Tonight.
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The floodlights make the soccer field look like a stadium and all the kids are set up with blankets and pillows, spread out along the grass. The campers who have no interest in the spectacle are deep in their graphic novels, their friendship bracelets, their nail polish. And the soccer fans are pressed right up against the sidelines, face paint displaying who they’re rooting for.
I scan the crowd for Ava and Imogen, stationed a few blankets away, sitting in fold-up camper chairs and sipping glass bottles of diet root beer.
I ignore the frustrated buzzing in my stomach and turn back to my group of girls. “Who wants pizza?” I say with a smile.
They all raise their hands, and I ask Tommy to watch them while I flag down a couple pies being cooked on demand at the rented food truck over by the sheds. I bring the boxes back to the girls and watch them dive in, grabbing at slices of steaming hot pepperoni and plain. Slicks of oil drip down their chins. That’ll keep them occupied for a bit.
I back away from the group and take small, cautious steps toward Imogen and Ava. They look relaxed—exhausted—arms long, dangling over the sides of the chairs. I wonder if whateverI’m about to say will blow that up, ruin the unstable peace Imogen’s helped Ava find after today’s news. But I need to know. I need to find out the truth.
“Rip their legs off, Meg!” Ava calls, cupping her mouth.
Imogen leans back and laughs. “It’s no fun to root for America, you know?”
“Never is,” Ava says.
I clear my throat, trying to summon some courage deep within me to finally confront Ava about what I know.
“We need to talk.” My voice comes out stronger than I thought it would, with more power, more rage. I glance at Imogen. “Alone.”
Ava looks up, surprised, and stands. “Alone? Come on, G.”
“Fine,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I lean in so close I can see Ava’s pores. “Heller knew about your dad.”
Ava doesn’t flinch, but I hear Imogen inhale sharply.
“He was coming here that night to find you,” I say. “He—”
“Stop it, Goldie.” Ava’s voice is loud and harsh and she jabs her pointer finger right at my chest. Her eyes are full of fire. There’s something different inside her. Something ferocious, ready to protect at all costs. But for the first time, I know that protection isn’t for me.
“It’s true,” I say, matching her tone. “And you saw him that night, didn’t you? I need you to tell me what happened because right now it looks like your dad is a lying, cheating, piece of shit and thatyouhad something to do with Heller’s death.”
Imogen gasps and Ava steps back like I’ve slapped her.
I cover my mouth with my hand. How did that all come out?
“Geezus, Goldie, are you fucking kidding me?” Ava whispers, but it’s no use. People are starting to stare.
Imogen jumps to her feet and tries to step between us, but she can’t put out the fire I set. There’s too much tension, too many years of rage and insecurity, of jealousy and scabs we keep picking at. There’s a decade of friendship worn down to the bone.
“Be honest, Ava.” I grit my teeth and spit the words out. “Tell me the truth about that night.”
Ava towers over me and narrows her eyes. “Tell me what happened on New Year’s Eve.”
“What?”
“Tell me what happened to Dylan Adler. Tell me what Heller asked you to do.”
Her words knock the wind right out of my chest.She knows.
Ava steps toward me and grabs hold of my wrist. “We said we’d tell each other everything,” she says.
I look at her closely, eyeing her frantic gaze, her thick eyebrows. There’s sorrow in her face, disbelief, too. But she’s the same as she’s always been, open and sharp, ready to draw blood.
“I guess we lied,” I say.
