“And then what happened?” Dr. Rother leaned back in her chair, the leather groaning as she shifted.
“Like, what actually happened, or is this like a ‘See? You didn’t die’ kind of a question?”
Dr. Rother cocked her head, and Brynna sighed.
“It’s not like anyone went into the water. I just sat on a log for a little bit.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, studying the bright green fern just to the left of the doctor’s ear. Dr. Rother moved her chair an inch to the left, so she was once again in Brynna’s full view.
“And what did your friends say?”
Brynna shrugged and looked at her sneakers. “Nothing, really.”
“Did they ask why you weren’t joining in? Did they want you to hang out with them?”
Brynna looked away, trying to find something in the tiny office that she hadn’t studied extensively in one of her previous sessions.
“Brynna?” Dr. Rother prodded.
“I didn’t feel well, so we left after, like, an hour.”
“So you spent an hour on the beach, listening to the waves. Did it bring up—”
Brynna uncrossed her legs and slumped in her chair. “I said it was like an hour. Less though.”
“So forty-five minutes?”
Brynna wouldn’t meet the doctor’s gaze, and the doctor’s eyebrows went up.
“Thirty minutes? Really, any amount of time is making progress.”
That’s good, Brynna thought. Because she was out of the car and back inside in less than fifteen minutes.
“And you said the breathing exercises have been helping you.”
Brynna nodded, and Dr. Rother gave her a tight-lipped “yay, you!” kind of smile.
They stayed that way, Brynna plain-faced and Dr. Rother giving off her good-feeling vibes. Then she opened her mouth. “Now that you’re enjoying more things at Hawthorne High, have you given any consideration to the swim team?”
Brynna felt her mouth drop open. “I practically had a panic attack at the sight of the ocean.”
“A pool isn’t the ocean, Brynna.”
She hated it when Dr. Rother used her name and hated it more when she pinned her with that psychotherapist stare. Brynna sucked in a shallow breath. “I know. I just—I’m not ready yet. And honestly, it’s not like I miss it.”
But that was a lie. Lying in bed at night, Brynna couldn’t get comfortable, missing the freedom that the water used to give her. It was in those long nights, in those desperate, confusing moments when Brynna thought about the drugs again, the way the memories—everything—hung on her periphery when she was high, the edges of her thoughts becoming soft, barely recognizable.
She’d lost count of how many beers she’d had. The keg was empty, tossed out on the grass like a giant soda can, and everyone around her seemed to have their own full cups or hidden flasks of booze. She needed something because the beer wasn’t working. She could still see Erica’s face; she could still hear her voice. She didn’t have to go upstairs, back to the party, to know they were all talking about her, pointing at her. “That’s her, that’s Brynna Chase. She kept swimming while her best friend drowned.”
She barely noticed the tears dripping over her cheeks, and she barely noticed when he sat down. She knew him from school—his name was Campbell or something—and she had steered clear of him because he was supposed to be bad. But he looked at her with a kindly smile now, with a cocked head.
“You look like you could use a pick-me-up,” he said, his friendly smile widening.
Brynna couldn’t remember if she replied or just nodded. But she remembered his hand, outstretched, palm up.
“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing toward his hand with his chin. “This one’s on me.”
Brynna almost salivated, desperate for the oblivion she got from just two of those tiny little pills. They were best when mixed with beer. They obliterated everything when she took three.
But she couldn’t tell Dr. Rother that. The doctor prodded, but Brynna wouldn’t tell her the truth. She couldn’t tell her that it was better when she smoked or drank. Not because she couldn’t feel the pain, but because she couldn’t feel anything. Then Brynna would think of her parents on the day she was released from rehab; they were smiling, her mother teary, but sadness overwhelmed them. Something worse than sadness—disappointment. The guilt still stung her.
Dr. Rother’s eyes flicked to the clock on the back wall. She closed her file and nodded, still smiling. “I really think you’re making some good progress here, Brynna. It may not seem like much, but you have gone through a significant trauma.”
Being a drunken addict or daring my best friend to die? Brynna wanted to ask.
When she left Dr. Rother’s office, her mother was waiting in the parking lot, engine running. Like she did every time Brynna left the office, she offered her a bright smile and a large mocha with extra whipped cream.
“Everything go okay, hon?”
Brynna nodded and took a large gulp, liking the feel of the liquid as it burned her throat. “Yeah, fine.”
