There was a massive bonfire in the middle of the clearing, dark woods edged one side, and a wheat field stretched as far as the firelight could illuminate and beyond.
Easily several hundred people were there. Some of them were Harlow’s gaming friends who’d invited her in the first place—a bunch of gangly nerds who hadn’t even bothered to dress up. She’d introduced us all, and we’d made small talk, but it became apparent pretty quickly we had nothing in common. I was pretty sure every one of those computer geeks wanted to get into my crazy smart, adorably beautiful sister’s pants.
There were college kids there, and some people from Devilbend North High—Mena’s old school. At first I was surprised to see how many people there were Fulton students, but it made sense. Harlow had invited all our friends, and they would’ve told others, and Amaya couldn’t keep her mouth shut about a party if she tried.
I ignored the tingly sensation of eyes watching me and turned to look at Amaya. She was in her element, several college guys hanging around her as she flirted and drank from the only champagne glass in sight. Literally everyone else was making do with shitty red cups. Where did she even get that?
“Donna.” Harlow bumped into me, breathless. I stumbled but righted us both. She hung off me, her hands on my shoulders and her face really close to mine. “Donna, I can hear the fire,” she whispered, her eyes going really wide.
I gave her a confused look. “Yeah, Harlow. We can all hear the fire. The wood crackles as it burns.”
Her eyebrows rose, and she blinked once. “Oh yeah.” Then she burst into laughter.
“How did you get drunk this fast?” I asked, getting a little worried. We’d only been there an hour.
“Uhhhhhmmmmmm.” The guilty look on her face was almost caricaturish.
I rolled my eyes. “What did you take?”
“Just a little.” She held up her finger and thumb and squinted through the gap at me.
“A little what?” I led her a few steps away from the fire and the crowd.
“Ooh, you want some? I feel great!” She pulled a little baggie out of her skirt pocket and held it out to me.
I took it from her and inspected it. The baggie had several little white pills in it—E. She was going to have a fucking fantastic night . . . but she was going to come down hard. I guided her over to a bunch of coolers and opened a few until I found one filled with bottled water, then stuffed one into her hand and made her look at me. “Harlow. You drink this or I’m going to take you home, got it?”
She straightened and saluted me. “Yes, ma’am!” Then her eyes wandered to something over my shoulder, and her mouth fell open. “Donna, there are freakishly tall people walking in the big grass.”
“What?” I turned to follow her gaze and pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’re not seeing shit. Those are performers. People on stilts.” Someone—probably from Fulton, as I was pretty sure no one else could afford the extravagance—had hired a bunch of performers for the night. Several people on stilts were wandering the wheat field, coming into the crowd every once in a while, and contortionists in grotesque costumes twisted themselves into scenes reminiscent of the exorcist. I’d even seen a few very convincing “werewolves” leap out of the woods, scaring the absolute shit out of a group of girls, who sent high-pitched screams into the night. I had to hand it to whoever had done this—it had taken the mediocre rave in a field to the next level. Everyone was on edge, the adrenaline mingling with the alcohol (or drugs) as they waited for what might happen next.
“Oh. OK.” With a grin, she snatched the baggie of fun out of my hand and ran off, pigtails bouncing as she barreled through the crowd of college dudes to Amaya’s side. They chatted, the dudes laughed at some joke she cracked, and then she passed Amaya the little baggie.
Great. Now I’d have two off-their-faces idiots to haul home tonight. I was starting to wish I’d taken Will’s offer to drive us so I could drink too. But he always got drunk at parties, and I couldn’t rely on him to get us home. And it wasn’t as if I’d be able to get an Uber to come out here, so . . . someone had to be responsible.
Mena appeared at my side and bumped my shoulder with hers. “Hey, you. Having a good night?”
“Yeah.” I smiled at her. “You look really pretty.”
“Thanks.” She glanced down at the swathes of denim and gave a little twirl from side to side. Her eyes were a bit glassy, and her own lipstick was starting to get smudged. I could smell alcohol on her breath. She leaned down and fixed herself another drink from the coolers.
“You’re glaring again.” She chuckled.
I shook my head and pulled my gaze away from Hendrix. I hadn’t even realized I’d gone back to staring at him.
“I didn’t mean to. I just don’t like him being here.” I crossed my arms. He was standing with Turner, talking, laughing, chatting with some of Turner’s friends. He looked as if he was having a good time, and for some reason, that pissed me off more than anything.
“Why?” Mena wrapped an arm around my waist and took another sip of her drink. “Things have been fine since you made everyone at school back off him. You guys haven’t even yelled at each other in weeks. But he’s kind of getting close with Turner, so I’ve been talking to him a bit, and he’s really not that bad.”
All my friends had seen was him being an arrogant smart-ass to me, me laying down the law, and us bickering those few times at school. They had no idea what he had over me, what I’d let him do to me, what I’d done to him. Hendrix and I were getting all twisted up in each other, and I didn’t like it one bit.
I wrapped my arm around her waist too and turned us toward the fire. “OK. No more glaring. Let’s talk about something else.”
“OK. What do you want to talk about?”
“How about our trashed friends?” I pointed at Harlow and Amaya, who were dancing as if they could feel the music moving through their bones, heads rolling in ecstasy. They were sweaty and rubbing up on each other in the middle of the dance floor—and had the attention of half the guys at the party and a few of the girls too.
Mena laughed. “I wish I had Amaya’s confidence. And Harlow’s complete lack of care for what people think of her. And your . . . fuck, everything.”
“You don’t want to be me, trust me.” It came out low, way more somber than the self-deprecating joke I’d intended it to sound like.
“Donna?” Mena frowned at me. I could see the question on the tip of her tongue—the “are you OK?” A twinge of panic squeezed my chest. I wasn’t sure I could lie to her if she asked me so directly.
But Drew saved me from having to.
“Ladies!” He draped himself over us both, one arm around Mena and the other around me, his athletic body towering over us. He smelled like expensive cologne and bonfire smoke.
“Hey, Drew.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek, grateful for the distraction.
“Come on, Mena—my other cheek feels left out.” He leaned his head between ours and wiggled his eyebrows.
She whacked him in the stomach. “No. We’ve been over this. How drunk are you?”
“Not at all.” He took a swig from his beer and immediately returned his arm to my shoulders, then lowered his voice. “Actually, I’m just trying to make a girl jealous.”