Alicia eyed her. “Seriously? He kind of loves himself. Like the rest of them.”
Sully was standing at the edge of the water looking out across the lake. Emma watched as he bent to pick up a rock and flicked it across the surface. It skipped five times before disappearing into the inky water. “I don’t know. He seems okay.”
She ignored Alicia’s curious gaze. Now was not the time to mention the Wild Turkey under her bed. She’d only taken it out once after retrieving it from the bushes. When she opened it and sniffed, she’d winced. Who would want to drink that stuff? Ever since, it had sat under her bed like a secret. At first, she was scared her parents might find it. But she didn’t want to get rid of it, either. Technically it wasn’t hers. And what would she say if they wanted it back?
Briefly, she’d wondered if they’d pull into her driveway to get it back. She imagined Amanda Hastings’s blond hair whipping out behind her like a flag as her BMW roared up the driveway. But that was ridiculous. So she’d held on to it and waited for some kind of sign. Only now here they were at camp, and none of that group had even glanced in her direction. They probably had plenty of other bottles of booze. They’d probably forgotten all about it. As she watched Amanda laughing with the counselors, a wave of embarrassment washed over her. She’d been a dumping ground for evidence. Sully would never come up to her and ask for it back.
The rest of the afternoon dragged by. They worked inside the clubhouse, in the rec hall, spread out in circles prepping crafts for the first day of camp. Emma was in charge of cutting out triangles from white cotton sheets that would later be used as sails for miniature boats. She was halfway through the stack of fabric when Bob Kline came over and handed her another stack. “Nice work, Goodwin,” he said as he walked away.
Emma tried not to groan. Her fingers ached. “How many do we need?” she called after him.
“At least a hundred. Maybe two.”
She swiveled and found herself staring up at Sully McMahon. He grinned.
Before Emma could think of what to say, he knelt beside her. “Still got that juice?”
“What?” Then she realized what he meant. Emma glanced around the rec room, her eyes landing on Alicia, who was watching them. She nodded, heart thudding beneath her camp T-shirt. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”
“Good. Bring it down to the dock tonight. Say, nine o’clock?”
So he did want it back. She tried to keep her voice even. “My dock or Amanda’s?”
“Yours. See you then.”
At eight forty-five, Emma slipped into a pair of cutoff shorts. She stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom. What she needed was a white pair, like Amanda’s. Maybe not as short. She took care with mascara and lip gloss, even though she knew it would be dark. At the last minute she kicked off her tennis shoes in favor of a pair of strappy sandals.
It wasn’t clear if Sully wanted her to meet them at the dock to give the Wild Turkey back, or if it was an invitation to join them. To be fair, she didn’t know which scenario she preferred. The thought of being left on the dock as they motored away was unbearable. But the thought of climbing into the boat with them and having to make small talk, and probably drink, was terrifying. Carefully she wrapped the bottle in a beach towel and slid it into her backpack.
The hallway was quiet, the only light coming from a sliver under her parents’ door. She’d said good night to them earlier,claiming she had a headache. Her mother had looked at her funny. “It’s so early. Are you sure you’re feeling okay, honey?”
“Yeah. I just got a little too much sun today.”
Per usual, her father barely looked up from his laptop. “Hope you feel better, Emmy-Bean.”
She really wished he’d stop using that nickname. But she was glad they didn’t press further, and also glad they went to bed early.
It was alarming just how easy it was to fool them, she thought, as she stepped out into the hall. Quietly, she tiptoed down the stairs and through the kitchen. Moments later, she was sliding the patio door closed behind her and racing across the backyard. Easy as spilled milk.
Down on the dock there was a chill in the air coming off the lake. Emma peered into the darkness, her fingers drumming against her backpack straps. Across the water came the thrum of bullfrogs, a familiar cadence that helped slow her breathing.
Ten minutes passed, then another. After a while, she stopped checking her phone. The illuminated screen drew bugs, and already she could feel the sting of mosquito bites on her bare legs. But still she waited.
By nine forty-five the realization that they weren’t coming washed over her like fresh embarrassment. Angrily, she slung the backpack up over her shoulder. What had she expected? It wasn’t like she was friends with any of these people. Amanda Hastings didn’t acknowledge she had a pulse. As for Sully, she was just the girl who had his bottle of booze. But still—why had he invited her?
Maybe Sully McMahon was messing with her. Or maybe he’d planned to come but things fell through. As she turned away from the water and crossed the dock for the stairs, an even worse thought occurred to her. Maybe he’d forgotten.
Tears pricked her eyes. This summer was going to be exactly like all the rest. She was halfway up the hill for home when she heard a sound. Emma froze, listening. Yes, there were voices coming from up the shore.
A minute later, the rumble of a boat motor broke the stillness. Hesitantly, she headed back down the hill. The motor grew louder and the white shape of a boat sliced through the darkness. “There she is.” It sounded like Sully.
Emma made her way slowly across the dock to meet it. Let them think she was just arriving. Someone in the boat had their phone on, illuminating a handful of faces. She could make out Amanda behind the wheel, but neither girl greeted the other.
“Emma. Our Turkey delivery girl.”
It was Sully. He leaned out over the side.
A flicker of anger rose in her chest. They’d kept her waiting over an hour, and like a fool, she’d stayed. They were probably laughing about it on the way over.
