Wendy eased up on the accelerator, relaxed her hands on the wheel. She cranked her window down, glided her hand along the current. “Would you be mad if we skipped the party?”
The back road was curvy and narrow. The headlights skipped along tree trunks and branches, briefly green in the spray of light. The center line was faded, and Wendy used the whole road. Maeve rolled down her window too. She didn’t want Wendy Walker to know what was happening inside her body, though surely, she could hear Maeve’s heart beating, could hear her chaotic thoughts bursting like popcorn.
“Yeah, I could skip the party.”
“Cool. I have an idea. Do you trust me?”
Please, don’t let this be a trick.“Yeah.”
“What time do you have to be home?”
Maeve did not want to think of her dad waiting up again, of her mom coming down the stairs, the way she wore worry on her face like foundation every time she looked at Maeve. She wanted to be like the other girls—go to parties, cruise the drag, kiss boys. Whatever it was. She was finally fitting in. Wouldn’t they want that for her?
What could she say to impress Wendy Walker, to let Wendy Walker know this was no big deal? “Before sunup?”
This time they caught each other’s eyes and grinned.
A gust billowed Wendy’s hair. “Cool.” She smoothed it down with a laughing gasp.
Maeve looked ahead, shimmered like the northern lights.
On the empty beach, a fat waxing moon rising behind Seguin Light, Wendy spread a scratchy wool blanket next to a burned-out log.She pulled two bottles of wine from a paper bag. “Apricot Splash or Plum Hollow?”
Maeve was glad to be sitting. Her legs were mush. “The good stuff first—Plum Hollow.”
Wendy twisted the metal top, sniffed it snootily. “A fine choice.” She took a swig, swirled it around, swallowed, and handed the bottle to Maeve.
Maeve put the bottle to her mouth, pressed the ridges of glass that had been on Wendy’s into her lip too. She didn’t want to do anything; she only wanted to think about why she was thinking about it at all. The wine slid over her tongue and down her throat, burning and sweet and warm. The second time they shared the bottle, Maeve let her tongue glance the rim.
“Sorry if this is weird,” Wendy said. “I wasn’t in the mood to be around everyone tonight.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, I just—” She looked at Maeve, shook her head and shrugged.
“I get it. It’s nice to hang out with a friend sometimes.” Maeve tried to keep the conversation light. But Wendy’s mouth, the wetness on her lips, sparked other thoughts that flickered like fireflies.Concentrate, Maeve.“Do you miss your friends in Canada? What was it? Quebec, or something? My parents went on their honeymoon there.”
“Ottawa. And no, I don’t miss it. My dad teaches college. That’s why we came here.”
“Mine works at BIW.”
They talked like that, back and forth, about their families and school, rumors about the basketball coach. When the first bottle was gone, Wendy grabbed the second.
It was the best night of Maeve’s life. She didn’t care if her butt was cold, if she was getting damp in the sea air. She didn’t care if she froze to death.
“Are you cold? Scoot closer,” Wendy said, as if she could read her mind.
There it was again. That electricity. Maeve didn’t know if she could stand it much longer, the feeling of Wendy’s shoulder next to hers, their bent thighs pressed against each other.
“Can I ask you a question? It’s kind of personal.”
“Um, sure,” Maeve said. She wrapped her arms around her knees.
“You really are cold,” Wendy said. “Maybe we should go.”
“What did you want to ask me?”
Wendy moved away from Maeve, twisted to sit cross-legged so they faced each other. “I heard this rumor, about you and Claire.”
