DEDICATION
To my father, Phil Carter, for never doubting
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
CHAPTER 1
The bonfire in the clearing spits out flames and smoke. Red, yellow, orange sparks fly up into the night sky. My classmates cluster around it, everyone drinking out of red plastic cups. It’s the seniors’ unofficial end-of-the-year party, and this small open space in the woods is packed and pulsing with bodies.
I stand to the side and pretend to sip at the bitter, cheap beer. The forest rises behind me, the silhouettes of trees towering overhead. Shadows dip and blend as the wind rustles branches and sends the smoke of the bonfire in all different directions. Someone has hooked up a stereo to a car battery and I can feel the beat pounding through the crowd. The lyrics, something about mushrooms and dark corners, are muffled in the shouting and noise.
The fire gives off enough light to illuminate the clearing, but beyond this circle the woods are a black, impenetrable wall. I don’t know why the seniors decided to throw this party at Camp Hero, a state park at the very eastern end of Montauk. I’ve been here a hundred times with my grandfather, walking along the sea cliffs that border the park, or hiking through the dense, sunlit forest. But it feels like a different place at night—the darkness creeps through the trees like a living thing.
On the other side of the fire, my best friend, Hannah, waits in line for the keg. She looks bored and a little lost in her long peasant skirt, her black hair parted down the middle. A tipsy girl in front of her stumbles, and beer splashes on the people nearby. Hannah scowls and steps away. She catches my eye across the clearing and raises her eyebrows in a What have you gotten me into? look.
I smile and turn to see Shannon Perkins approaching. “Hey, Lydia,” she says. Her blond hair is straight and sleek, her bright dress tight. “I thought you said you weren’t coming tonight.” Her eyes are glassy and unfocused and she smiles widely in my general direction.
“How could I miss all this?” I wave my hand toward the keg, where a bunch of guys are lifting Dave Marcus, a senior, into a keg stand. “One, two, three, four …” everyone chants in unison as he sputters around the foaming beer. The crowd is roaring and the wind whips through the fire, making it crackle and spark.
“Yeah, Dave!” Shannon calls out, and her voice is immediately swallowed up in the rest of the noise. “Do you think he’s gonna break his record?” she asks more quietly.
I give her a confused look. “I have no idea.”
“Oh, right, Lydia. I forgot you never come to these things.”
I shrug. I don’t ever come to these things, and I’m still not sure what compelled me to tonight.
Shannon smiles at me again, slightly more focused this time. “I liked that article you did for the paper, the one about the squad. Let me know if you want any more quotes.”
I smile back. “Sure. Thanks for helping out.” Shannon and I both grew up in Montauk, and we’ve known each other since we were little kids. We’re not exactly friends now—our social circles are different—but we’re still friendly.
Shannon tugs at the spaghetti strap on her dress, forgetting that she’s still holding her beer. It spills a little, and the tiny, amber-colored drops catch in her hair. “God, can you believe we’re going to be seniors?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No. Sometimes it feels like we’re still in second grade, running around on the beach, building sand castles and stuff.”
Hannah approaches us, her plastic cup empty. “I couldn’t get any beer before the frat-boy routine started.” She looks surprised when she sees me talking to Shannon, and they awkwardly nod at each other.
“Well, I’ll see you around, Lydia.” Shannon waves as she walks away.
Hannah steals the cup from my hand and takes a sip of the warm beer. She grimaces as she swallows. “What did the cheerleader want?” She wipes her hand across her mouth and shoves the drink back at me.
“Just to say hi. What’s your problem with her, anyway?”
“I don’t like cheerleaders on principle. It’s for all of us artsy nerds that ever felt the sharp sting of a mean girl’s wrath.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re delusional. Shannon’s not like that.”
“Whatever. All you Montauk kids are so weird. You’re so … nice to each other. It’s not natural.”
I laugh at her scrunched-up expression. “It’s a tiny town. You have to be nice to everyone. You’re just mad you grew up in fancy East Hampton with all the celebrities.”
“Hey, it’s not all Barefoot Contessa and Burberry. Some of us are regular old middle class.”
“You’re so lucky I came along to save you from the pampered masses.” I put my arm around her, squeezing her smaller figure up against mine. I’m not tall, but Hannah’s practically miniature.
“Get off me.” She twists away, laughing.
Hannah and I have been inseparable since eighth grade, when my small Montauk class started getting shipped over to East Hampton to attend the larger regional high school. Our lockers were next to each other, we were in all the “smart kid” classes together, and we both harbored a secret love of old musicals. Our friendship was basically inevitable.
There’s a tall, lanky boy headed in our direction. Hannah groans. “Don’t look now, but your boyfriend’s coming over.”
“Stop,” I whisper. “We’re just friends.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Hi, Grant,” I say, loud enough to drown out Hannah’s giggling.
“Hey.” He grins as he approaches. “Lydia. How’s it going?”
“Good.” I smile tightly. “How are you?”
“Awesome. I’m glad you came.” He tries to catch my eye, but I avoid his gaze, concentrating on the cup in my hands.
“Awkward,” I hear Hannah drawl under her breath. I resist the urge to elbow her.
It didn’t used to
