Chapter 3
THREE
LOCKED IN THE MURDER SHANTY
SARAH
“The rain’s let up. I think it’s time we got you two home.” Britta rocked back on her heels as she looked around the nearly empty Barn. The candlelight cast an eerie glow on the aftermath of the party.
“Come on! We’re finally enjoying one of these parties.
Can’t we play one more game?” Olivia mumbled as she slumped over the arm of a stained couch, watching the frat brothers wander around, picking up empty cans and cups before flipping on the overhead lights.
“Too bright,” she groaned, throwing her arm over her eyes.
“Why don’t we go home and play on our table?” Rae effortlessly lifted me off the couch. One of the perks of her being so strong was that she easily handled our drunk asses.
“Fiiiine. C’mon, Liv.” I reached down to help Britta get her up.
Instead, Liv pulled me down on top of her and wrapped her arms around me. “I’m gonna miss you, Sarah.” Hiccup. “I don’t wanna go home tomorrow.”
Sitting on her lap, I patted her sweaty, tangled auburn hair. “I’ll miss you too. But you promised to be back for the fourth—” I cupped my mouth and shouted, “Ready to ruuumble!”
Olivia sighed, and we both struggled to stand. “Let’s go home.”
The four of us shuffled out of the Barn and stumbled down the hill. Well, Olivia and I stumbled while Rae and Britta held their hands out, ready to break any falls.
“I can’t believe that dude disappeared on you. Like, who runs away from a guaranteed hookup?” Olivia tripped on a crack in the sidewalk, and Rae grabbed her elbow, hauling her upright. Giggling, Olivia said, “Thank you for saving my face from the concrete, Rae.”
Rae laughed and slung an arm around her shoulder. “No problem. I’m here to catch you when you fall.”
I hooked my arm through Britta’s, laying my head on her shoulder.
“It’s just not fair. He was so hot. Like ‘I do manual labor, so these muscles are earned’ hot.
Like ‘I can build you a cabin’ hot. The first time I’m down for a quick hookup, and poof!
” I fake-cried into Britta’s side, and she patted my back. “Why did he leave?”
“Because most men aren’t worth your time,” Britta cooed, giving me a noisy kiss on the forehead.
That was easy for her to say. Paul worshipped the ground she walked on. He built a freaking bed for her. Now, how we would ever get said bed frame out of Frattic was a mystery for future us to solve.
“Britta’s right. I mean, I have all this—” Olivia gestured to the lower half of her generous pear-shaped body. “And we’ve been together for almost a year, but Michael still can’t get his shit together. It might be time to end things.”
Rae hummed, neither in agreement nor disagreement, just an acknowledgement that she heard. Rae never got deep into relationship talk. Hell, she never got deep into a relationship.
We walked in silence for a block or so, the breeze a welcome relief to the already hot and humid May weather. Despite it being a perfect Kirksville night, I couldn’t enjoy it. Rejection gnawed at me, turning what should’ve been the first of many amazing summer nights into a total bust.
I’d never felt that instant connection with anyone before. Yet, there I was, rejected, embarrassed, and going home to an empty bed. Just another attempt at trying to be a normal college kid gone wrong.
Let the spiral commence.
Adding to my anxiety was that, despite being completely hammered, I needed to be up bright and early for my new gig as a camp counselor at Thousand Hills—the first of two jobs required to make enough money to pay rent and eat.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t on my parents’ payroll, and that left me terrified and feeling stupid.
I was almost 22 and didn’t even know how to pay my bills.
I didn’t have a credit card that wasn’t tied to my parents. I’d never written a check. I’d never—
“Hey!”
I looked up from the sidewalk, and Paul was jogging up the alleyway in front of Frattic.
“Hey, Babe.” Britta unlinked our arms and threw herself at Paul. She pecked him but pulled back, scrunching her nose. “What the hell is that smell?” She took two big steps back, her arms left wide.
He lifted his shirt to his nose and shrugged. “It was a long day. We replaced the toilet on the main floor and fixed the door. It closes now! Both halves!”
“Wow,” Britta deadpanned, drawing out the o. “A bathroom people can use without feeling wildly unsafe. Whoda thunk.” Rolling her eyes, she grabbed his hand. “You need a shower before you even dream of climbing into bed with me.”
He leaned in, trying to kiss her, but she blocked him with her palm. “Shower.”
