Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Even as the idea started to form, fill me with a sort of hopeful excitement that felt like a drug, I wondered if this was some kind of trade.
My silence, for her friendship. My complicity, for the exact life I wanted—rooming with her, and living just down the street from Trevor.
It was almost too perfect to believe. There would be no Chelsea, Wes, or even Margo to breathe down my neck.
I would be free. To make my own life—build my own road map, alongside Steph. Just like we’d talked about.
I wasn’t stupid enough to believe it was an entirely benevolent offer. I wasn’t stupid enough to think Steph didn’t have an ulterior motive here. She was taking advantage of me and what she knew I wanted.
But I was stupid enough for a lot of things. I was stupid enough to swallow my guilt, ignore my trepidation, and say yes.
—
True to her word from the other night, Steph and I waited for Margo and Chelsea to fall asleep before sneaking off toward the Barn, just the two of us.
After I’d said yes to her offer this morning, Steph had been attached to my side all day.
It had felt like the early days of summer again.
Simple and easy. It had felt like the Night Before, when we’d skinny-dipped in the lake and my cheeks had ached from smiling.
It had felt like lying in her bed while the other two snored, long after lights-out, watching old episodes of Gilmore Girls on her laptop, sharing headphones.
Once again, I felt the intoxicating power that was being friends with Steph Bennett. That being in her orbit could make you feel capable of anything.
We were just heading down the path that led toward the Barn when Steph stopped dead in her tracks. “Shit, we didn’t bring anything to drink.”
“There’s probably a bottle of vodka left from last week. We’ll be fine.”
I wanted to move quickly, before someone heard us. With all the new curfew rules, I knew my mom and Rig were going to be less forgiving than usual if we got caught sneaking through the woods alone in the middle of the night.
“Wait, I have a brilliant idea. Isn’t your mom gone tonight?”
She was. Once every month or so, my mom made the trek down into Lavender to run a few errands and visit her friend Kelly Anne.
Often, she’d stay the night, like she was tonight.
She’d almost talked herself out of it this afternoon, but me and Rig had convinced her to go.
She desperately needed a night off. “Yeah, why?”
Steph turned to look at me, her mouth already curling into something that scared me. “Doesn’t she supposedly have, like, the world’s best wine cellar?”
I took a step back, disoriented by this question.
Yes, my mom had converted her basement into a wine cellar; it had been her fortieth birthday gift to herself.
She’d always been a collector and a connoisseur, and it had been a fun project one winter to sort through all of her bottles and get them organized.
My mother was modest in most aspects of her life, save for two—jewelry and wine.
And she went all out for the things she loved.
“I guess so,” I allowed, already apprehensive about where this might be heading.
“We should totally raid it, then, right?” Her words were light, carefree, even; but I could see the tightness in her jaw, the tension in her forehead. She didn’t want me to say no. It felt like a test.
“I…,” I said, trailing off. “I don’t think so, Steph.”
She sucked her teeth, as if this were the most annoying thing I could have said. “Why not?”
I rubbed at a spot on my chest, feeling hot. “I don’t want to break into my mom’s place.”
“It’s not breaking in. It’s literally your house. What are you so scared of?”
I thought back on the other time this summer she’d floored me with that question, in such a different context: What are you so scared of?
It had been how she’d convinced me to go for Trevor, to start considering an alternative future for myself.
It had felt kind, encouraging. Now, it felt like she was throwing it back in my face. Mocking me.
“Because it’s stealing.” I leveled her with a stare that I wasn’t sure was smart. I was walking away from the cool, chill Greer who I’d vowed to be around her. But messing with my mom was a line I didn’t want to cross. “And I thought you said you were done with all of this.”
The corner of her mouth lifted into a smirk. “This is totally different. We’ll be together, and it’s literally your house, Little G. If she was here, we’d just ask her and she’d say yes. No big deal.”
“Steph, I don’t—”
“Just one measly bottle, all right?” She was already tugging on my arm, pulling me back down the trail. “It’ll be fun. We’ve got to cheers to being roomies, don’t we? And that requires champagne.”
My resolve wavered at the genuine excitement on her face. Maybe she wasn’t mocking me at all. Maybe she really did want to celebrate the cementing of our friendship and the life we’d start building together in Atlanta.
So I bit my tongue and nodded stiffly, and Steph’s face split into a wide smile. She grabbed my hand and steered me back in the other direction, toward my mom’s cabin. “Let’s go.”
—
Most of my life, I had never needed to use a key. There was no use for one.
Until this summer. I felt a flicker of unease as I typed the code in the lockbox, knowing that it was a new precaution my mom had started taking.
To avoid something exactly like this. A break-in.
Inside, the lights were off, and I told Steph we should keep them that way. She winked, and I got the message: I’ve done this before, remember?
