“I like you, okay? You’re different from girls around here.” He leans toward me again, his eyes closing. This time he hesitates an inch away from me.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I’ve barely spoken when he presses his mouth to mine—tentative first, then harder, hungrier. He parts my lips with his tongue and slides his fingers into my hair, pulling me closer, until there’s not an inch of his body that isn’t pressed against mine. I stop thinking and just react, letting my hips and chest rise and fall with his. One hand is tangled in my hair and another tugging at the waistband of my jeans. He slips his fingers through my curls as he moves his hand down to trace the skin from my neck to my collarbone, sending shivers through my entire body. Decades pass before Charlie pulls away. His hair sticks out from his head in all angles, and I itch to reach for it again, to smooth it back behind his ears. All the blood in his head seems to have rushed to his lips, because they’re bright red and swollen from kissing me.
His nose brushes against mine. “You taste minty,” he says into my mouth, leaning in to kiss me again.
The giggling in the swimming pool rises in a shriek of laughter and then cuts off abruptly. Charlie hesitates and reluctantly pulls his lips away from mine.
“What do you think they’re doing?” I ask. “Should we find out?”
Charlie pushes himself to his feet, then leans over to give me his hand. “Only if it’ll help convince you that swimsuits are optional.”
“Unlikely,” I say, but I follow him toward the pool anyway. There are gaps in the fence, each about one inch wide. I squint into the gaps, but I can’t make out entire people—just jumbled shapes. Charlie comes up behind me. Circling my waist with his arms, he starts to kiss my neck.
“I thought we were spying,” I whisper.
“Spies do this.”
Just beyond the fence a girl says something, but the wind snatches away her words. I lean in closer, pressing my eye against the largest gap.
Brooklyn stands at the top of the plastic staircase leading into a hot tub, holding the stub of a cigarette between two fingers. Black swimsuit bottoms hang low on her hips, and she has a white tank top knotted above her waist. The tank top is wet and pasted to her skin in patches, making it easy to see she’s not wearing a bra.
“What are they doing?” Charlie whispers. I shush him, lifting a finger to my mouth. There’s a boy in the hot tub, too, his brown hair slicked up in wet spikes. Thin lines of steam rise from the tub, mingling with the smoke from Brooklyn’s cigarette.
“Ever done it in a hot tub?” Brooklyn asks, her mouth curling. She’s wearing dark red lipstick that smudges across her cigarette. The boy stands, water dripping from his faded navy boxers. He grabs Brooklyn and spins her around.
I immediately recognize the light brown eyes, the cleft chin. Josh. Riley’s Josh.
I press my face closer to the fence. Josh sets Brooklyn back down and pulls her to his chest. She drops her cigarette into the water behind her, then lifts her face up to his. They kiss long and deep, and I blush even harder.
Brooklyn looks up, and her eyes find the exact spot in the fence where I’m watching. It’s like someone has touched an icy finger to the lowest part of my back and runs it up the length of my spine. She wraps her arms around Josh’s neck and kisses him again, possessively, her red-painted mouth mashing against his teeth as she pulls him closer. The whole time, she never takes her eyes away from the fence. From me.
It’s like a dare. A challenge. I pull away from the fence and turn back to Charlie, feeling as though I’ve had the wind knocked out of me.
“Sofia, what’s wrong?” Charlie asks. I shake my head.
“I’ve got to go,” I say.
• • •
I make my way to Riley’s house, following a long, curved road that dead-ends onto Riley’s street. Gnarly trees line the sidewalks. The houses sit back far from the street, their windows dark. Overhanging branches send skeletal shadows over their yards.
A bird squawks above me, rustling the tree branches as it flies away.
“Crap,” I mutter, trying to still my rapidly beating heart. I ran most of the way here, not because I wanted to get to Riley, but because I didn’t want to spend any more time in Brooklyn’s neighborhood. In fact, now that I’m here I wish the trip had taken longer.
I pass a few more towering houses before I locate Riley’s. Her house is a mini-mansion. A wide white porch wraps around front, and Greek-style pillars stand on either side of the double doors. I ring the bell, and a tinny ding-dong echoes inside.
A tiny green garden snake slivers across the wooden porch, its body undulating over the concrete. I cringe and cross my arms over my chest. A second later it disappears behind a heavy clay flowerpot.
Footsteps sound just inside the house, then the door swings open.
“Sofia?” Riley leans a cheek against the edge of the door, considering me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry, I tried to call.” I try to catch my breath. “Can I come in?”
The corner of Riley’s mouth twitches upward, and her face grows several degrees warmer. “Of course. You want something to drink?”
“Um, sure.”
Riley steps back, opening the door into a foyer with high ceilings and real marble floors. I step inside, momentarily distracted. Beautifully posed photographs of Riley sandwiched between her parents cover the walls, all three wearing matching preppy-chic. I gape at them, amazed at how perfect everyone looks, like they’re posing for a catalog.
“Your parents look nice.” I stop in front of one of the photographs. Riley’s family is dressed entirely in white and they’re sitting on a bench in front their lake house. Despite what I saw at Brooklyn’s party, I find myself wishing I could step into Riley’s life for a day or two, just to see what it’s like. It must be nice to have the perfect family, the perfect house, the perfect friends.
Riley stops next to me, staring at the photographs without blinking. “Come on,” she says.
“The kitchen’s this way.”
I follow her down a white-carpeted hallway and into a huge kitchen with stainless steel appliances and cabinets made of deep, dark wood. Gray tile covers the floors, and the only light comes from the window over the sink, where moonlight filters in through gauzy curtains. Riley motions for me to sit on one of the bar stools at an island in the middle of the room.
“Is something wrong?” She opens the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of water. I see just enough of the inside of her fridge to notice most of the shelves are bare. I clear my throat. I spent the entire walk trying to come up with something to say, but every time words formed in my head I was hit by a sudden, overwhelming feeling of guilt—like I’d been the one making out with Josh instead of Brooklyn.
Riley puts the pitcher on the counter, considering me. In the dim light her blue eyes look gray.
“Sweetie, what is it?” Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. I look down at my sneakers, unable to meet her eyes. If I’d found Brooklyn as soon as I got to the party instead of rolling around on the ground with Charlie, none of this would have happened.
“I . . .” I shift on my bar stool. Footsteps sound in the other room, cutting me off. Riley’s head jerks up as a woman wearing a silky white robe comes into the kitchen. Her glass is empty except for a few ice cubes.
“Hi, girls,” she says with a weak smile. She must be Riley’s mother—Mrs. Howard—but she looks nothing like the person from the photographs in the hall. Her hair falls above her shoulders; it looks like a trendy cut that’s grown out. Her face is strange, too—there’s something about her features that don’t match up with where I expect them to be. Her cheeks have a hollow look, like they’re going to cave in.