Chapter Thirty-Nine. Sarah Lynn
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
SARAH LYNN
The Hollow glows in the light of the full moon, the reflected stars smudging along the ripples of the water, making it look like that Van Gogh painting. The famous one.
All the local Lone Star girls made it tonight, along with a bunch of Kayden’s friends, and everyone has agreed to keep this quiet.
On the news, they’re warning of freezing rain, slick roads, power lines icing over.
It sounds serious, but under the moonlight it feels almost magical, like the night is holding its breath.
The air makes my skin goose up, makes my lungs sting and my senses clear.
Two of the girls are dancing up on top of the highest boulder.
The shapes of them intertwine, as ribbons of moonlight kiss off their skin.
The speaker volume is almost silent, but I can hear Chappell Roan sing about someone going down on her in a truck.
Hannah, Olivia, and I are perched on the edge of a limestone shelf below them, our legs dangling out in the chilly air fifteen feet above the water.
After Mom’s strategic run-in with Olivia today at Z Couture, she’s been in full espionage mode.
Olivia’s dress was perfection—no tailoring needed—and Mom has already discovered that one of the judges, Mrs. Ramirez, has a granddaughter at Encore Dance Studio, mentored by Olivia herself.
Of course that means, in Mom’s mind, a built-in bias.
I can picture Mom now, sitting at her desk in the pageant room, pen tapping, plotting our next move.
Hannah is turned from me, hunched over as she types into her phone.
It takes me a second to recognize the flash of hot pink in Hannah’s grip. My phone.
I reach for it, but Hannah flops back onto her elbows, holding it out of reach, grinning wickedly. Olivia shifts to block me, cheeks pink, trying to swallow her laughter but failing.
“What the hell are y’all doing?” I demand, standing now, arms crossed.
“Now you can thank me,” Hannah says, handing the phone off like a relay baton. That’s when I notice Mr. Magnuson’s crumpled flyer tucked beneath Olivia’s thigh.
I snatch my phone back. My stomach flips as I scroll through the damage.
Hey Handsome, followed by a purple eggplant emoji.
Mr. Magnuson has already responded—Who is this?—and my mouth goes dry at the flirtatious winky face.
Come meet me at The Hollow and find out, signed with a smiling kitty cat.
“You’ve lost your damn minds,” I say, but the words don’t land half as sharp as I want. My stomach is a washing machine of butterflies spinning. I watch the three little dots appear, then vanish. Reappear, then vanish again.
“What if he actually shows?” Olivia whispers, half horrified, half delighted.
I slip the phone into my back pocket, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. But my body remembers that look he gave me, the one they didn’t see. He might not have flirted back, but he didn’t exactly shut it down either, did he?
I never do this—catch feelings for a boy. But Mr. Magnuson isn’t a boy, is he?
Between pageant prep and workout regimens, honors classes, and volunteer hours, I’ve never had time to worry about dating.
And, always, my mother’s voice is in my ear: They aren’t worth your time, Sarah Lynn.
A boy will only distract you. Or worse. And I know she’s right, because the boys at school are immature, all loud bravado and Axe body spray.
But Mr. Magnuson is different. Older. Calmer. And he actually listens. Actually looks at me like I’m a person with something worth saying.
I know it’s crazy. I know he’s my teacher. But not for much longer. Graduation’s just a few months away.
When the girls aren’t looking, I pull my phone out just to check, but he still hasn’t texted.
We see Billy making his way up the cliff toward us, clumsily, as he finds his footing on the rocks in the dark.
He grasps a cypress root right below us to heave himself up the last big step onto the limestone outcropping.
I nudge Hannah with an elbow. She rolls her eyes, snatching my can of Truly from me, and tips it back to take the last swallow.
Billy runs his fingers through his curls, pushes up his glasses, then shoves his hand down into the pocket of his baggy swim trunks.
He pulls out a wet five-dollar bill, a stubby pocketknife, and a plastic baggie with a joint and lighter in it.
By the look on his face, we’re supposed to be impressed.
