The beach parking lot is packed. The sun set hours ago and the party is in full swing. Tiny and I timed it that way. We can’t do our job at the beginning of a party, when people are too self-conscious for it to be productive.
I shut the driver’s side door of Tiny’s Jeep. There are clusters of partygoers perched on the beds of pickup trucks and sneaking alcohol from their cars. But most people are on the beach sitting on blankets or leaned against the dunes, illuminated by the large bonfire.
Tiny slips her hoodie over her head and steps into the sand barefoot, choosing to leave her flip-flops in the Jeep as opposed to carrying them. But me, I’ve got on the same pair of boat shoes from this morning (the only salvageable part of my outfit), dark jeans, and a paint-splattered T-shirt.
As we approach the party, the music gets incrementally louder and I can make out the distinctions between voices and laughter, between the pop of the firewood and the pop of can lids. However, the most pervasive sound is the ocean.
“Two o’clock,” Tiny whispers, nodding at Ella’s boyfriend, Justin, who’s entertaining his friends with exaggerated gestures.
Tiny sighs, as though handling popular dudes is a tiring sport, even though she’s great at it—remarkably so. “Watch and learn, coffee fumbler,” she teases. And not thirty seconds later she has all three guys paying full attention to her.
I continue through the party, searching for Ella and navigating around people sprawled in the sand with bare feet, pants rolled up, bathing suits still on from earlier in the day. I make my way around the bonfire before I spot Ella, Leah, and Amber at the base of the lifeguard tower.
I walk toward the water and right past the girls, careful not to give any indication that I notice them. Instead, I focus on the ocean, staring at the receding white foam from a crashed wave.
“No . . . not happening,” I hear Ella say behind me with emphasis, probably accented by a drink or two.
I don’t turn around. I just pick up a rock and toss it into the ocean.
Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .
A slender finger pokes the back of my shoulder. “What the hell?” Ella says with a confident uptick in her voice.
I turn and give her a puzzled look. “Do I know you?”
Her eyes widen. “Wow.”
I smile, drawing out my silence. “Don’t worry, Scorpio. I know exactly who you are. I may never forget.”
“Likewise. But I was hoping to give it a good try by never seeing you again,” Ella says with exaggerated frustration, even though she approached me, not the other way around.
“Then don’t follow me to parties,” I say. “That’s one way to solve the problem.”
“Follow you to parties?” She’s really riled up—not a tactic I’ve ever used, and one that would have Tiny calling me every variation of idiot, but there’s no smooth way to gain her trust right now. Besides, she’s in her element, her friends are watching, and she’s got more fire than any of our previous subjects. I suspect that if I show her I’m easy prey, she’ll eat me alive. So instead, I settle for getting her attention and hopefully integrating myself into the social scene at large, which with popular groups means utilizing a bit of brazen confidence. Mainly, I just pretend I’m Tiny and play every banter card I can think of.
“This party is in my town,” Ella continues. “These are my friends.” She sweeps her arm behind her.
I look back at the party, then at Leah and Amber specifically, who wear knowing expressions. “Then I guess we’re going to see a lot of each other this summer, because it’s my town now, too.”
She pauses. “Do not tell me you moved here.”
“I didn’t move here,” I say, then add: “But I am staying for a few months with my cousin, who did move here.”
She groans.
“So how do you want to do this, Scorpio? Divvy up the town? I’ll take the coffee shop; you take the diner?”
“You’re definitely not getting the coffee shop,” she says. “I live here. You don’t. End of story. You can have the park bench, the one covered by trees all the way in the far corner. And that’s it.”
“You’re giving me a make-out spot?” I say with dramatic surprise. “Funny where your mind goes.”
Her cheeks turn pink, but before she can unleash on me, Amber and Leah walk up.
“So this is Mr. Coffee,” Amber says as a statement of fact. “I thought you said he was an überprep?” She gives me a once-over—physically evaluating people out loud is a trademark power move of the rich and popular. Her gaze settles on my feet like she found what she’s looking for. “Boat shoes.”
I glance at Ella. “You told your friends about me, huh?”
Ella scowls. “You dumped coffee over my head. Talking about you was unavoidable.”
“Ah,” I say, nodding. “Describing my outfit was essential information, I see.”
Ella huffs.
Leah laughs. “Wow, you two are like . . .” She looks back and forth between us.
“A scene from When Harry Met Sally?” Amber offers, and I’m doubly glad Tiny isn’t in hearing range. I want to be Ella’s friend, nothing more. And I’m specifically not trying to set myself up as a rival to her boyfriend.
Leah nods, finding the whole thing amusing. “Actually, yeah, exactly like that.”
“That is not . . . No,” Ella says emphatically, and I want to echo her.
“I bet Justin would find this interesting,” Amber adds with a mischievous smirk.
“What would I find interesting?” Justin says from behind me, indicating Amber saw him and her comment was a power play.
Justin joins the group wearing a white T-shirt, basketball shorts, and a cocky expression.
“This,” Ella says, a little flustered, waving her hand in my direction, “is the guy who dumped his coffee all over me this morning.”
“No shit,” he says and laughs, but Ella gives him a look. “Oh, wait, sorry. Not funny. We hate him?”
She shrugs, soaking up the fact that he immediately took her side. “A little.”
“Sorry, man, we hate you a little,” Justin says in a friendly way. He’s a bro’s bro, but at least he doesn’t try to fist-bump me. It’s obvious by the way they all look at him that they adore him. Plus, there’s something oddly familiar about his whole shtick.
As if Tiny could sense that I need her, she appears next to me. “I see you’ve met my cousin,” she says to Justin.
“Your cousin?” Justin repeats with another laugh. “Man, small world. Like, crazy small.” He visibly winces, shifting his attention to Ella. “Babe, I may have inadvertently invited Mia”—he gestures at Tiny—“and public enemy number one to our party tomorrow.” He wraps his arm around Ella’s waist and she leans into him. “Are you mad? Say the word and we’ll just cancel the party straight up.”
She shrugs, more for show than anything. “Nah. Not a big deal.”
“That’s my girl,” Justin says and kisses her head.
And I have to hand it to the guy: he’s annoyingly charismatic.
Ella looks at him like he’s the best thing ever, and something about her expression makes my stomach drop. Suddenly I know why he seems so familiar—he reminds me of someone I once knew, someone I despise more than anyone on this whole goddamn planet—Des’s last boyfriend. Kyle. I glance at Tiny, and by the way she searches my face, I can tell she sees it, too—that Justin appears too perfect, that Ella appears too smitten. I look away, uneasy, my heart punching my rib cage. And for the first time since we started this business, my confidence wavers, not only in this case but also in my ability to approach it objectively.