15. August
I drive quickly down Main Street in Ella’s town, which isn’t quick at all considering the speed limit is twenty-five and I’m going twenty-seven. The ride has been mostly quiet since Tiny and I drove past the street where Des had her accident. I looked away, like I always do, and Tiny looked at me, an unspoken question on her lips. But (thankfully) instead of starting that conversation again, she leaned back in her seat. She’s been staring at the ocean since, riding air waves out the window with her hand, and not noticing when I look at her. And considering the small smile on her face, I’m certain that whatever she’s thinking about ceased to be me a good twenty minutes ago.
“You cool?” I ask.
“Huh?” she says and then distractedly, “Yeah, for sure.”
Before I can comment, she sits up, her feet sliding off the dashboard.
“There,” Tiny says, pointing at a sign for the harbor.
I make a fast left onto the gravel drive and loop around the small parking lot, snagging a spot in the back near a wall of cattails. We jump out—me in another paint-splattered T-shirt, shorts, boat shoes, and linen navy-blue blazer (also from Tiny’s dad’s wardrobe) and Tiny in a long cotton dress that hugs her middle and has a slit up one thigh. Both of our outfits are laid back but on point, carefully curated looks that seem effortless. And I’m reminded of that Shakespeare quote that basically sums up my life right now: All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.
“Who even are these people?” Tiny says as we approach the giant yacht being loaded with teens.
“Not a clue,” I reply. While we have a few solidly upper-middle-class kids in our town, they’re not remotely at this level. But somehow, no matter where you are, money and popularity seem to go hand in hand. Or maybe it’s just power and more power.
We step onto the dock, where a smiling Amber greets us in a sparkly gold dress.
“Impressive,” I say, nodding toward the yacht.
“Isn’t it?” Amber agrees. “My parents rent it every year for their anniversary. But it’s an all-day rental, and they only use it during the evening. Soooo... waste not, want not.”
We make our way onto the opulent boat, where I recognize almost everyone from the day before. Tiny and I walk around the deck, where small groups sunbathe and drink fancy lemonades.
“Interesting that he’s here,” Tiny whispers and I follow her gaze to Amber’s ex, “or complicated. Or both?” Derek sits on a couch in a living room surrounded by windows with an Amber look-alike as they make sexy eyes at each other.
I groan. “Incestuous friend groups are like booby-trapped mazes.”
“Tell me about it,” Tiny says as Justin drops onto the couch next to Derek. “That situation is basically begging for me to investigate it.” And she walks off, leaving me alone on the deck.
Justin looks up as Tiny approaches. And for a quick second his cocky smile is so much like Kyle’s that I do a double take, anger pricking my skin and tightening my shoulders. So I look away, leaning up against the railing and staring out at the inlet. When I can’t shake Kyle from my thoughts, I exhale one loud breath, like I could eject this feeling from my body and throw it into the water, leaving it there to float away.
The boat starts to move, and I figure I’ll hang out here for a while, wait until people find their party stride so I can snag an opportunity to talk to Ella. But not ten seconds pass before gold fabric appears in my peripheral vision.
“I love the ocean,” Amber says, leaning up against the railing, lemonade in hand. “But then again, I’m a water baby.”
I turn toward her; she came right for me. “Water baby?”
She laughs. “Water sign. Water birth. Swim like a mermaid.”
“Yeah, I saw that,” I say, careful to keep my tone squarely in friend territory. “You crushed everyone in that race yesterday.”
“Well, not everyone,” she says, straw in mouth. “Justin beat me once. And then there was you and Ella.”
I shrug noncommittally.
But she’s got her popular-girl laser eyes homed in on my face, ready for action. “What was the deal with you two throwing the game anyway?”
I could say it was nothing, but that won’t cut it. “Was just trying to be polite.”
“Oh, really? Polite, huh?” she says. “Or maybe... you have a thing for her?”
A statement, not a question. I laugh even though it’s not funny. “Or I just dumped a cup of coffee on the girl and thought beating her at her own party would get me banned from every social event this summer.”
“Hmmm,” she says, and my neck bristles in warning.
I give her a smile but no words.
She considers me for a moment. “See you around, Mr. Coffee,” she says and saunters away. Even her exit is part of the show, another opportunity for people to watch and be impressed. And maybe I would be if I were actually Holden.
