Brynna snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned. The words swam in front of her eyes: Remember me?
Heat crawled up her spine, swallowing one vertebra after another as blood pulsed in her ears.
“What the—?”
She was reaching for the screen as she spoke, ready to delete the tweet, but the little birdie icon blinked again.
@EricaNShaw has a new tweet for you!
Every fiber of her being seemed to pull in opposite directions. Her skin felt tight, her bones like they were about to explode. Everything told her to move, to run, to flee. Her stomach turned in on itself, but Brynna had to click. It couldn’t be Erica—it just couldn’t.
The second tweet popped up with a gleeful little jingle that made Brynna’s heart drop a little lower in her chest.
Remember me?
The bird chirped again, but there was no new tweet—just Brynna’s tablet screen filling with little blue rectangles, each with the same two words: Remember me? Remember me? Remember me?
She mashed her fingers against the screen, her fingerprints blurring the tweets but unable to make them go away.
Remember me?
The screen kept pinging with new tweets, each note a drop of water slipping into an ocean, each word congealing into a sea of blame. Brynna was crying now, pressing her whole palm against the screen, swiping, clawing, screaming—anything to get the tweets to stop.
Erica was dead. She had been caught by the riptide and was dead. Wasn’t she?
Erica’s body had never been found, but there had been an official proclamation. Brynna couldn’t forget—her mother picked her up from school, had taken Brynna’s hand and squeezed it against her cheek.
“They’re declaring Erica dead, honey.”
“Did they find…?”
“No.” A slight pause. “They’ve called off the search. It’s been four days. There is no way…” Her mother’s voice dropped off before she said it: there was no way that Erica could still be alive.
“Bryn?”
Brynna looked up, terrified. Her mother was standing in the doorway, one arm pressed protectively across her chest, her other hand slapped over her half-open mouth. Evan stood in front of her, his eyes impossibly wide, the little emerald H at his right eye ludicrously out of place.
“Brynna!” Her mother rushed in front of Evan and kneeled down, throwing her arms around her. “What’s wrong?”
Stunned, Brynna looked down at the tablet she was still clutching. It was covered in smeared tears and fingerprints, but the screen was black.
“I got a—” She looked up at Evan, who hadn’t moved from his space in the doorway. “Look.” She swiped the screen back to life, and it flashed on for a tenth of a second before the CONNECT TO POWER icon started flashing.
“No,” Brynna gasped, shaking her head. “It was just here. And I just took my iPad out of the charger.”
Her mother let her hand fall and scooched a few inches away from Brynna. She whispered, “Are you being cyberbullied, hon?”
Brynna’s eyebrows went up. “No.” She dragged a palm over her cheeks and sniffed. “Sorry, it was nothing.”
Brynna’s heart pounded against her rib cage, but her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she looked up at Evan. His eyes were still on her, but there was no expression on his face.
“I’m sorry,” Brynna said to the carpet. “It was just—”
What? Something inside Brynna screamed. It was just what? Me going crazy? Me seeing things? Me getting a message from the dead?
Evan didn’t know about Erica. He didn’t know about Brynna. And now, sitting in her new room with her new friend and on the precipice of a new life, she desperately didn’t want him to know.
She focused on Evan and forced a laugh that was supposed to sound nonchalant but came out tinny and weirdly high. “Sorry.”
He shrugged, his expression going back to classic Evan: unaffected. “No big. We all have our moments.”
Brynna cleared her throat, her eyes cutting toward her mother. “Um, Evan and I have to get ready for the game.”
Evan and Brynna watched Brynna’s mother cross the room, toss a concerned look over her shoulder, and close the door only halfway. Brynna got up to nudge it shut, but her mother held firm, her hard brown eyes zeroing in.
“This door doesn’t close. You’ve got a boy in your room and,” her eyes went to Bryn’s tear-stained face, “well, you know.”
Brynna crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So,” she hissed, “now every time I cry or get upset, I’m drinking or smoking again?”
