’m starting to get a little worried,” Taylor says.
She double-checks her phone, but Cam hasn’t responded. She texts him again.
Are you okay? I’m still at the park.
Taylor watches for the reply bubbles, but they don’t come. She and Vanessa listen to another song, but Taylor zones out, worrying that her brother and Willa are in jail. She has no idea how to get them out, or even if she has enough money for bail. “Maybe we should go back to the party.”
“Sure,” Vanessa says. “Whatever you want.”
They take a more direct route back to the fraternity, but the crowd has thinned to just the guys who live in the house and a handful of guests. Taylor is relieved to see that Skip is not around, but she doesn’t see Willa or Campbell, either. She shows a picture of Willa to the guy who looks the most sober. “Have you seen her?”
He shakes his head. “I wish. She’s hot.”
Taylor rolls her eyes and swipes through her photos until she finds a picture of Cam. “What about him?”
“Nope.”
“Could they have been arrested?”
The guy laughs. “Everyone bolted. There was no one left to arrest.”
“Maybe we crossed paths and they’re at the park now,” Vanessa suggests. “Do you want to go check it out?”
Taylor is not surprised that her brother is missing in action. He probably found a girl—or another party—but she doesn’t know whether to be angry or concerned that Willa didn’t show up at the park. Maybe both. Either way, Taylor decides that Willa is on her own. “I’m going back to the boat.”
“I’m spending the weekend with my cousin, who lives near the marina,” Vanessa says. “I’ll come with you.”
This time she turns up the volume on her phone so they can listen without headphones. The sound quality isn’t quite as good, but Taylor likes listening to her favorite singer with someone who doesn’t need an introduction. The time passes fast—too fast—and they reach the driveway to the marina.
“Taylor, can I ask you something?” Vanessa says.
“Sure.”
“Do you, um—are you into girls? Because this whole night I’ve been getting this vibe, but I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or wishful thinking or whatever.”
Taylor pulls in a deep breath. She’s never shared this secret with anyone except the neighbor’s pigs, who live in a pen just over the property line between the two farms. The pigs don’t judge and they never, ever tell. So telling a stranger is a leap of faith. “I, um—I’m pretty sure the answer is yes, but I’ve only ever loved one girl and she was my best friend.”
“Oh . . . wow . . . okay,” Vanessa says.
“I never told her because I knew she’d never love me back. At least not in the same way I loved her.” Taylor’s vision blurs and tears track down her cheeks. “And then she died.”
“That must have been so painful.” Vanessa offers her a tissue. “If I had known . . . God, my timing is terrible.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Vanessa says. “But listen.” She takes Taylor’s phone and adds herself as a contact. “If you want to dial my number someday—when you’re in a better place—I’ll definitely answer.” She lifts onto her tiptoes to kiss Taylor’s cheek. “I had fun tonight.”
“All I did was drag you around town looking for my stupid brother.”
“If that bothered me . . . ,” Vanessa says as she shuffles slowly backward toward the street, “I wouldn’t have stayed.”
Taylor watches as Vanessa walks away, tucking in her earbuds. A few yards down the street, she glances back and smiles—and it makes Taylor feel untethered. Like she might just float away.
Her thoughts are a jumble as she crosses the marina parking lot toward the dock. Taylor has never been interested in a girl—aside from Finley—but has had crushes on boys before Brady. She’s suspected she is bisexual, but now it feels confirmed. Am I okay with that? Is it okay that I’m attracted to someone so soon after Finley’s death? Does that make me a jerk? What would Finley think? Would she be happy for me?
Taylor reaches the boat, and Pumpkin is curled up on a cockpit bench. The companionway hatch is open and the twinkle lights are glowing. Taylor steps down into the cabin, where she finds Willa and Campbell tangled around each other on Taylor’s bunk, sound asleep.
“What the hell . . . ?”
Their eyes fly open, and Campbell bolts upright, while Willa scrambles to pull his shirt on over her lacy pink bralette. God, did they have sex in her bed?
“Shit.” Campbell rakes his hand through his hair. “We forgot about you.”
“I waited in the park because that was where we were supposed to meet.” Taylor’s hands clench into fists as she rages at them. “Did you even know the party got busted? Or did you deliberately abandon me at a frat house in a strange town?”
“We didn’t mean—” Campbell begins, but Willa cuts him off.
“I’m sorry, Taylor. There’s no excuse for leaving you behind.”
“If you’re waiting for me to say it’s okay, you’ll be waiting a long fucking time.” Taylor turns and climbs out of the cabin. “You suck. Both of you.”
She stalks to the head of the pier, trying to calm down, but she’s buried beneath an avalanche of anger, unable to dig her way out. She wants to scream. She wants to hit something. Someone. Willa. Her brother. But at the same time she wishes one of them would come check on her. Taylor sinks down onto a park bench and sobs until her nose is congested and her eyelashes hurt. She hates that she doesn’t know what she needs. She hates that life without Finley is so confusing.
W
hen she finally returns to the boat, Campbell is crashed out in the v-berth while Willa is back sleeping in her own bunk. She’s wearing Cam’s shirt and Taylor doesn’t even have the energy to get angry again. She’s just . . . exhausted . . . because she already knows how this ends. Willa and Campbell, as a word problem, would go something like: If a girl sailing from Sandusky to Key West at five knots per hour crashes into a guy who’s redlining all the way to nowhere, into how many pieces will the girl’s heart break?
Except Willa has made her bed—literally and figuratively—so Taylor decides she can find out the answer for herself.
43.4553° N, 76.5105° W
Time travel whenever possible.
Willa
WILLA WAKES UP WISHING SHE could travel back in time to relive last night. Campbell is still asleep just a couple of feet away, and her body feels . . . effervescent. They didn’t have sex—Willa has lines she’s not ready to cross just yet—but her memory still feels the warmth of his hands on her skin and the taste of his mouth. For a few moments she’s content to watch him sleep, but then she glances across the cabin at Taylor, who is awake and scowling, and Willa wishes she could rewind to the point where they hadn’t left Taylor behind at the party.
“I’m really sorry about last night,” Willa whispers.
Taylor doesn’t respond. She kicks away her comforter, gathers her shower gear, and walks off the boat without saying a word.
“I think she’s still pretty pissed.” Cam’s voice is husky from sleep. He taps Willa’s arm, and when she looks up, he beckons her to join him in the v-berth. “She’ll get over it.”
