Chapter Seventeen
Camp Weonoke—years prior
The boy swept the room, careful not to hit her feet as she stocked shelves with more baked beans and creamed corn.
Townie, she thought to herself. She’d heard the camp director say his name but hadn’t remembered it, but most people called him Townie. It seemed cruel, but she wasn’t one to rock the boat.
Still, she was curious about him.
Mainly because she knew he watched them. It was his blue eyes she’d seen from the tree line the first time Davis went to second base. And she’d seen him again yesterday, when Davis had made butterflies tickle her stomach while getting to third.
This boy was always watching.
It occurred to her that something so sinister, so disturbing, shouldn’t have made her more curious. But she was.
“Why do you watch us?” she said, not looking over her shoulder. “Aren’t you scared he’ll catch you?”
The sweeping stopped, but he didn’t answer until she turned around and their eyes met. What a beautiful sapphire color, she thought to herself.
“I don’t watch him. Just you.”
She wasn’t sure why that made her feel weird, and not necessarily in a bad way.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Because you’re interesting.”
“Do you even know my name?” she retorted.
He licked his lips, steeling his cold blue eyes deeper into hers. “Do you know mine?”
She fleetingly wondered if what she’d say would embarrass him, but she didn’t care if it did. He wasn’t like Davis. He didn’t have any of the charm or well-natured smiles that came so easily to Davis.
There is an honesty, though, she thought.
One that he had but Davis could never possess. Because his honesty wasn’t a reflection of his goodness. Oftentimes, well-intentioned people committed the worst crimes because they didn’t want to hurt someone. Something told her that wasn’t an affliction the townie suffered.
“Is your name Townie?” she offered as coldly as the others said it.
He never bristled or looked away. Instead, he walked toward her. Her heart ticked up a beat, and she felt the stock shelves at her back.
“He doesn’t even like you,” he said quietly, so focused on her that she wanted to squeeze her eyes closed. It was too intense. “He fucks a new girl every summer. It’s his thing, and then he never speaks to them.”
The crudeness in the way he spoke made her uncomfortable. Even though that was a truth she’d already considered.
When she met Davis, she’d decided that this summer was for exploration. Which wasn’t something typical for her, but the motto of the camp was “Adventure Awaits,” so she’d figured, Why not.
She knew this wasn’t something the townie considered about her, and having one up on him made her feel something new.
“Who says I want him to speak to me after the summer?”
They were standing face-to-face now. And even though she still felt scared, she never showed it, facing him with strong shoulders. Because her response was the truth, which was the only thing she appreciated about this conversation. Maybe not the only thing, she thought.
“You don’t care to be discarded? So, you’re a whore?”
She smirked, feeling much less afraid because it was then she realized he was jealous. And that was less frightening than the idea that he watched them to hurt her.
“And what if I am, Townie? What are you going to do about it? Call me names in the hopes I’ll stop my errant ways and choose you?”
He swallowed. She’d hit the right nerve, and she wasn’t sure if that elated her to know or brought her relief because now she could find a way to end this conversation.
She decided on the former. He’d confirmed the feeling that was fueling her bravery. She was in control. He liked her.
“I think you should stick to sweeping and stop being weird and creepy. Or I’ll tell my boyfriend . . . before the end of the summer.”
She started past him, but he crossed the broom’s handle in front of her, forcing her to take a step back.
“Get off me,” she ground out.
He encased her with his body, letting the broom drop to the floor as he whispered in her ear, “I could treat you like one if you want . . . like a whore.”
He didn’t back away, crowding her in the stockroom, and she hadn’t realized how large his body was. Her chest rose and fell against his navy blue janitor uniform as their breaths mingled.
His fingers touched her throat, and it sent shivers down her spine.
“I’ll scream,” she rushed out insincerely.
But he never backed up, his mouth still close to her ear.
“I could hurt you before anyone comes.”
She turned her face, not away, but toward his cheek to ensure he heard every word.
“They’ll still come. So, make sure you kill me because I will tell them about everything you do to me.”
He laughed an empty laugh before he drew back, their eyes connecting.
“You think you’re so fucking perfect and that I’m trash. You’re too good for me, right? Is that it? Perfect Davis can treat you like a slut, but I’d have to rape you in order to touch your pussy?”
Her breath caught at his lewdness. She should have been disgusted, but it made her feel things she hadn’t before.
A slow smirk tipped his crooked mouth.
“You like being spoken to that way. My own virgin whore.”
At that, she spat in his face. He only blinked.
His crystal-blue eyes stared back into hers as he gathered the disrespect with his fingers, and then he put it in his mouth—sucking her spit off his own fingers.
She watched him, her breath halted and her thoughts stilled.
He watched her back with hate in his eyes.
But instead of pain or retribution like she feared, he lowered his face to hers and kissed her.
She wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but it was enough time that her arms and hands had stopped fighting him off and wrapped around his neck. And his long fingers dug into her lower back, urging her body closer to his.
He broke the kiss and stared down at her.
“Be mine.”
Feelings stirred inside her naive body, and she wondered why it didn’t feel like this with Davis. There was something about this moment that made her feel powerful and wanted. The townie wouldn’t hurt her. That much she knew. But he was still dangerous.
Even though it shouldn’t, that excited her.
She’d never understand why she agreed. Maybe because she’d never had boys fight over her. Or because she’d committed herself to adventure.
Do I want to be a girlfriend? she thought.
Or maybe it was because Townie was right. Davis would discard her after the summer, because that’s precisely what a summer romance is—fleeting.
So why not take advantage of the moment and let the townie kiss her like that again?
“Say it . . .” he said with authority. “Say, ‘Billy, I’m yours.’” Then he provided a nudge in the wrong direction. “It can be our little secret.”
She wouldn’t mean it, and that was no matter. Because Billy felt like a story she’d like to tell one day. He felt like a reckoning.
And she’d always been good at keeping secrets.
Later in her life, she’d realize this was when her story had begun and ended.
“Okay, Billy, I’m yours.”
To my Emerson,
You let him laugh at me today.
Was it because you thought he knew?
You’re right. Men know. I could smell him on you too.
—Your Billy