Killing Rock probably isn’t the real name of the big cliff that juts out over the lake; it has some boring-ass official title like Lookout Point or Sunset View or something. But it’s been called Killing Rock among the students in Norton for as far back as anyone can remember; even the teachers call it that. Nobody can ever say who exactly got killed here, though. There’s some vague legend of a Native American princess committing suicide by jumping off it onto rocks, the stupid bullshit that white people say to make themselves all romantic about the original residents they killed off in the first place. I don’t buy the myth. But the name has to come from somewhere.
When I look around for Vee, I don’t see her. She’s vanished into the crowd. I frown and search a little, but I finally figure she’ll come back when she’s ready. Yeah, maybe she found that drunk guy and is making out with him right now. I don’t like to think about that. I’m not sure if Vee is gay, or bi, or poly, or what; she hasn’t exactly said anything to lead me one way or another. But I do know one thing, deep down: she’s bad for me. I first met her when she was in jail, and yeah, maybe she didn’t kill her mom, but she’d done plenty of bad stuff by that point. She had a drug problem. Drinking too. And she was willing to do a lot of sketchy things to get what she wanted.
Doesn’t mean I don’t still want her.
“Hey, Lanny.” I turn. Someone—a shadow in the trees—holds out a beer to me, but I shake my head. Last thing I need is Mom smelling it on me when I get home. He passes me a water instead. I check to make sure the seal is intact before I open it and take a sip. Growing up paranoid has its good points; nobody is going to get me with the normal predator tactics. Oh yeah, dummy, coming out here in the dark was super cautious. I hate the mocking voice in my head, but I can’t turn it off either. At least it’s making sense right now. Usually it’s just a constant litany of how dumb my hair looks, how my eyes aren’t the same exact size, that I’m too thin or too fat or too short or not sexy enough or whatever. The only thing that makes it better is that I know everybody else has that same voice too.
Well. Not the assholes, I guess.
There is just enough firelight bleeding out to the fringes to see that the guy handing me water is Bon Casey, kicked back in a folding lounge chair. Like me, he goes by a nickname, but at least Atlanta is a decent first name. Bonaventure? Ugh, not so much. He’s older than me by a couple of years, a senior, and I’m struck by a little shiver of shyness.
“Bon,” I say, and toast him with the water. He kicks a bedraggled old camp chair my way, and I sink into it. “How’s it going?”
He shrugs. “You know.” Bon’s technically a senior, but he got held back a couple of grades. He’s really an adult, which makes it borderline weird for him to be out here. “Heard about your brother. He okay?”
“Yeah. He’s fine.”
“Yeah, well, Hank Charterhouse is not okay,” Bon says. “Got his jaw all wired up. You know the Charterhouses are hooked up, right?”
“Cousins to the Belldenes.”
“Fair warning, Hank will be looking for some payback once he’s healed. So y’all better keep an eye out. Belldene clan don’t play.”
“Thanks,” I say. I don’t tell him the old couple already came to our house and low-key tried to scare us. “My mom’s not somebody they really want to mess with, I can tell you that.”
Bon laughs. It sounds a little high and loony. “Yeah, she’s a scary bitch.”
“Runs in the fam,” I tell him. He offers his beer, and I tap it with my water bottle. I ought to get up and walk, but truth is, I’m not really sure how accepting the main group will be if I go over toward the bonfire; looks like the Cool Kids Coalition to me. Some are already passed out, wrapped in flannel jackets and blankets. If the cops aren’t already on their way, surely this will all be busted up within the next hour. It’s kind of a scene.
I look around for Vee again but I still don’t see her. I’m disappointed that she ditched me, but on some level, I guess I’m also not surprised.
I end up watching as Lottie chats with a cluster of boys and drinks too much, too fast. I feel very alone, despite Bon, Lottie, the eighty or so teens within a dozen feet of me whooping it up. Someone else—a boy this time—cannonballs off the rock, and the splash reaches all the way to the shore. I hear the fake-outraged screams of Instagram bunnies who are taking selfies around the fire. Lottie among them. Yeah, I keep noticing, even while I’m starting to get mad at Vee for putting me in this lonely, weird position.
“Boo!”
I yelp as someone grabs me from behind, and drop my water bottle. It’s Vee, I realize as I spin around; she has a wide, maniacal grin that has a chemical sheen to it. She’s so damn high I’m surprised she isn’t floating off the ground. “Fuck! Don’t do that!”
“Sorry,” she says, but not like she means it. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
“Hey, new girl, you want to party?” Bon says. She ignores him completely, drags me over closer to the fire in an empty stretch of sand. She starts dancing. She puts her arms around me and pulls me close, and I hear boys whooping and clapping behind us. I don’t like it. I’m not here to put more deposits in their spank banks.
So I push away from Vee a little and say, “Hey, this party is bound to get busted soon. We should go back.”
“Back where?” She shouts it over the music. Someone’s turned it up so loud I can feel it in my bones, vibrating uncomfortably through my body.
“Home!” I’m tired, and I feel weird. My instincts are telling me to get the hell out of here; there’s something brewing under all the cheer and campfires and energy. Just a feeling, but Mom’s always taught me to trust my instincts.
“Oh hell no, Lanta, we ain’t goin’ home. We’re going to stay out here all night and party!” She draws the last word out and does a wild spinning dance, flinging her arms wide. I have to move back to avoid getting hit. She’s way too high, and she’s not making good decisions. I grab her hand and drag her away, dump her into the chair next to Bon, and get another water bottle from his cooler. He chokes on his beer. “Hey, girl, those cost, you know!”
I dig five bucks out of my pants pocket and fling it at him. He grumbles, but he takes it. I get Vee to drink, and she guzzles the entire thing, then bends over, gasping like she’s going to throw up. She doesn’t. She’s a little more sober when she sits back. The feverish glitter is mostly gone. She’s sweating. I can smell the harsh body odor coming off her. She needs another shower, bad.
“Oh man, too much. I fucked up,” she says, and puts her head in her hands. “Sorry. I just—Lanta, I just want to have some fun. Is that wrong?”
She’s shaking. The drugs are turning on her, fast, and I’m worried. “What did you take, Vee?”
She doesn’t know, that’s clear from the look she gives me. She downed some pills, probably. Maybe smoked something. Hard to tell.
She’s not okay. And I can’t leave her out here. Anything could happen to her.
“Hey,” I say to Bon. “Want to give us a ride home? For cash?”