The fresh meat had arrived ten minutes ago: seven restless high schoolers, now spread around the motel, loudly taking over the place as if they owned it. The whining had started before the bus even pulled into the parking lot. It was certainly not the fancy resort they’d been promised in the invitation.
But she didn’t mind. It was as good as anywhere.
There was no good place to commemorate the worst day of your life. The darkness traveled with her, now and forever. The location didn’t matter. Even home, the place where she had once felt safe and happy, was now heavy with pain and loss. The memories were everywhere—at the yellow kitchen table, in the shared bedroom, the empty bed—dark blue sheets untouched. A hollowness haunted her mother’s eyes. There was a shared understanding that in some sick, karmic twist, the better twin had died. A silently acknowledged truth that it should have been her.
At least here, in the ass-end of nowhere, she could do the one thingthat mattered most. She could give her mother space to mourn her dead son without having to look at her living daughter.
Ana took a deep breath.
The desert air tasted different somehow, traces of salt and sage. A wind was blowing across the darkening plains, whipping up small bits of sand and dirt, prickling the skin on her legs. A circle of light from the sign illuminated the ground at her feet, flashing on and off like a police car warning her to get out of the way.
Time to check in—she couldn’t hide out here forever.It’s only three days, she reminded herself. How bad could it be?
Hoisting her duffel bag onto her back, Ana turned her back on the desert and headed in the direction of the north wing of the motel and a dusty window with a red neon sign that optimistically declared:
REC P ION
“It’s a shithole!”
Ana knew the voice instantly—she’d spent the last eight hours on the bus trying to avoid listening to it. Two figures were standing by the bus, their raised voices echoing across the empty parking lot. Keeping her distance, Ana watched them warily. She really didn’t need to get involved in one of Ellis’s dramas.
Ellis Locke was well over six feet of muscle and fancied himself the alpha male of St. Francis High’s senior class. He was standing next to the doorway, looming over the diminutive bus driver.
“This is meant to be a trip to aluxurydesert retreat!” Ellis shouted, thrusting a small black card in the driver’s face. “Look at the fucking invite. This place is nothing like the photo. Where’s the spa? Where are the yoga yurts and the stables? It doesn’t even have cell reception!”
The driver, a short, middle-aged man with a stained gray uniformthat stretched tightly in all the wrong places, did not seem impressed by being shouted at by someone young enough to be his grandkid.
“Sorry, kiddo. Thisshithole, as you call it, is where y’all are stayin’ for the next three nights.”
“Are you kidding me? This trip was the top prize in our school raffle. Thetopprize. Last year they went to Palm fucking Springs.Does this look like Palm Springs?We are clearly in the wrong place.”
The driver pulled a rolled-up sheet of paper out of his back pocket and thrust it in front of Ellis, jabbing his finger at the itinerary.
“Look. It’s right here, see? Motel Loba. Here’s the map. I’m paid to bring y’all right here, and that’s what I’ve done. You got a problem with that, you take it up with the school.”
“How am I supposed to do that, genius? We don’t havefucking service!” Ellis snapped. He snatched the itinerary out of the driver’s hands and looked over the words furiously. Not finding anything to help his case, he flicked the older man’s name tag dismissively. “All right, Benny, is it? There has clearly been a huge mistake. This place is not acceptable. You need to get on that radio of yours and find us alternative accommodation immediately. Do you understand?”
Benny hiked his belt up and pulled himself up to his full, unimpressive height.
“Whad’ya think this is? The nineties? I don’t have a radio, kid. I use a phone same as everyone else. You got no service—I got no service.” Benny chuckled loudly, cascading into a hacking smoker’s cough.
Ana walked on, suppressing the urge to smile. At least Benny the bus driver was giving as good as he got. Ellis was on one of his master-of-the-universe benders and unlikely to stop until he got what he wanted. No question, Ellis could be a spoiled brat, but a small part of Ana rooted for him. Yes, he was an assholeandrichandentitled.
But Danny had loved him. That counted for something.
***
The beautiful people had taken over therec p ion—Danny’s friends. They were sheltering from the end-of-day heat in the shade of the old motel building.
Jade Clark was posing on a worn and cracked pink pleather sofa, happily taking photos, while her boyfriend, Jax Patel, pranced around in front of her, phone held up high to search for bars. Their designer bags and clothes were at odds with their shabby, dated surroundings, like aVoguephoto shoot in a dumpster.
Alex Cabrera was sitting by the window, his guitar propped next to him. He glanced up at the door when Ana walked in, peering at her through a curtain of floppy black hair. He looked off somehow—his usually tan skin was unnaturally pale.
Carsick. Ana knew it. She knew him. Like the back of her own hand.
At least—she used to. Before.
She turned away, shutting down the memories before they could take hold, and walked over to the reception desk.