Her mother glanced over Brynna’s shoulder at Evan, who was obliviously flipping channels on the TV.
“I’m your mother, Brynna Marie. I’m supposed to worry.”
A little niggling of guilt wormed its way into Brynna. She remembered the way her mother sat on the psychologist’s couch, repeatedly smoothing the imaginary wrinkles in her skirt while Brynna sat icily silent, her father helpless in between, during the ten hours of state-mandated family therapy that Brynna—caught drinking and driving in her mother’s car—had gotten nearly a year after Erica’s accident.
“Sorry, Mom,” she said on a sigh. “I’m past that.”
Her mother’s eyes flashed with something like hope.
“I promise,” Brynna said. “Can we just get ready now?”
She watched her mother leave and turned back to Evan, pasting on the coolest, most nonchalant smile she could muster.
“So, are you excited about the game?”
Evan blinked at her. “No, but football games are a required social construct for supposedly well-adjusted teens. And speaking of well-adjusted…” His eyes cut to the discarded tablet on the floor.
Brynna swallowed hard, the weight of wanting to talk to someone—and wanting just another day of not being “that girl”—pressing against her.
“Boyfriend trouble?” Evan said before Brynna could even respond. “Jealous? Stalker? That’s sick and romantic.”
Brynna turned to the mirror and tugged on the end of the green-and-white Hawthorne High bow. “Yeah,” she said carefully, “something like that.”
Evan scooted closer to her, his dark eyes glittering. He pointed an index finger two inches from Brynna’s nose and waved it. “I like you, Brynna Chase. You’re dark. Mysterious. You’ve got secrets.”
Brynna’s heart started to pound even as she managed to keep her face neutral. “Secrets?”
“I can read you like a book. There’s something wicked in there.” He waved his entire hand now, indicating her as a whole.
Brynna’s breath hitched. She stared at Evan, studying him. There’s something wicked in there… His eyes were bright, his lips twitching up into a wry smile.
Did he know?
A cold sheen of sweat broke out all over her, and suddenly, the round collar of her T-shirt felt like it was strangling her. Brynna knew it would happen. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone at Hawthorne High figured out who she was, and the whispers would start all over again.
Everything Dr. Rother said, every breathing technique or calming technique that she had taught her, swirled in Brynna’s head, rolling and tumbling in a gnarled mess. She didn’t want to figure them out. She didn’t want to calm down and “live through the moment” like Dr. Rother said. She wanted darkness. She wanted oblivion.
“It’s not like it’s going to kill you,” Campbell said, his eyes half-hidden by the scruff of sand-blond hair that rolled over his forehead. “They’ll just calm you down a little bit. You know, sand away the rough edges.”
That’s what Brynna’s entire life was now: rough edges. Erica was gone. She couldn’t say her best friend was dead; she wouldn’t say it. It had only been eleven days and they hadn’t found Erica, and somewhere inside, Brynna knew that Erica could still be alive. She had to be. Fifteen-year-olds didn’t die.
“Just sands away the rough edges, huh?”
Campbell nodded and smiled. “You’ll have a break for a couple hours. No big deal.”
Brynna’s mind still churned, that night, that dare flashing in front of her mind’s eye. Every moment, she heard the splash of the water, the heavy silence as she and Erica went down, down. Every night, she dreamed of Erica, of the way she must have looked as all the air left her body.
“Do you have anything that lasts longer?”
“It’s nothing,” Brynna said, trying her best to shrug off Evan’s questioning stare. “There’s nothing…wicked…about me.”
Evan digested that and narrowed his eyes. “You know you can talk to me. You know you can tell me anything.”
Brynna watched Evan’s eyes as they went to the tablet. Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed it, slipping the thing into her top drawer. “I know, Evan, and vice versa.”
“You can even tell me what freaked you out so badly on the tablet.”
She let out a shock of air and wagged her head. “It was nothing. Like you said, old boyfriend. I was just…surprised to hear from him is all.”
“It’s not always the worst thing in the world,” Evan said, brushing a hand through his hair, “if someone from your past wants to come back to you.”
