Reggie caught Hannah staring more than once before he flexed for her, making his biceps jump and move, and Hannah looked away, her face on fire.
She suddenly felt stupid—were they all laughing at her? Was Wyatt? He paid her less and less attention as the afternoon wore on. She had agreed to go along with the secret, but now, she wanted to barge onstage and grab the microphone, announce that Wyatt was her boyfriend, that they were together now. What would Dana or Yolanda say to that? She wondered if Wyatt ever touched these girls, licked their lips, fingertips making damp circles on their bare bellies as their bodies pressed together against the rough brick of the snack stand.
Dana, Yolanda, and Julia sat as a threesome, talking softly and giggling on the rock wall at the edge of the park. Hannah sat apart, the concrete scratching at her bare thighs.
“Where’s Ellie?” Hannah asked the group suddenly, and they all stopped. The band took a break between songs, and it seemed like the whole park stopped talking, the silence between them thin and crackling.
“Who the fuck knows,” said another boy Hannah didn’t know, hadn’t been introduced to. The boys laughed, even Wyatt, which surprised Hannah.
Reggie slung his arm around Julia’s shoulders and whispered something in her ear, and she curled into him, her mouth curved into a red-lipped smile that Hannah had never seen. Julia and Reggie? Was he her boyfriend? Don’t be stupid, Hannah. She could practically hear Julia’s sneering.
Why had Julia asked her to come if no one was going to talk to her?
And then, without warning, Reggie was right next to Hannah, with his arm around her waist, his voice like silk in her ear. “I didn’t know Julia’s sister was so pretty.” His breath smelled like beer and salty grease. “She said you were a kid.”
Wyatt watched them keenly, saying nothing. Why did he say nothing?
“I am a kid.” Hannah wanted him to go away. His nose was straight, his eyes bright. He looked like something from a teen movie: too pretty to be real, his skin smooth as cream, cheeks pink and shining. Out of the corner of her eye, Hannah watched Wyatt, who looked away.
Hannah squirmed under the weight of Reggie’s arm, but he leaned closer, his breath on her cheek. “You’re no kid.” And his hand cupped her breast over her shirt. He smelled like sweat and cigarettes and reminded her of Wes; her mouth turned to sawdust.
Hannah pushed him off, harder this time, her breath coming in puffs. Her heart raced under his palm. She bit down hard on her own lip, bringing tears to her eyes. She wanted to go home, suddenly, urgently. She wanted Wyatt. Hannah craned her neck but could not see him.
It had grown dark. The band played something old and slow that Hannah vaguely recognized. Some people by the stage started to dance, coupled up, swaying in the damp heat.
Hannah stood. How were they going to ride their bikes back up the hill in the dark?
She couldn’t see Wyatt anymore, could barely make any of them out, only silhouettes against the white spotlights shining onstage. Reggie’s arm tugged around her waist, fingertips sliding against the waistband of her shorts.
She broke away, her hand slipping from Reggie’s, feeling sick. She wanted to find Julia. And Wyatt. “You girls from Brackenhill are all teases,” she heard Reggie mutter.
“Where’s Julia?” Hannah asked Dana, who was lying flat on the concrete divider, eyes closed, head moving to the music. She looked up at Hannah like she’d never seen her before.
“Dunno,” she said, her eyes glazed, a hand waving in the air toward the tree line behind them. They were all drunk, Hannah realized too late. How would they get home on their bikes if they were all drunk? Hannah felt like the older one, more responsible, having to care for the children.
Hannah hiked off in the direction of the trees at the edge of the park. Mosquitoes nipped at her ankles; she’d have bites there tomorrow, the itching fierce. There was a couple sitting on the grass, underneath the largest oak.
She made out the shimmer of Julia’s blonde hair in the passing of a headlight. The copper streak of Wyatt’s. Their heads too close for whispering, talking. Hannah stood still, her legs gone dead and heavy. One of Julia’s hands came up, those bright-red shimmery nails curling into the hair at the base of Wyatt’s scalp. His face in the sliver of light: eyes closed, mouth parted, euphoric.
Like all his dreams were coming true.
“Oh my God.” Hannah said it out loud, even though she hadn’t meant to. Dana and Yolanda turned to look, something finally interesting happening. They followed her gaze to the tree line and smirked.
“’Bout time,” Dana said, her voice caustic. “She’s been chasing him all summer.”
“They’re perfect together,” Yolanda sighed, a happy little drunk.
“Julia!” Hannah shrieked. Her insides felt wild. In this whole summer of being ignored, the only good thing had been Wyatt, and now Julia was taking that away too. She took away Brackenhill; she took away the magic; she took away everything she touched. And the worst part was Hannah had no idea why. She had no idea why her sister had changed, why they couldn’t stay kids at Brackenhill forever. They had forests and basements and passageways and secret doors to explore, and now she was alone, and if Julia took Wyatt, Hannah was really alone, just like at home in Plymouth, and she put her fist in her mouth and screamed into it, not caring who saw her or heard her and not caring that Dana and Yolanda watched with glee, sitting at attention, feet swinging against the concrete. She didn’t care about any of it anymore. She hated them all. She wanted to go home.
Julia broke out of Wyatt’s embrace—Wyatt’s embrace! Oh my GOD!—and turned to her sister, bewildered. Only Wyatt knew, and his face was unreadable. He did look sorry. He looked a little confused. And something else unknown to Hannah.
“Hannah, wait!” he said but then stopped, not knowing what to say next. Not knowing where to go, how to make things better.
Julia ran across the green between them, closing the short distance in a few seconds, and stood before Hannah, who was shaking with rage. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess; she knew she was careening, likely making a fool of herself, and couldn’t stop. She felt like everything was so wrong that it would never be right again.
“Why! Why do you have to ruin everything! Why!” Hannah shoved Julia’s shoulders, and Julia stumbled, her mouth open in shock. They’d never touched each other like that before—not in anger. Never, not even as children. They protected each other—from Wes when he was drunk and raging, from Trina’s neglect—but they did not hit each other.
“Hannah! What’s wrong with you?” Julia gripped Hannah’s wrists and held them out so their faces were inches apart and Hannah couldn’t hit or push her again.
“I hate you! Wyatt was the only good thing I had.” Hannah felt the tears in her eyes, dramatic and childish, and knew she was ruining it for herself at this point but was unable to stop. “He was the only thing in my life that I liked. You’ve ruined everything.”
“Hannah.” Julia’s voice was gentle, placating, and Hannah fought against her sister’s strength, tried to hit her again, but Julia stopped her. “Hannah. Please, honey, stop.”
“Shut up! Just shut up!” Hannah sagged back, losing the strength, and stole a glance at Wyatt, who stood, paralyzed, ten feet away, watching the scuffle with his hands fisted in his pockets and his face blank with shock.