I take another scorching sip of my drink now, letting the liquor trickle through my veins, dull my thoughts.
Behind the group, the river sparkles, catching the sunlight. It’s beautiful out here. It’s always been one of my favorite places; everyone is more carefree by the water. Drinking, smoking, swimming. Diving off the roof of the old metal boathouse. Andit’s just understood that we’ll show up at sunset most summer nights. You don’t need, like, a formal invitation or anything; you just have to be in with the in crowd, which I guess Jane now officially is.Ugh.
She’s ruining the beauty of it all. Everyone thinks she’s so pure and innocent in her homemade fucking bikini. But I see what she’s doing as she casually tugs the thong out of her crack, drawing all eyes to her.
Her own eyes are almond shaped and green—wholesome eyes—but she saves this wicked, evil glare just for me. Shoots it at me when no one’s looking. Everyone else, it seems, thinks she hung the fucking moon.
As fucking if.
I don’t get it. And normally, one would get skewered in town for having those buck teeth of hers. All our smiles have been trained to perfection with braces, followed by headgear and retainers to maintain, but on her, wild teeth are somehow sexy?
Dustin joked right out of earshot—I saw him make the blow job gesture to his friends—that he bets she’s good at going down. I knew he was just doing it to get a rise out of me. It’s his main goal in life. Not that she’d ever go afterhim. His family is among the richest in town, second only to mine, so we’ve lived in the same neighborhood all our lives, but, like me, he’s not all that good-looking. I’m with him only because no one else will go out with me, and Mom made it good and goddamn clear that I would have a boyfriend, even if it were a fake arrangement.
I like Dustin okay, but I won’t let him do anything other thantake off my bra, get to second base. But that doesn’t mean he stops trying to go further, every single time. We’re stuck together, at least until we graduate, which can’t happen one goddamn second too soon.
I suck the rest of my drink from my Styrofoam cup, getting a large hit of the alcohol that’s settled at the bottom. I yank down my visor to study my face. My cheeks are flushed, my lips are cherry red to match the car, and my cobalt-blue eyes are swimming. Normally, I’d be satisfied enough with how I look to bolt down there, drop into the crowd, but now I snap the visor back up and drill my eyes into Jane’s form, wishing I had superpowers to set things on fire just by looking at them, like Drew Barrymore inFirestarter.
I flinch when the icy liquid hits my hot thigh. Without even realizing it, I drilled a hole in the bottom of my cup while staring at Jane.
Jane, who has nothing and is nothing. Who lives on a farm on the outskirts of town. Her dad’s a fucking carpenter—but they all act like he’s Jesus or something.
Now she’s twirling, arms above her head again, before she climbs the rickety ladder to the top of the boathouse, then dives off. Everyone cheers her on.
Everyone seems to already love her.
Whatever.
I’m a rat, and I know another rat when I see one.
2
Charleigh
The waiting is hard. No, excruciating.
Charleigh swishes past the open curtains for the third time this morning, checking for Jackson’s convertible in the circular drive, a lavish river of concrete gushing through the turf-green lawn. One of the many extravagant touches she commissioned for this place.
So unlike the dirt drive of her childhood. Forlorn, pitted, and weed-pocked. An actual river of glassy mud when the springtime rains came. The hemline of Charleigh’s clothes splattered with muck as she trudged each morning to catch the school bus.
Now she peers around at her manse, watching as morning sunlight splashes across the marble floors, filling the house with light. Freshly squeezed lemonade being poured into a clean, empty glass.
She chews a nail as she stands at the window.
Lettie, her long-suffering housekeeper, could just let him inwhen he rings the bell, but Charleigh always likes to be the one to greet Jackson. Prying open the hulking pair of doors, folding his taut, tanned form into her arms. The two of them squealing like it’s been forever, even though they see each other nearly every damn day.
It’s part of their schtick, their special bond.
A signal to anyone looking on (and Charleighdoeslove an audience) that they are the most important people in the world to each other.
Twin bitches, she likes to joke. Charleigh calls him Jackson, but in serious moments, she’ll draw out his full name, Jackson Lee Ford, the only person to do so other than his estranged mother, Willamena.
Her stomach continues to churn. Shehatesthis feeling, the almost agonizing pinch in her gut. It’s not desperation, exactly, but rather anticipation, and she wishes she didn’t still get this excited—no, needy—at seeing her best friend.
Her only friend?
At least, her only true one.
He’s coming over today to help her decorate for her weekly Bunco night.