We all laughed until we reached the wobbly backstairs.
The whole place was in desperate need of renovation or maybe demolition, especially after Emma tumbled off the roof.
Without my permission, my gaze fell on the exact spot where her head met gravel.
In silence, we stomped up the safety hazard.
No one ever mentioned the accident, but it was clear we were all still dealing with the aftermath.
Everyone peeled off toward their own rooms, or in Paul’s case, the bathroom, while I settled on the couch with my emotional support water bottle.
I pulled up my checking account for the hundredth time today.
The same $1,423.17 stared back at me. Luckily, my scholarships covered tuition and books, but this would not get me through an entire year of rent, utilities, food, and other nonsense.
Stress like I’d never felt squeezed my chest. I’d dealt with academic pressures, familial disappointment in my chosen career path, and social discomfort from being a bit boring, but this was next level.
This was real-world stress, something my privileged upbringing had always shielded me from.
I didn’t have the practical know-how to take care of myself, and it was downright embarrassing.
Lying in the dark, listening to my roommates settling in for the night, I felt alone.
Every single one of them was closer to being an adult than I was.
Every single one of them was capable of surviving in ways I was only just now figuring out.
Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to give in to the sadness, so I shut them and tried some of the breathing techniques Morgan had shown me for stress.
As my mind cleared, one thing remained. Connor. Stupid, beautiful, manly Connor, who obviously thought I wasn’t worth sticking around for.
Blowing out a breath, I sat up, instantly regretting the move because the room started to spin.
Easing back down, I stayed focused on Britta’s painting hanging on the wall.
When you did turns in ballet, it was important to focus on an unmoving object to keep from getting dizzy.
I hoped the same would be true for drunk eyes and a room determined to spin.
Maybe Dad was right. I was a fuckup. What did I do when faced with my new reality?
Get tipsy, dry hump a stranger, proceed to get wasted, and then get no sleep before a full day in the sun mentoring middle schoolers.
I wanted to have fun like everyone else, but apparently that wasn’t in the cards for me.
All that was left to do was pick myself up and be an adult.
Tomorrow.
I’ll be an adult tomorrow.
A door closing startled me awake. Peeking over at Rae’s bedroom, the door was wide open, and she wasn’t in bed. With one squinted eye, I checked my phone. It was only 6:30 am. The fact that Rae was up that early for a run boggled the mind.
Flopping back on the couch, I huffed and grumbled. My alarm wasn’t set to go off for another thirty minutes, but going back to sleep would be pointless, so I slowly sat up. That’s when the hangover to end all hangovers hit me.
I leapt up from the couch and rushed to the bathroom, puking up red jungle juice into my hand, but somehow missing my shirt and making it into the toilet.
The first bit of luck I’ve had in a while.
The porcelain of the bowl was cold against my arm as I propped up my face, ready to lose whatever was left in my stomach. I looked down to where my phone sat on the floor. I had twenty minutes to sit there like a sad sack before I needed to get my ass to Thousand Hills.
A few agonizing minutes passed, and the urge to vomit was gone.
Shuffling along the scuffed wooden floors, I refilled my water bottle and trudged back to the bathroom.
I brushed my hair into a neat ponytail and scrubbed off the little bit of makeup left from the night before.
I frowned at how red and shiny my skin was while I scoured the taste of death out of my mouth.
Knowing there wasn’t time for makeup, I sighed and went to my bedroom.
I stripped off my dress, put on fresh deodorant, some lotion, and a little body spritz to mask the alcohol oozing out of my pores.
It didn’t work.
Defeated, I slipped on a pair of denim shorts and a Camp College Bound T-shirt. The motion made me pause before sitting on the floor to find my new sneakers. I laced them and took my sweet time putting them on.
I guess I should thank Rae for waking me up thirty minutes early. It’s taking me forever to get ready.
Dressed and feeling marginally better, I went back downstairs as my wake-up alarm went off. That meant I had fifteen minutes to slam a Gatorade.
Snagging my keys and phone, I took my drink outside to the car and made the quick drive to Thousand Hills State Park.
A Tilney is never late.
Despite the AC blasting, sweat beaded on my neck. Dehydrated as all get out, the humidity was even more unbearable. Summer had truly come early. I would need to chug a bottle of water to keep from passing out in front of the campers.