Her heart did a little double thump and her stomach went to liquid. Evan must have noticed her face go pale, because he cocked his head. “Bad guy? Bad influence?”
“We should probably go.” She pushed herself to her feet, but Evan didn’t budge.
“Come on, B. You can talk to me. Tell me one thing—one thing that’s bothering you—and I can worry about it, okay?” He offered her a small smile.
Before Brynna could stop herself, she nodded. It was as if someone took over her body and bobbled her head, and her heart wedged in her throat as she thought of just one secret to tell Evan. The problem was, there wasn’t just one. Brynna’s cheeks singed as she listed them off.
I killed my best friend.
I got addicted to drugs.
I drank and drove.
I got arrested.
I’m not a normal girl.
I should have been the one to die.
“You know when I said I came here because there was a crazy drug problem at my old school?”
She swallowed when Evan nodded.
“I was the crazy drug problem. I had a problem.” Brynna looked at her hands in her lap. “A really big problem.”
Evan blew out a long sigh, his eyes steady on Brynna’s. He reached out and squeezed her hand. “And the guy—he was part of that?”
She briefly thought of Michael, her boyfriend back at Lincoln, and the reason he became just as addicted as she was: because there was no other way to reach her. He stood by her and then hung by her until they were both oblivious shadows of their former selves, drunk, high, numb.
Brynna swallowed over the lump in her throat. “Yeah.”
There was a silent, pregnant pause, and then Evan smiled. “I still love you.”
“Thanks.”
“And seriously, you had me thinking you were some kind of ax murderer or something.” He batted at the air. “Drugs? Nothing. Half the student body is addicted to something, and the other half just wants everyone to think they are.” Evan’s eyes shifted. “Not me, of course. I’m not stupid or a lemming.”
“Are you calling me a stupid lemming?”
Evan nodded. “Yeah. Back then. But come on, you’re going to the school where a student killed another student and a teacher. And some other chick was like, on the run from the FBI or the German mafia or her parents kidnapped her or something. Drugs? Lame. So what was it? Oxy, Spice, Adderall, Lady X?”
Brynna sat back, a mixture of surprise and sudden comfort washing over her. She smiled. “Doesn’t matter. It was lame and I’m over it. Now I’m addicted to cheap nachos, so can we please just get to this game?”
•••
Brynna’s good mood was short-lived. For every inch of comfort she took knowing that Evan was cool with her past, a needling fear poked in: He doesn’t know the real story. He doesn’t know about the dare. About Erica.
She struggled through the football game, remaining seated when everyone jumped to their feet, cheering, her head a churning mess of Erica’s tweets.
No, she told herself. Not Erica’s.
Erica was dead.
Maybe not…
The thought flashed through her mind before she could stop it, and Brynna gritted her teeth, trying to keep the memory on her periphery, out of her mind. But it crept in—the sound of the water as it broke when Erica and Brynna crashed into it. The feeling of Erica’s fingers gripping hers tightly, then slowly, slowly slipping through her palm, then slipping away. Brynna thrashed, salt water floating up her nose, dripping through her teeth as she smiled. She spun, looking for Erica, feeling through the water.
But it was silent.
Dead calm.
“Hey, ow!”
Brynna blinked as Teddy pulled his hand from hers and began massaging it.
“You’ve got a hell of a grip,” he said, his blue eyes playful.
Brynna’s heart began to pound. Had she been holding Teddy’s hand? Oh god, had she grabbed it?
“I’m—I’m super sorry,” she said, her ponytail bobbing against her cheek as she shook her head.
“No.” Teddy’s hand found hers again and squeezed gently. “I like a girl who makes the first move.”
The embarrassment Brynna should have been feeling was zapped, replaced by electricity that shot up her arm the second Teddy’s hand settled into hers. Their bare arms touched, and the connection was there again—a hot, wonderful zing that shot through her, making every single inch of her body spark.
