“They’re going to get married,” Vi adds. “He’s kind of like our brother already. When he comes over, he takes out the trash and changes lightbulbs and stuff.”
“We don’t need a boy to change our lightbulbs,” Bea snaps. “What kind of feminist are you?”
Des’s brow furrows while her sisters bicker. Bea is definitely more prickly than usual. Is she mad that Erik went away for the weekend? Maybe she feels anxious about going to the party without him; the two of them are usually inseparable.
Des’s stomach ties itself into knots as Bea directs her to a field where two rows of cars and trucks—mostly trucks—are already parked. God, why did she agree to come? This is stupid. Why is she trying to be someone she’s not? To prove something to Em?
Her sisters and Paige spill out of the car, laughing. Kat strides across the field toward the flickering orange light of a bonfire, towing Vi along behind her. Bea follows, fiddling with her phone.
Des climbs out last, reluctantly, already regretting her choice. Paige is leaning against the hood, waiting for her. “You seem a little tense, Desdemona.”
“Yeah. Emily—my friend, the one you met yesterday at the store?” Des gives an awkward shrug. “She was right. I don’t usually come to these parties.”
Paige cocks her head like a bright parrot. “Are you two fighting or something?”
“Yeah. I don’t know why I said I’d come. I mean, I do know…I wanted to do something…unexpected. To prove that I’m not—” Des falters. Paige can’t be more than a year or two older, but she seems utterly self-assured. Like she genuinely doesn’t care what other people think. How is that possible? Can she teach Des her secrets?
“Not what?” Paige prompts. Then: “You know what, never mind. It’s none of my business. But if you want my advice, you don’t have anything to prove to anybody. You’re rad, Desdemona.”
“I am?” Des asks, surprised and flattered.
“Sure. I mean, whatever, you shouldn’t care what I think either. But you’ve got that sexy red hair and tits I would kill for. You just need a little confidence.” Paige is fumbling with her cigarettes. “Look, not to sound like a bad after-school special, but do you want to smoke some weed with me? It can really help with anxiety.” She offers the joint to Des.
“Oh, um. No thanks,” Des says.
“Right. Asthma.” Paige lights the joint and draws in a deep breath. She doesn’t pressure her. Isn’t disappointed. It hits Des again with a slap of euphoria: Paige doesn’t expect anything from her.
“You know…what the hell,” Des says slowly, holding out a hand. She wants to be less predictable, right? More adventurous? Well, no one is expecting her to show up at this party, much less show up high with a purple-haired punk girl. “Sure. It would be nice to chill out for once.”
Chapter Ten
BEA
As soon as Bea reaches the bonfire, Chloe Chan rushes up and envelops her in a hug. “Bea!” Chloe shrieks. She smells like beer and marshmallows, and she almost impales Bea with the stick in her left hand.
“Hey, Chloe.” Bea shoves the sharp, gooey stick away from her Princess Leia shirt.
“How are you? Want a s’more? I’ll roast a marshmallow for you!” Chloe offers. There’s a little chocolate smeared at the edge of her mouth. Chloe’s a messy drunk. Bea has always derived some petty satisfaction from that.
Honestly, she’s always been a little jealous of Chloe. As if being salutatorian and editor of the yearbook wasn’t enough, Chloe was also captain of the girls’ tennis team and president of the Future Business Leaders of America. And she still found time to party. She’s the cute, enthusiastic golden retriever to Bea’s yapping, high-strung terrier.
“No, thanks,” Bea says. She doesn’t like marshmallows. It’s a texture thing.
“We’re friends now, right? You beat me. You got valedictorian. But now we’ve graduated, so none of that matters anymore,” Chloe slurs, linking her arm through Bea’s.
Is that how it’s supposed to work? After years of competing with Chloe for the best grades, the highest GPA, and positions on the yearbook staff, they’re…done? Chloe’s off to the University of Pennsylvania, and Bea’s off to Georgetown, and their old rivalry doesn’t matter anymore?
When she gets to Georgetown, will there be a brand-new Chloe to contend with?
The thought is so exhausting that Bea wants to cry.
She won. She was valedictorian. She got the best grade in AP English. The newspaper advisor said she was the best editor they’d had in years, that she was practically guaranteed a spot on the Hoya staff at Georgetown.
But Bea’s brain keeps reminding her that it’s not enough. She’s not enough. Maybe all the people who say she’s talented are lying, or maybe she fooled them somehow, through luck or hard work, but someday, they will figure out the truth.
She shivers despite the June heat, despite Chloe’s sweaty skin pressed against hers. It’s like her worst nightmares have slithered out from beneath her bed to chew on her. Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough, they chant, while Chloe chatters on like nothing’s wrong.
“Where’s Erik?” Chloe asks. His name brings Bea back to the present.
“Camping with his dad.” The party is too loud. There are dozens of people from her class here, all of them laughing and having fun and eager to spend time together before everyone heads their separate ways come August. Why can’t she have fun too? Why can’t she stop thinking so much?
“Oh,” Chloe says. “It’s weird to see you at a party without him.”
Bea frowns. Surely she’s come to one of the Penningtons’ parties without Erik. Hasn’t she? She wracks her brain, trying to remember, and can’t. Who would she have come with? She has friends from newspaper and yearbook, but after school, she was always too busy with Erik and Arden and studying. It never bothered her that she didn’t have a best friend, like Des has Em and Kat has Penelope. Erik was her best friend. It never bothered her when people said their names like one: Bea-and-Erik.
Lately, it infuriates her. She wants to be Bea, only Bea, but she isn’t sure she remembers how. They’ve been dating for five years. Who is she without Erik? What would it be like to be single? Or to kiss someone else?
Gabe Stewart Beauford’s sunburned nose and easy grin pop into her head. He couldn’t be more different from Erik. Erik is nerd-cute, combed blond hair and square black glasses, polo shirts and Nantucket Reds. She can’t imagine any scenario in which Erik would take a summer off to restore an old house and live on a boat. That isn’t nearly goal-oriented enough for him; it wouldn’t be impressive on a transcript. But there’s something about Gabe, about how fantastically chill he is, that intrigues Bea.