Page 4 of The Summer We Lie

"So I found this website for an exclusive underground gentleman's club in LA called Obsidian," Harper says, her eyes bright with excitement. "One of my clients mentioned it—some wealthy businessman who offered to take me there. Anyway, they have this section where girls auction off... experiences." She leans forward, lowering her voice. "Including their virginity. And I thought maybe you could do that. Think about how much money you could make."

The clean clothes slip from my hands and hit the floor. "I know I said I was desperate, but damn, Harp. That's crazy."

"I know," she says with that big smile that means she absolutely does not think it's crazy at all.

"Are you serious?" Because this is insane. We're actually talking about this. About me selling my virginity to some elite member of an underground club three thousand miles away. "This is crazy, we're crazy for even talking about this."

"Yes, dead serious," she says, leaning forward like she's presenting a business proposal. "I just wish I was a virgin so I could do it. You could probably rake in close to a million. These Obsidian members are like, the wealthiest men on the West Coast."

My mouth falls open. "Shut up."

"I'm serious," she insists, and God help me, I can see she actually is. Harper doesn't joke about money. She understands what desperation looks like, even if she's never lived it herself.

"No way." I bend down to collect my dropped clothes, my hands shaking slightly. A million dollars. That would solve everything. Mom's mortgage, Justin's school, his therapy, college tuition, groceries, utilities—everything. But selling my virginity? To some stranger at an exclusive LA club who could afford to spend that kind of money on sex?

The thought makes my skin crawl and my heart race at the same time.

"Go order our food so I can take a shower," I say, shaking my head as I walk toward my bathroom. "You're insane."

"Think about it though," Harper calls after me as I'm shutting the door. "It's just sex, Skye. And you'd never have to worry about money again."

I pause in the doorway, my hand on the door knob. Just sex. Like it's nothing. Like the fact that I've managed to keep my virginity through high school and almost a year of college doesn't mean anything. Like the idea of giving it to someone who sees it as a commodity rather than something intimate doesn't make me want to throw up.

But then I think about Mom crying over bills she can't pay. About Justin asking why he can't go back to his school in the fall.

"Order the Chinese," I say quietly, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind me.

In the mirror, my reflection stares back—messy hair, dark circles under my eyes, paint-stained hoodie. Not exactly virgin auction material.

But a million dollars.

I turn on the shower, letting the steam begin to fog the mirror until I can't see myself anymore.

The hot water cascades down my back, but even the steam and heat can't wash away Harper's words. They cling to me like smoke—just sex and a million dollars—repeating in an endless loop that makes my chest tight. I press my palms against the shower wall, letting the water beat against my shoulders while my mind spirals through everything that has led us here.

The paint under my fingernails from today's project swirls down the drain in pale blue streams. I watch it disappear, wishing I could wash away my problems just as easily. But they'll still be there when I get out—Mom's exhausted sighs when she thinks no one is listening, the stack of bills that seems to grow taller every day, Justin's confused questions about why everything is changing.

By the time I emerge, wrapped in a fluffy towel, my skin is pink from the heat and my thoughts are no clearer than when I stepped in.

We settle into our usual spots on the couch afterward, me curled into the corner with my legs tucked under me, Harper sprawled beside me with the lo mein container balanced on her stomach. The familiar ritual of sharing takeout containers and fighting over the last spring roll feels like slipping into a warm sweater—comfortable, safe, exactly what I need.

The Craft flickers to life on the TV, and for the first time in weeks, I feel my shoulders truly relax. Nancy Downs is just starting her descent into madness, her dark hair whipping around her face as she embraces powers she can't control. There's something oddly fitting about watching someone else's life spiral out of control while mine teeters on the edge of its own cliff.

"God, I forgot how crazy this movie is," Harper mumbles around a mouthful of noodles, gesturing at the screen with her chopsticks. "Remember when we thought we could actually do magic like this?"

I laugh, the sound surprising me with its genuineness. "You mean when you convinced me to try that light-as-a-feather ritual at your thirteenth birthday party?"

"Hey, it almost worked! Sarah definitely felt lighter for a second."

"That's because you and Michelle were actually lifting her," I point out, stealing a piece of broccoli from the container. "Magic had nothing to do with it."

Harper grins, that mischievous smile that has gotten us both into trouble more times than I can count. "Magic is all about belief, Skye. You have to want it badly enough."

The words hang in the air between us, heavier than they should be. I want it badly enough. Like wanting my family's financial problems to disappear. Like wanting to give Mom a reason to smile again. Like wanting to fix everything that broke when Dad walked out.

For two blessed hours, I let myself disappear into the familiar chaos of teenage witches and high school drama. No bills to worry about, no future to plan, no impossible choices to make. Just me and my best friend, sharing food and commentary on a movie we've watched a dozen times before.

When the credits finally roll, Harper stretches like a cat, her hair catching the blue glow from the screen. "I miss this. Just hanging out like normal people."