Evan leaned over from Brynna’s other side. “Can you stop beaming for, like, fifteen seconds? I’m getting a third degree burn over here.”
Teddy rolled his eyes and nudged Brynna’s shoulder. “Want to get a drink?”
She felt her face redden, felt her mouth go suddenly dry. She was on probation. She didn’t drink—she couldn’t drink. She thought of the doctors and Woodbriar Rehabilitation Center where she stayed for six weeks and where they called the patients “clients.” She thought of her mother, wringing her hands while her father lectured her about why “kids” shouldn’t drink, his own eyes red, his breath tinged with the unmistakable scent of bourbon.
“Uh…”
“The Snack Shack only has Pepsi stuff, but there’s Coke and Red Bulls in the machine in the quad.”
Relief flooded over Brynna. “Oh, yeah. A Coke would be cool.”
They stood up and edged through the crowd on the bleachers. As Brynna crossed in front of Evan, he yanked her down by her jeans pocket. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he hissed in her ear. “And if you do, I want to hear all about it.”
Brynna waved him off and fell in step with Teddy. They crossed the back forty, talking about teachers and school and everything topical until they reached the main part of campus. It was darker there, the flood lights of the stadium bright in the distance.
“This place is kind of creepy at night,” Brynna said, her hackles going up as they made their way through the darkness.
Teddy turned and held out a hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”
Tentatively, she slid her hand into his. There was something different about holding Teddy’s hand while they were walking, while there was no one else to see them. It was tender and sweet, but secret too.
•••
The game ended—the Hawthorne Hornets came up short in the fourth quarter—and Evan, Teddy, Darcy, and Lauren pressed in on Brynna in a tight huddle.
“Let’s just go to Brewsters,” Lauren said. “I’d kill for a burger.”
“No.” Darcy shook her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Brewsters is crap. Isn’t there somewhere else to go?”
Evan frowned. “Have you met Crescent City? It’s Brewsters, the mall parking lot, or Taco Time.”
“I could do a taco.” Teddy was still holding Brynna’s hand, and she loved the warmth but had no idea what happened next. Did she drop his hand? Keep holding it until he dropped hers?
“Oh, oh, oh! I know what we have to do. Darce, Teddy, what time do you have to be back?”
Teddy shrugged. “Midnight curfew.”
Lauren nudged Evan. “Same with me and the worse half.”
“I should have strangled you with the umbilical cord in utero.”
Lauren stuck her tongue out at Evan, and Brynna marveled at how dissimilar they could look, even though they were born within minutes of each other.
“I would like to register a barf complaint,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes. “Umbilical? Utero? Not on a Friday night. Never on a Friday night.”
Evan’s eyes cut to Brynna. “Curfew, Queen B?”
Brynna blinked. “Midnight.”
“Then we’d better get going.”
Evan grabbed Brynna’s free hand and one of Lauren’s. Lauren clamped on to Darcy, and with Brynna still holding on to Teddy, they were one long, wonky line being led by Evan as he stomped across campus.
“Where are we going?” Brynna wanted to know.
Lauren spun free of her brother. “Oh, that’s right, you’re still a virgin.”
Brynna stopped, feeling all the blood rush from her face. “What?”
Teddy thumped into her and dropped her hand.
The parking lot—fifteen seconds ago littered with Hawthorne and Crescent High students screaming and talking—suddenly went impossibly quiet as if everyone, every student, every teacher, was waiting for Brynna to answer.
“Not like that!” Evan swatted at her then ducked his head close. “Although I want to hear every detail if it’s a no. She means,” he went on, this time theatrically and with a flourish of both arms, “you are currently on your virgin voyage of Evan’s Amazing Adventures.”
Teddy clapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh good god, how did I get dragged into one of these again?”
“Shut it, gimp.”
Teddy rolled his eyes. “Have a little sympathy! I just watched my team get terrorized by the bottom-of-the-league Bulldogs.”
“Well,” Darcy said, handing Evan her car keys, “then you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to get a season-ending injury before your season even started.”