Hannah takes the joint. Billy lights it, cupping his hand around the flame, his dainty fingers just an inch from Hannah’s face. I bet she’s feeling the heat in more places than one right now. She inhales deeply, then parts her full lips slightly to release a steady stream of smoke.
“Damn, Hannah, sexy mama,” I say, hoping Billy will get the hint. And he does kind of give her the once-over.
We pass the joint around, each taking a puff until it reaches Olivia. She pauses for a moment, just looking at the little rolled-up paper, ash hanging off the end. She glances over, across the river, toward the street, in the direction of the model home. And I know she’s thinking about her mom.
“You don’t have to,” I say.
But Olivia does a little shrug of her slender shoulders, puts the joint to her lips, and breathes in, immediately coughing her head off.
The boys didn’t bring enough alcohol, so Kayden’s off on a beer run out to the 7-Eleven on FM 32. The absent-minded cashier who works there always “forgets” that he’s rung everything up twice, and then conveniently “forgets” to ask for an ID, as long as you pay cash.
The other boys are mostly down by the bank, a few in the water, dunking each other and generally acting like morons.
Some of the girls are down there with them.
The guys are getting louder with each dive and cannonball.
The girls above us on the boulder have turned up the music as well.
They’re grinding together atop that rock now, riling the guys up even more.
“Jump,” one of the guys yells out.
Sabrina takes off running, pauses just a second at the edge, then leaps. For a breath she’s untethered, and then she twists midair, slapping the water with a brutal thump before disappearing into the blackness of the water.
The Hollow goes deep. We’ve all heard the stories—caverns under the limestone, divers who never came back up, skeletons lost somewhere in the dark. By the time worry starts to set in, Sabrina resurfaces with a spluttering cough, and everyone exhales with her.
Then Teddy hauls his big belly out of the water and lumbers toward the trees. He drops his shorts just before the shadows swallow him, flashing his bare ass in the moonlight. The boys start whistling and catcalling.
Teddy calls back to them. “If Sabrina is willing to go through a near-death experience for our entertainment, the least I can do is show my ass!”
Laughter ripples through the crowd as a few more boys trail after him.
“Are you girls scared?” Teddy says.
“Just of seeing your white ass again,” Hannah calls back.
Someone’s rigged a length of rope to a big cypress that leans out over the water.
Out of the shadowy part of The Hollow they swing, Tarzan-style, only they squeeze their legs shut, or turn their bodies away, before they escape into the cover of water.
Billy’s wiry frame flies last. He twists while airborne to face the girls, but he’s covering his junk.
“Don’t judge the shrinkage!” he shouts, just barely getting out the words before being swallowed in water. It has all the girls laughing.
When he resurfaces, he swims straight for Sabrina, who’s hugging her knees at the water’s edge, vying for attention in a whole new way.
“What a bunch of idiots,” I say. “Do they actually think that’ll convince us to take our clothes off?”
But Hannah is watching Billy, not me.
“Then again…” I say, and Hannah and Olivia both turn toward me. “It was tradition.”
“No way,” Olivia says, tugging her T-shirt down and scrunching up her knees.
I stand up. I hear my mom’s voice in my head, telling me to sit pretty, smile sweet. Screw that. “Never hide, right?” I say to Hannah, and I walk back toward the trees, tugging down my leggings as I go.
Behind me, I hear Hannah stand. She meets me in the shadow of branches, and slips out of her pants too, following my lead.
“Are we seriously doing this?” Olivia says, trying to catch up, unbuttoning her jeans as she jogs toward us.
We all lift our shirts, toss them to the ground, so we stand in our bikini tops and bottoms. Then we slip out of those. I take my girls’ hands, and we walk out into the moonlight. To the edge of our limestone stage.
The boys below us are dead silent, like I imagine Adam was the first time he laid eyes on Eve.
Yes, pageants build poise and confidence. And whatever the hell else you need to tell yourself to feel better about objectifying the female form.
But let’s be honest. Pageant girls?
We’re fucking hot.
Together, we leap.