Twenty-Six
I find Cecily on oneof the couches, sipping on a soda. At my approach, she straightens, asks, “Ready?”
I nod, about to apologize for making her leave, but she’s already on her feet. I follow her to the front door and out, where a few partygoers are drinking and chatting on the porch.
“—said they still haven’t found a trace of her. But I heard the Halsteads hired this fancy private investigator—” says one of them.
“Another one?” asks the girl to his right.
“God, for once, can we talk aboutanythingelse?” the boy on her other side remarks.
Their conversation stalls as we slip around them. Someone tells Cecily goodbye, and she smiles politely, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
Her relief at leaving is palpable. Social battery emptied out like mine.
“How was it?” she asks when we’re in the car, the engine rumbling to life.
“Good. Fine. Parties aren’t really my thing, but it was nice to see Nora,” I say. I grip the ceiling handle, and Cecily darts a glance at my hand.
“I promise, I’m good to drive. All Sprite all night.”
“Oh, it’s not—you’re fine. Cars make me nervous.”
“Right. Because of—” Cecily stops. “Right.” She clears her throat, and a few seconds of awkward silence thicken the air in the car.
“I saw you with Danica,” Cecily says, a teasing smile on her lips.
Heat climbs across my skin.
“We were just dancing,” I say, unsure why I’m defending myself. There’s nothing judgmental in Cecily’s tone, and it’s not like I did anything wrong. Crossed any boundaries.
It feels like I did, though. Because I wanted to be dancing with someone else. Even if Danica was pretty and nice and had a great laugh. It was the wrong laugh.
“Do you have somebody back home?” she asks. “Like, from before you moved, I mean. Or someone else here?”
“No,” I say firmly. “Nobody.”
Cecily drops the subject, thankfully, and instead turns up the radio.
She pulls into her driveway a few minutes later, and I thank her for the ride. She waits until I’ve hit the end of her driveway before she turns and heads into her house.
As expected, my house is asleep when I amble onto the overgrown front lawn. Each window is dark, but the dim porch light remains on, like a lighthouse guiding sailors to shore. It’s been onas long as I can remember, even when I visited as a kid. If the porch light has an off switch, I still haven’t found it.
And sitting on the first wooden step, head tipped back, is Finn.
The alcohol buzzing in my veins shifts into a melody. Adrenaline sings under my skin.
In the daylight, Finn is dangerous, and I keep behind a pane of glass. Admittedly, that pane of glass gets a little thinner every day, but right now, it’s nowhere to be found.
My boots scuff the sidewalk as I step onto it, and I hiccup as I stumble.
Finn’s chin snaps down. A lopsided smile spreads across his lips, more dazzling than any of the stars wheeling above our heads.
“Waiting up for me?” I ask. “Gotta say, I’m flattered.”
“Can’t a guy stargaze in peace?”
I snort. “Admit it. You missed me.”