Steph moved through the cabin with a quiet, practiced grace. In everyday life, she was the loudest person I knew; her voice, her steps. You always knew she was coming. But in here, she moved like a ghost. Like a real phantom.
“It’s over here,” I whispered, heading to the basement door beside the kitchen.
She’d stopped in front of my mom’s fireplace, eyeing the collection of vases and trinkets that lined the mantel.
She picked up an antique bronze lighter, passed down through my family, that my mom kept in a place of honor.
“This is actually really nice,” she said, doing a 360-degree spin. “Why does your mom never have us over?”
I shrugged, uncomfortable. I thought we’d be in and out; I was starting to worry she’d change her mind, decide she wanted to drink the champagne in here instead.
She leaned over the vase of red flowers on the mantel, skimming her fingers through the petals. “What are these?”
“Flame azaleas,” I said. “They’re my mom’s favorite.”
She was flicking the lighter now, almost subconsciously. It was making me nervous; I crossed the room, pulled it gently from her hand, and slipped it into my bag. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You’re so anxious. Relax.” She was now in front of my mother’s bookcase, squatting and running her fingers over the spines. “God, there’s so much to look at. What if we had our toast in here?”
I started to protest, but she was already rolling her eyes. “I’m kidding, chill. All right, where’s this famous wine cellar?”
I jerked my chin toward the door, my hand hovering over the doorknob.
I’d been about to open it, to let her inside, but I suddenly felt the warning itch to not let her in.
That she’d take her sweet time, wander around, while I sat up here like a sitting duck.
I could already envision the look of disappointment on Rig’s face.
“I’ll get it. You stay here.”
To my surprise and relief, she didn’t object, just gave me a wink.
“Something pink and fizzy, ideally.”
I nodded and moved quietly down the stairs.
As I groped blindly on the ceiling for the light pull, the door swung shut behind me with a click.
“Steph?” I said, reaching backward in the dark, wondering if she’d snuck inside with me after all. But there was no one; I was entirely alone. When my hand found the handle and pulled, nothing happened. I slammed my hands against it hard, but Steph didn’t come to open it.
“Hey, the door is locked,” I called, louder this time. I pressed my ear to the door, straining to hear, but it was thick and insulated. I could hear nothing from the other side; I had no way of knowing if she was a few feet away or on the other side of the cabin.
I ran my hands along the walls, failing to find anything resembling a light switch. A minute stretched by, then another.
“Steph!” I shouted. “Stephanie!” There was no light source that I could find, and I’d left my phone at Black Bass.
It was pitch-black, and I was trapped.
My heart was thumping against my rib cage as I pounded on the door, over and over. Stupid, stupid, I told myself. It turned into a steady, unrelenting rhythm, one that no one came to answer.
Tears welled in my eyes. Was this punishment for something? Why would Steph lock me in here—was this her idea of a joke?
After several more impossibly long minutes, it seemed clear that she wasn’t coming back.
I sat down on the first stair, my back pressed against the door, the cold draft from the basement on my legs, giving me goose bumps.
I did everything I could not to think about mice or bugs, creatures that I couldn’t see.
I closed my eyes, made myself swallow a few deep breaths. I would be okay. Probably.
I couldn’t be locked in here forever, could I? Surely, eventually, someone would find me.
Then all of a sudden I was falling backward, and a scream ripped through me before I had a chance to realize what was happening. The stairs hadn’t given way. No, the door had opened, and Steph was standing over me.
“What the fuck are you screaming for?” she said, eyes wild. “Do you want to wake up the whole camp?”
I sat up. “You locked me in there.”
Steph blinked at me. “No, I didn’t. Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know, the door closed, and I was yelling for you, but you didn’t open it.”
She poked her head around, into the doorway. “There’s a crazy draft in here. It must have blown closed.”
“But didn’t you hear me calling for you?”
She narrowed her eyes, assessing me. “I did hear you. That’s…why I opened it.”
I felt very, very small, and very, very stupid. Because she was right. She had opened it. I couldn’t have been inside long—it had just been so terrifying, feeling swallowed whole by the darkness. Slowly, I hauled myself to my feet.
“I was looking at your bedroom, so it took me a second to get back down the hallway. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but it was dry. Was my mind playing tricks on me? I hadn’t been inside for that long, had I?
Why had it started to feel like Steph could hear me banging on the door and was choosing not to open it?
I rolled back on my heels, embarrassed and confused. Steph was looking at me like I was a stray animal she’d found in the bushes—like I might bolt, or I might bite.
“Forget the champagne,” she said after a beat, slipping her hand in to mine and dragging me toward the front door. “We’ve got some celebrating to do.”
I only hesitated for a second before acquiescing, like we both knew I would, and following her back into the dark.