Amber joins Leah, and I do what I do best—wait and watch. The energy is high, the music loud; the party is in full swing.
Tiny chats up Derek and Justin in the windowed cabin, and I can tell by her body language that Justin annoys her—one of the many reasons she’s happiest when I spearhead the acting. Not to mention the case last summer where she took the lead with a girl who had a surprise pet tarantula that kept getting loose when she would visit. Brutal.
Then there’s Ella, who sits on a cushioned bench talking to seahorse guy. Their conversation doesn’t last more than a handful of minutes before he points to the snack table.
And that’s my cue.
I head toward them, measuring my pace so I arrive as he stands, leaving Ella solo.
“Hey,” I say, taking the now-empty seat next to her.
“Enjoying Amber’s party?” Ella asks, and I inwardly groan at her emphasis on Amber.
“Yeah, I mean, ocean and sun... what’s not to like?”
“Well, you’ve been standing near the railing by yourself for like an hour.”
“You’ve been watching me?” I ask with a winning smile.
“Why are you so impossible?”
“Why are you?” Again, I feel that strange twinge of heightened energy in our banter and chalk it up to the fact that she’s just better at it than most of our cases.
She laughs. “Most people don’t come to a party to stand by themselves.”
“I’m not most people. And I don’t mind being by myself. You’d be surprised what you learn about people from just watching.”
“Not as much as you do by talking.”
“Not so,” I say, and she looks unconvinced. “For instance, that guy you were just talking to”—I scan the boat—“has a crush on that guy over there with the white sneakers.”
She raises an eyebrow curiously. “And how do you know that?”
“Because he keeps circling him, talking to everyone in his peri-phery,” I say.
“That’s not exactly hard evidence.”
“There’s also his body language. No matter who he’s talking to, he’s always slightly turned toward the guy he’s interested in. But you know him better than I do... am I wrong?”
She gives me a look like she’s tempted to be contrary. “Not wrong.”
I grin.
“Well, you don’t have to look so happy about it.”
“As happy as you did when you guessed my sign?” I counter.
“That’s my thing. Signs are my thing,” she says, and I feel some small amount of relief that she’s finally telling me something about herself, a stage I usually get to within two minutes of an initial conversation, not two days.
“As in...”
“As in I write an astrology blog.” Pride lifts her voice. “I wasn’t guessing your sign. I was deducing it from your behavior.” Then she adds with a little snark, “Not the same thing as the pensive-loner routine you have going.”
I would laugh, but it’s not funny—she makes me work for every inch.
“More like observing with an objective,” I reply.
She glances at me, and when I don’t offer any more information, she sighs and says, “Okay. I’ll bite. What’s the objective? Why do you observe?”
“I paint,” I say, even though if I were telling the truth that verb would be past tense.
She looks down at my paint-splattered shirt, then back up at me. “Like paint, paint, or like you dabble so you can wear that shirt and feel cool?”
I laugh. “Been doing it since I could hold a brush. My mom’s a painter.” And once again I’m surprised by how I offer real information about my life. Maybe it was her dig at my shirt, a comment I, August, would have made if the situation were reversed. But whatever it is, the truth seems to land because she doesn’t send another biting comment my way.
“Lucky. I’ve always wished I could paint. I’ve tried, believe me. But I’m terrible. Like, cringeworthy. Still, I used to fantasize about living in Paris and setting up an easel in the park like some old-fashioned movie.” She laughs. “Silly, huh?”
I smile. “Not silly at all. It actually sounds kinda great.” I pause. “You should try again. Everyone struggles in the beginning.” And seeing an opportunity, I add, “I guarantee I could show you a few things that’d make you think you’re not so bad.”
She eyes me. “Is that an offer?”
“It is,” I say, willing to risk being shot down, in favor of possibly creating an opening where we could be friends.
But in the worst possible timing Amber appears in front of us, blinding us with her reflective dress in the afternoon sun. “Ella and Holden... just the people I was looking for.” She grabs us both by the hand.
We get to our feet and Amber pulls us toward the back of the boat, where everyone is dancing. Ella immediately veers toward Justin, who’s already in the mix, leaving me with Amber. I could tell her I don’t dance, but I doubt Amber would let it go. The (regrettable) path of least resistance is to comply and then slip away as soon as possible.