Chapter 14
Callie
The cabin is quiet after breakfast, everyone scattered to get ready for the day.
The bedroom window is propped open, and the lace curtain blows in and out with the breeze off the lake.
Somewhere outside, a boat engine whirs, then fades.
The air smells like syrup and bacon. The box fan in the corner clicks every third rotation.
I’m on top of the quilt, phone face-up beside me, a dozen tabs open.
How early do symptoms start. First thing to do when you find out you’re pregnant.
How to make a doctor’s appointment without your parents knowing.
Every response says something different, and none of them say what I actually need—to make time go backwards.
My eyes burn. I press the heels of my hands into them until stars burst white behind my lids.
Quiet tears slip anyway, hot and embarrassing, even though no one’s here to see.
I curl on my side and try to breathe through the ache, through the drumbeat of panic that keeps getting louder whenever I let my mind rest. I think of Mom’s voice, of Josie’s face, of everyone at church on Sunday morning.
“God,” I whisper, barely a breath. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to tell anyone. Please…help me.”
Another wave of shame rolls in, sharp and mean.
I swallow hard. I’m so mad at myself I could crawl out of my skin.
We shouldn’t have. We knew better. And now I’m here, tangled in sheets that smell like last night’s bonfire smoke, praying that the nausea goes away so I can at least act like I’m okay.
Outside, someone shouts, then laughter breaks out across the yard.
It fills the room, soft and distant at first, then bigger.
Contagious in that way that makes you smile, even when you have no idea what’s so funny.
I swipe at my eyes, flip my phone face-down, and sit up.
The breeze pushes the curtain against my shoulder.
Another ripple of laughter, louder. Brad’s laugh, which is impossible to mistake, followed by Macy’s high, shaky giggle that turns into a wheeze whenever she can’t breathe from laughing so hard.
I swing my legs off the bed and make my way out.
The hallway is cooler, dim. I pass the wall phone with the curly cord that still works if you smack it, the faded 1999 Fireworks Schedule taped beside it like a time capsule no one bothered to take down.
The screen door squeaks when I push it open, and sunlight pours across the back porch.
And then I see it.
Brad, Mitch, and Luke are in the middle of the yard wearing empty beer boxes on their heads, winging Frisbees at each other. Brad’s got Michelob Ultra, while Mitch and Luke are both sporting Budweiser.
“Three! Two! Ow!” Brad yelps as a Frisbee smacks his thigh. “I wasn’t ready!”
“Well, get ready!” Mitch insists, whipping his disc and hitting Brad in the chest next.
Maddie is doubled over on the picnic table bench, filming with one hand and covering her mouth with the other. Macy’s cackling beside her, trying to hold her phone steady, but she’s shaking and wheezing again.
“Wait—do it again! Oh my gosh, I can’t— Mitch, you look like a robot!” she says.
“A robot?” he asks, bringing the Frisbee up and throwing it toward Brad again.
It zings just past him and nails the rusty No Wake sign on the tree with a hollow bong. Brad jumps. “What was that?”
“I don’t know.” Mitch laughs and lifts the box off his head to see, Luke follows. “Oh, the sign.” He laughs and picks up another Frisbee. When he sees Luke’s looking too, he looks to Brad, the only one with a box still on. Mitch and Luke smile wide.
“And…fire!” Luke yells, and they both zing them at Brad, one hitting him in the leg, the other in the chest.
“Ow! Son of a—” Brad yelps.
Everyone laughs hysterically, even me, tears in my eyes.
Brad rips his box off. His hair sticks up in sweaty spikes. “Cheaters,” he scolds.
Luke and Mitch exchange a high five, still trying to catch their breath from laughing so hard.
For a moment, everything feels normal. The boys being idiots, the girls filming and heckling, the sun bright and warm, and the lake humming with boats.
Then Mitch sees me, and his whole face softly lights in a new way. I move toward the picnic table, though, and sit beside Maddie.
“How’s your headache?” she asks.
I nod. “Better.”
Macy looks over at me. “You take a nap?”
“Sort of,” I say, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. “I was half-asleep, half listening to them trying to kill each other with—apparently—Frisbees.”
The guys wander over then, Brad wiping sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, and Mitch with his shirt draped over his shoulder, skin across the bridge of his nose sunburned.
“I need a drink—anyone else?” Brad asks, already reaching for the cooler.
Maddie raises her hand immediately. Macy nods too, and when Brad turns to me, I shake my head.
“You sure?” he says. “There’s still plenty of fruity girly stuff left.”
“I’m good,” I say with a small laugh. “Don’t wanna risk my headache coming back.”
“More for me,” Maddie says, twisting her bottle until she hears a quick hiss.
It does look good—the condensation sliding down the side, the cold pink watermelon flavor I can practically taste just from looking at it.
Clearly none of us are legal, but around here, it’s just the kind of thing kids our age do, just like anywhere else.
And as long as no one gets stupid, it’s fine.
Mitch and Macy’s parents are on the stricter side. They don’t exactly condone it, but they trust them to be responsible—no driving or anything. And they are responsible.
My mom’s a different story. Josie set the bar high, the kind of perfect older sister who never broke a single rule. So Mom assumes I’m the same way.
And maybe that’s the part that stings—the way it all feels a little too easy. The way I sit here acting grown-up, half pretending I am when I’m not.
The girls go back to talking about plans to lay out and tan, and Mitch sits beside me nonchalantly as he discusses fishing with the guys. Someone turns the song on the speaker up louder—“Red Dirt Road” by Brooks Maddie is running for the house, screaming.
Another explodes behind Brad and he dives behind the picnic table so dramatically he looks like he’s auditioning for an action movie.
Macy joins me just as another firework shoots toward the dock and explodes right over the water. My heart’s racing and Macy’s out of breath.
Then suddenly—it’s quiet.
A thin trail of smoke floats from the fallen tube.