Brynna expected Teddy to look stung or argue, but he just narrowed his eyes and grinned. She liked that about him—he was easygoing and didn’t mind being razzed. Erica would love him—would have loved him.
The group stopped in front of a sports car that looked like it belonged in the pages of a catalog or in some kind of showroom. The overhead lights bounced over the car’s pristine black paint job and the inside—with fawn-colored, supple leather seats—was just as factory-new looking.
“Wow,” Brynna said to Darcy, “is this your car?”
Though they had been getting closer, Darcy was the one in the group that Brynna knew the least about. She was nice enough and was in a few of Brynna’s advanced classes, but the blond was quiet—or maybe it was that Evan was always so loud. Unlike the others, Darcy never invited anyone over or talked much about her parents or family. Brynna respected the girl’s shy nature and never pried.
“Yup, this little beauty belongs to our Darcy—much like most of this town and half the money in this world.”
“And can you believe she lets Evan drive it?” Lauren asked.
Evan rolled his eyes. “Cars are like Kleenex to the Davenports. One gets soiled, Daddy buys a new one. Come on, B. Virgin rides shotgun.”
Brynna ducked into the car just in time to see Darcy, cheeks pink and eyes downcast, crawling into the backseat.
“Darcy, it’s your car, you should be up front.”
Darcy smiled thinly and shrugged. “Tradition is tradition, B. Better get up there.”
Evan cranked down all the windows and cranked up the radio, and then Brynna was singing along with the rest of them, screaming out the wrong words to whatever song came up, kicking her feet against the dashboard during the drum solos. The night air was breezy and warm and her friends—her new life—were so magazine-cover perfect that Erica and the tweet flailed far behind, and she forgot to pay attention to the miles of road that Darcy’s car ate up. She didn’t notice when the breeze died down, but the temperature dropped and the air that waved over her bare arm turned moist.
When Evan made a sharp turn—and the wheels of Darcy’s car spun out on a catch of sand—Brynna heard it. It was distant but distinct: the crash of waves.
She sat bolt upright just in time to see the sign, slapped over with Santa Cruz and surf decals, the name of the beach just barely visible: Harding Beach.
The memories of the night didn’t have to come flooding back. She didn’t have to think of the images, remember the churning surf, the way the pier looked in the darkness—because it was right in front of her.
“Why are we here?” Brynna asked, hysteria in her voice. She gripped the dashboard and the door handle, her knuckles white, her palm aching with the effort. “Why are you doing this?”
The tears were thick, choking her voice, and every synapse was shooting commands: Run. Stay. Hide. Scream.
Evan pushed the car into park, his face half-hidden in the darkened car. Brynna’s eyes ached when the dome light sprung on, black splotches marring her vision. She was vaguely aware of Lauren, Teddy, and Darcy talking in the backseat. But when her vision cleared, it was Evan she saw, head cocked, a serene smile on his face.
“You’re welcome,” he said quietly.
Terror exploded through Brynna. She fought to find her voice and was finally able to utter a meek, “Why?”
“Because you looked so freaked out today, B. I thought maybe a drive by the old stomping grounds would perk you up again. You know, if you had bad memories with an old boyfriend here, you can make some new ones with your awesome new friends.”
The smile on Evan’s face was wide, and Brynna wanted to believe him. “You don’t know—I mean, you just picked this beach?”
Evan shrugged. “It was close enough to Point Lobos that I figured you probably went here sometimes.” He turned and looked toward the ocean. “It’s so gorgeous. Don’t you love the beach?”
“I—I—”
The day that Brynna’s family had packed up the car and turned out of Point Lobos was the last time Brynna had seen the ocean. It was a speck in their rearview mirror, a churning gray reminder that Erica was dead, her body somewhere hidden, swallowed in its depths, and Brynna was alive. Crescent City was a full hour away from Point Lobos, but in California, the ocean was never that far away.
