It’s hard to make out faces between flashes of the strobe lights. I gasp when someone trips, falling into the pool, but he resurfaces laughing, even though his lip is bleeding.
What does dust do, exactly? I shake my head, and as I do, the lights from the floodlights seem to drag across my field of vision. I guess I’m about to find out.
My circle halfway complete, I stop behind the DJ’s table, even though here the music is so loud I can’t hear myself think. I stand on my tiptoes, craning my neck to see over bodies bouncing up and down with the beat. A shirtless boy carrying a skateboard looks like Michael from behind, but then he turns and I see his eyes are a dark, muddy brown—nothing like my brother’s. I hear a laugh that sounds like John’s, but I can’t for the life of me find the person it’s coming from.
Suddenly, the music stops—a break between songs, something even the worst DJs know to avoid. But I’m grateful for the silence, for the way the bodies stop dancing, for the stillness that allows me to look around in peace. There, directly opposite me, clear across the party, is Jas, leaning against the side of the house. He raises his eyebrows when he sees me staring, and I immediately drop my gaze, looking at his shoes—boots that peek out from under dark, tight jeans, standing out against the sea of flip-flops and sandals and bare feet.
The music starts up again, louder than before. When I look up, Jas is gone. Shit.
“Wow,” I say, and the word feels sticky in my mouth, like I’ve just swallowed a spoonful of syrup. “Wow,” I say again, slower this time, remembering what the boy at the door told me: take all the time you need.
All the time I need for what?
To find Jas, that’s right. I smile. Wait, I was already smiling. I’m smiling so wide my jaw hurts, but then it doesn’t hurt. The ache is sweet. I press my hands to my cheeks, soft as silk. Soft as a kiss. Even my teeth feel like satin.
I shake my head.
I’m looking for Jas. I’m looking for Jas. I’m looking for Jas.
“No need to shout, sugar,” someone says.
I look up and see a boy wearing a T-shirt and board shorts, like almost everyone else here. He’s got a beer bottle in one hand, and his other arm is slung around a bikini-clad girl. I didn’t realize I was shouting. I didn’t realize I was saying a word out loud.
“He’s right over there.”
“Where?” I say, looking in the direction in which he’s pointing. There are those blue eyes again, so bright even in the darkness. I wonder what it would be like to stand close to those eyes. Would it feel warm, like standing next to a fire, or cold, like standing beside an enormous block of ice?
Jas is right where I saw him, leaning against his house. Maybe he never moved. Slowly, careful not to blink—I don’t want to lose sight of him again—I begin making my way across the backyard to Jas. My feet feel fuzzy on top of the wooden porch—wait, when did I take my shoes off?—and then it feels like I’m weightless, like gravity stopped existing at all and there’s nothing, not a thing, tethering me to the ground, and I’m floating toward the handsome boy with the dark jeans and the black boots. But without gravity, there wouldn’t be any waves, and even with the music pounding in my ears, I can still hear the waves crashing against the beach below.
“Where are my brothers?” I shout, and Jas’s blue eyes narrow in confusion. I say it again. I say their names. I say Witch Tree. Or maybe I don’t say anything. It doesn’t feel like my mouth is moving. I try again: brothers, John and Michael, Witch Tree. But the look on Jas’s face doesn’t change, doesn’t shift with even the slightest hint of recognition. Instead, he reaches for me.
“Wendy, how much did you take, sweetheart?” He pulls me close, and his hands are cool against my skin, refreshing as rain.
I let myself be folded in against him, my back against his front. I close my eyes; it feels like Jas is going to take care of me, wrapped around me like a blanket. He smells delicious, like Tide and salt and beer.
“Don’t worry, it’ll wear off eventually,” he says, whispering the words into the back of my hair, his breath soft and cool and soothing, his voice deep.
How does he know my name? I never told him my name. Wait, that’s right, Belle told him my name. Belle, who knew my brothers, knew they were dusters. And Jas supplies the dusters.
“No,” I say, shaking my head and disentangling myself from him, even though the minute my body separates from his, I miss his touch. What the hell is in this drug that it makes me long to be close to the person who sold dust to my brothers?
“No,” I repeat, more certain this time. I say the words again: brothers, John and Michael, Witch Tree. But this time, when Jas reaches for me, I manage to dance out of his reach. I can feel my face falling, crumbling up like it’s made of paper and someone has thrown water on it.
Not water. Tears. I’m crying.
But the tears feel so good on my skin that soon I’m cooing like a baby.
“You can’t catch me!” I shout, gleeful as a little kid playing tag. But then I trip, hitting the ground hard.
Jas steps forward, concern knitted into his brows, but I want to tell him it’s okay. The fall didn’t hurt. Even the gravel against my cheek feels good. I taste something I don’t recognize, not at first. Blood. I must have bitten myself. It tastes as good as chocolate cake.
I stand up; it feels like I’m bouncing off the ground.
Jas reaches for me again; I think maybe he’s going to catch me, but I dart away. He reaches for me again, wrapping his arms around mine. The muscles in my arms ache deliciously, sore from all the paddling I did this afternoon. Was that just this afternoon? It seems like a million years ago.
There’s no reason for me to stay here with Jas, not anymore. He doesn’t even know what I’m talking about, doesn’t even know my brothers’ names. But I don’t want to leave either. Not when everything here feels so good.
20
I’m not in the backyard anymore. I’m not anywhere. Or maybe I’m everywhere. Was my skin always this soft? There is a set of stairs beneath me. Not cool tiles like the floor at Pete’s house on the cliffs or in the glass house on the hill. These stairs are soft and plush, and so hot I think they must be on fire.
Fire is so beautiful. Really, it travels in waves, just like the ocean.
I’m not alone. Someone is holding on to my waist, pulling me up, up, up over the hot stairs. Carpet. These stairs are covered in carpet.
“You’re gonna be fine, Wendy,” Jas says, his voice deep and rich. He’s so close, I can still smell him.
Wait: it’s quiet. So quiet. There’s no music, no party. The house is awash with light: the sun is shining brightly through the windows. It’s daytime. The party must have ended hours ago.
But not for me. I spin away, dancing in the sunlight, the carpet warm and soft beneath my feet. Funny that Jas’s house is carpeted. Houses by the beach usually have bare floors. Carpets can be ruined by sand and salt too easily.
Jas laughs. “These new pills stay with you for a long time,” he says.
I shake my head. What does he mean, these new pills? Oh, that’s right, the dust. For some reason, this seems insanely funny, and I start laughing so hard that I think I’ll never stop, so hard that I can feel my abdominal muscles wince at the effort of taking my next breath, but I can’t stop.
Wendy Darling is not the kind of girl who takes drugs. Wendy Darling doesn’t even stay out past curfew. But there’s no curfew anymore, not where I live now, not with Pete in the house on the cliffs. In Pete’s house, they can stay on the beach all night just to make sure that they’re there when the waves peak first thing in the morning.