“What?”
“I saw you carrying the Emily Henry book at work the other day. Is it good?”
I never read a word of that book the other night, was too preoccupied by the postcard I found inside the pages. Olivia’s mouth twitches, and everything goes very still, and I study her face.
“Did you leave me that postcard?” I ask, my voice still. “Did you slip that into my bag?”
Olivia’s cheeks flush, and her fingers fly up to her hair like they’re trying to keep her in place. “I found it when I was going through a box of Billy’s stuff. He showed it to me right before we broke up. I thought he threw it out, but there it was when I went in the other day, sitting on top of his Spanish homework.” She shrugs. “You said it never happened, but I wanted you to have that postcard. I wanted you to know I wasn’t lying.”
My throat is suddenly raw, and even though all around us people are cheering and shooting off confetti and barbecuing burgers, the only thing I can focus on is the timidness on her face, the hint of guilt written in the lines on her forehead.
“It never happened,” I say. “I have no idea why he would write something like that. Ethan never told me he sent Billy a postcard from that trip or anything.”
Her pink mouth parts, her tongue darting out quickly to coat her upper lip. “That’s how I knew about you guys. Billy was clearly trying to start shit, but he also had my back. At the time, I was appreciative.”
I shake my head, a rush of hot anger washing over my body. Olivia doesn’t need to tell me the chronology because I’m wildly aware of it. One week after we returned from vacation, Olivia ended things, saying she didn’t have to explain herself, and that Iknewwhat had happened. I was baffled at the time, utterly shocked, and cried to Erica about it for weeks.
That only means one thing: Ethan lied when he wrote that postcard. He knew Billy would tell Olivia, that Olivia would break up with me.
My breathing grows ragged as I start to form my next thought.
“Are you okay?” Olivia asks. “It’s all in the past. I just wanted you to know.”
I barely hear her. As the rest of Mayor Cho’s staff unloads her float, I push my way through the crowd, desperate to get away from the Beach Club as fast as possible before Ethan and the others arrive, ready to celebrate.
Everything becomes clear. Ethan made it all up. Our entire relationship—the one that’s been the backbone of my high school experience, the one that he talks about extending into the future, intoforever, the one that I don’t even know if I want anymore—was built on a lie.
Millie
The weather is picture-perfect today—all blue skies, no clouds, light breeze. An ideal day to stand on a parade float in your sunglasses and wave out to everyone you’ve ever known, singing random songs at the top of your lungs.
Today I want to forget that anything bad ever happened since we got out of school. I want to shout to everyone,We are safe! It is summer, and it is fleeting and magical, and if we spend all of it worrying, we’re going to miss it!
But as we pass Hot Diggity, it’s hard to ignore what’s happened. Even though Justin’s dad paid someone to clean the window, I can still make out the graffiti someone spray-painted:Murderer!
I swallow the lump in my throat and force a smile back on my face as we move forward in the parade. At the end of our route, I hop off the float, and Ethan appears, pushing his curls off his face. He brings me in for a side hug, his fingers pressing into my shoulder, and whispers, “Hey, Mill.”
“Hey,” I say, daring to look up at him, the sun casting a golden glow on his cheeks.
“Would you mind finding Trevor? I haven’t seen him all morning. I gotta go help Jordan set up the barbecue, but can you make sure he gets over there?”
“For sure,” I say, and watch Ethan jog away, looping his arm around Alex’s neck and bringing him in for a noogie even though Alex is a few inches taller. There’s a lightness between them. Good. Maybe that means Ethan is feeling calmer, more at ease.
I crane my neck to search for Trevor, but amid the sea of staffers, he’s nowhere to be found. I dial Trevor’s number and press the phone to my ear, but after three rings, it goes straight to voicemail. I shake my head and send him a text instead.Barbecue at West Shore Beach. Ethan wants to make sure you got the memo.
I pocket my phone and start toward the parking lot, weaving between staffers tossing red, white, and blue confetti in the air. But just as I’m passing the alley between Little Vincenzo’s and Schmear & Co., I hear a familiar voice rising over the waves.
Trevor. But I don’t see him. Must have been a mistake. My subconscious working overtime since I’m looking for him.
Then there he is again, his voice sharp and hurried. I can’t make out the words, but I walk in the direction of the noise, closer to the garbage cans in the alley. I peer around the corner of the building and see him hidden behind the boats. Trevor leans forward with his arm pressed high on the brick wall. His mouth is twisted, and his eyes are wide and dark. He’s tapping his back foot against the ground. Impatient.
He says something again, but I’m not close enough to make out the words, can only hear the exasperation. He tilts his head back so his curls bounce, catching the glare of the sun. I try to reposition myself so I can see who he’s talking to without coming into full view, but I don’t need to. Because suddenly, she steps forward, out from behind the boats, and wraps her arms around Trevor’s neck, and when she does, it’s all I can do to hold back a gasp.
I clamp my hand over my mouth and watch as Erica angles her face up toward Trevor’s, pressing a palm to his cheek. He leans into her touch, as if she’s soothing him, as if she’s a salve. She presses her lips to his, her whole body to his, like they were born to do this.
Trevor pulls back, brings one hand to her forehead, and pushes back a piece of hair. Erica looks up at him, her eyes focused, smiling, but then she says something I can’t hear and his demeanor changes, a storm cloud passing over his face. Trevor throws his shoulder back, shakes his head, and starts running toward the beach, in the opposite direction of me. I expect Erica to follow him, but she leans back against the brick wall and then slides down until she’s squatting on her heels, her face buried in her hands, the faint echo of a sob floating through the air.
I could go to her and comfort her or run after Trevor, but it’s like my body has a mind of its own, and before I can think, I’m back at my bike, spinning the dial around to enter my combination, hopping onto the seat and pedaling away as fast as I can toward the barbecue.