Brynna tried to inhale deeply like Dr. Rother told her, but her breath caught like a knife in her lung. She was smashed against the dashboard as Darcy, Lauren, and Teddy peeled out of the backseat. Both of the girls took off running, sand kicking up beneath their shoes.
“You coming?” Teddy asked, hand out.
“Move along, Teddy. B is mine on this one.”
Brynna’s head swung back and forth like she was watching a tennis match—Teddy still holding out a hand to her on one team, Evan, his hand on her knee, on the other.
Teddy shrugged. “All right, but if this guy tries to lay a hand on you, there’s going to be hell to pay.” His eyebrows were drawn, but there was humor in his voice.
“Noted,” Evan shouted as Teddy trotted off after the girls.
When Brynna and Evan were alone in the car, he turned to her, arms crossed in front of his chest, his lips in a thin line. “What’s up?”
Brynna sank back, her shoulder blades aching against the coils inside the car seat. “What are you talking about?”
Evan cocked a single brow and then rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated. “Come on, Bryn. It’s the beach,” he gestured absently. “Everyone loves the beach. And those who hate the beach love it at night. What’s your trauma?”
She was mid-shrug when Evan clapped a hand on her shoulder. “And don’t say nothing. And don’t say that what happened in your room before we left was also. I’m not your mother. You can talk to me.”
Brynna started to squirm, casting a short glance over her shoulder at the black, crashing waves beyond, then back to Evan’s face, open, waiting.
She swallowed.
She didn’t want to be that girl anymore.
It was her first day back at Lincoln. Everyone around her was grinning, hugging, still in flip-flops and cut-off shorts, their skin still glistening with summer tans—and they all went quiet when Brynna walked in the door. She had never done it alone before—headed through the double doors of the high school—without Erica at her side. They rode to school together, they shared clothes and everything else, but this one thing—the only thing—they didn’t share was glaring, eternal, and final.
Those who would look at her offered sympathetic smiles. Most just averted their eyes. But everybody talked.
Erica and Brynna used to be a part of the whispers. People were forever leaning in, cupping their hands, whispering darkest secrets, who kissed who, where the party was, to Erica and Brynna. And they would pass it on. But that day, no one whispered to Brynna. Everyone whispered about her.
“I heard she was jealous of Erica.”
“Steve says she knew about the riptide.”
“I heard she’s so upset, she hasn’t left her room since.”
“I feel like I should say something, but what do you say?”
“She really looks bad—but can you blame her?”
The whispers didn’t bother Brynna so much as the fact that she faced them all alone. She pretended not to hear, pretended like she didn’t care, but the only thing that rang through her head was: I should have been the one who died.
•••
“Earth to Brynna!” Evan was snapping his fingers a half inch from her nose.
Her eyes focused on Teddy, Darcy, and Lauren running in lazy circles, sand exploding over their bare feet, their cheeks florid under the bright beam of the headlights. They didn’t know about that girl. Here, she didn’t have to be that girl.
Brynna slapped Evan’s hand away and forced her lightest, brightest grin. “It’s no big deal,” she said, leaning the back of her head against the cool glass of the window. “I’m just not that big of a beach person. And it’s totally freezing out there.” She zipped up her hoodie and shivered against a chill she didn’t actually feel.
Evan’s gaze went over her shoulder. “You’re absolutely right. Those three look positively hypothermic.”
Evan popped out of the car and headed for them; Brynna kicked open her own car door and unsteadily put her feet on the ground, the sound of the grainy sand underneath her sneakers pricking at the back of her neck. She worked to breathe deeply, desperate to claim a second of calm as her heart hammered like a fire bell. She could hear the waves crashing outside and tried to reconcile them with the crashing waves inside her head.
She forced herself to look at the surf beyond, to look at the pier in front of her, the wooden staves drifting off into the dark water. She remembered the way the wood, pocked and cracking with age, felt underneath her bare foot. She remembered that Erica worried they’d fall through the pier rather than jump off it.
“Erica is dead,” Brynna muttered, teeth clenched.
But all at once she heard the ping of the Twitter message in her head. Remember me?