Ruthie passed me a warm beer from the cardboard box in front of her and pushed her short dark hair away from her eyes. “Scale from one to ten, what are my odds with Peter Spiers tonight?”
Trina covered her face with her hand. “Didn’t he get fired from Frank’s Auto for being hungover? You really want to hit that?”
Ruthie shrugged and motioned to Heller, Cal, and the rest of the boys huddled around the TV, playing video games. “Better than this shit.”
Trina nodded. “Fair.”
I wanted to nod, too, but I couldn’t. My allegiance to those boys was the only reason I was there, quietly listening to all the ways Ruthie wanted to fuck a washed-up football player whose claim to fame was setting off the sprinklers on his last day of school.
“Heller’s the only good one,” Ruthie said, lolling her head back before turning to me. “But if I were you, I’d probably confront him about the whole Sally Burke thing.”
My throat went sandy and I glanced over at Heller, oblivious in his gamed-out bliss. I knew I could either play along and act like I knew what she was talking about, or make a fool of myself by not knowing. But it wasn’t my choice to make. My face gave me away.
“Oh shit. You don’t know?” Ruthie asked, leaning forward. She looked pleased.
Trina whistled and wiggled her eyebrows. “You gotta tell her now,” she said. “Literally everyone knows.”
But Ruthie didn’t need convincing. “Going out for a smoke!” she called, and motioned for Trina and me to follow her outside.
She sat on a stump a few feet away from the hut and started talking. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Goldie, but your man is a lying cheat, just like every other dude.”
I didn’t know what to say so I dragged my foot against the ground. There was no way this could be true.
“You know how he has that gig at the County Clerk’s Office?” Ruthie said. “Well, he stays there late all the time, which I’m sure you’re aware of since you guys are, like,dating.”
The word was dipped in acid but she was right. Heller spentsomuch time there, padding his résumé and helping out. He said he liked how it smelled like a library and that the papers were alwaysyellowed around the edges. It made him feel like he was a part of something bigger than himself. He loved that Roxwood had history and he wanted to know it all.
“Well,apparentlythere’s a secretary named Sally Burke who’s like twenty-three and I heard she’s been trying toseducehim after hours. That’s why he stays there so late.”
I looked back into the cabin through the window at Heller, his eyes small and crinkled as he threw his head back laughing. My face flushed but I tried to tilt my chin up to make it seem like I didn’t care.
Trina clucked her tongue and shook her head. “We all get fucked sometimes, Goldie,” she said. “Make sure you get tested for STIs.” She shivered. “Whoknowswhat that woman has.”
I should have confronted Heller right then and asked him if it was true. I should have done so many things. But instead, I stayed silent. I went to Truly’s with them. I sat perched on a barstool sipping whiskey Diet Cokes and laughed at their awful jokes and smiled when Heller slipped his arm around me.
I let Ruthie and Trina think I was weak and spineless for not standing up for myself. But in the end, that’s exactly what I was.
CHAPTER 29
Now
Bloodroot is alive with the sounds of excited girls, the smell of burnt hair sliding through flat irons, and the promise of possibilities. The first DJ social of the year puts everyone in camp on edge. Back when we were campers, we would bring outfits specifically to wear on these nights. Short skirts and tank tops. Cotton minidresses and palettes of glittery eyeshadow we only brought out for the two dances and banquet—the most special of them all.
I usually discarded what I had brought and opted to wear something from Ava’s or Imogen’s closets. Something that fit a bit better and was pressed clean. Something that sparkled under the neon lights and made heads turn when I walked into the Lodge.
As a counselor, though, you don’t dress up. You put on shapeless sweatpants and oversize T-shirts and act as chaperones, egging on the campers and their innocent fun.
Still, I can’t help looking at these girls getting ready in the cabin and feeling like my heart’s going to beat out of my chest. The anticipation, it’s contagious. And it’s distracting me from thinking about Heller.
“Goldie, will you give me a braid crown?” Jordie asks.
“You know it,” I say from inside the counselor room. I flip openmy box of hair ties, but before I can shut it, I see the newspaper clipping I pulled down from West Lake. The one that speculated about Heller. I’ve been avoiding reading it, as if knowing more about his death will make it even more real. But now I open the paper gently, laying it flat on my dresser. I hold my breath and start to read.
SUSPICION LINGERS IN HELLER MCCONNELL’S DEATH AS FAMILY TRIES TO MOVE ON
While Heller McConnell’s official cause of death was “accidental drowning,” according to the medical examiner’s office, some of his friends have expressed doubt about the circumstances surrounding the beloved young hockey star’s passing.
“Heller was as strong as they come in the water,” said Cal Drummond, the deceased’s longtime friend. “He was practically born on the lake. It doesn’t add up.”