Her mother turned the wheel, and Brynna leaned against her seat, lazy eyes scanning the tiny town of Crescent City. There really was nothing here. A half-forgotten case of urban sprawl with a spanking-new mall that hardly anyone went to and a housing development with gorgeous homes for great prices for people who wanted to live in the middle of nowhere. She sighed and was ready to close her eyes when a clutch of bright purple fabric caught her eye. It was a hooded sweatshirt in the Lincoln High colors—a shocking, unmatchable purple with a marigold trim—and it was on a girl with a waist-length, glossy black ponytail.
Erica.
She was in a crowd, wrestling her way into the coffeehouse across the street.
“Mom, stop!”
“What? My god, Brynna, what is it? I’ve got coffee all over my lap.”
But Brynna had already stopped listening. She kicked the door open and launched herself out of the car, barely feeling the hot pricks of liquid as her paper coffee cup exploded on the pavement.
“Erica!” Brynna called, running across the street and pushing her way through the crowd. “Erica!”
People turned with angry expressions as she bumped into them, elbowed at them, and tried to get through. But all she was aware of was the pounding of her heart and her need to find Erica.
“Brynna!” Her mother was behind her now, apologizing, grabbing at Brynna’s arm.
Brynna spun. “Erica’s here, Mom. She’s here. I saw her!”
The coffeehouse went dead quiet, all eyes on Brynna. Suddenly, the smell of roasting beans and burnt coffee was cloying, pressing the air out of her lungs. Where was Erica?
“I saw her come in here.” Brynna rushed to the counter where the girl behind the register took a step back. “Did you just see a girl, about my age, with a purple Lincoln High sweatshirt on?” She patted her own head. “Her hair was in a ponytail. It was black and long.”
The barista held an empty coffee bag in one hand and a silver scoop in the other.
“What?”
Brynna slapped the counter. “A girl. Just now. A teenager. In a hooded purple sweatshirt.” She turned. “Did anyone—did anyone see the girl who just came in here?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart, but no one who looks like that came in here.” A heavyset man with a bushy moustache that bled onto his lips answered Brynna.
“Bryn.” Her mother’s voice was soft, but her grip on Brynna’s arm was fierce. “You probably just thought you saw her.”
“No, Mom!” She shrugged off her mother’s hand and addressed the crowd. “No one saw her?” The desperation in Brynna’s voice was evident. Erica was here; she was alive. A tiny spark of hope—or was it fear?—dove through her as she looked at the startled faces around her. The blood rushed through her ears and then the quaking fear was back, the dark cloud that hung on her periphery: It couldn’t have been Erica because Erica is dead. Because I dared her, and she died.
The line of customers had migrated toward the counter as if Brynna was a crazy person—which was how she was beginning to feel as everyone stared, but no one spoke. Finally, the boy behind the cash register—a guy who looked about Brynna’s age, maybe a few years older, cleared his throat. “I’ve been here all morning and I didn’t see a girl like that come in here,” he said, his voice that sickening, soothing tone that Brynna had grown to loathe. “Maybe she went into the place next door.”
Brynna felt a lump grow in her throat as the hot tears pricked at the back of her eyes. “No,” she swung her head, whispering to the coffeehouse floor. “I know I saw her. She walked in here. I saw her. I know I did.”
Even as she said it, Brynna began to doubt herself.
“Sorry, everyone,” Brynna’s mother said, addressing the crowd. Brynna watched from the corner of her eye as her mother searched through her pocketbook, then dropped a few bills into the tip jar. “I—I—” Her mother started to stammer, and each time she tried to speak was like a stab to Brynna’s heart. “It’s just been a long morning. Come on, honey.”
The car ride to school was unbearably quiet, the miles stretching out in front of them. Finally, Brynna’s mother turned to her. “Honey—”
Brynna shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it, Mom. It was just—a mistake.” But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.
•••
“Hey.”
Brynna started and dropped the books she was picking out of her locker. “Oh god, Teddy, you scared me.” She pressed a hand against her chest, certain her heart would eventually press right through.
“You’re really jumpy.”
Brynna felt herself flush. “Um, yeah, sorry about that.” She concentrated hard on gathering her books and closing her locker, spinning the combination lock. Part of her hoped Teddy would go away and let her be alone, but part of her was pulled into those warm, blue eyes, wanting to see his lopsided grin cross his face.
“You weren’t at the table this morning.”
Brynna waved her pink hall pass. “Appointment. Dentist. No big.”
“So hey,” Teddy started, falling into step with Brynna, “I wanted to ask you—”
“Brynna!” Evan was shooting toward them like a hurricane, kids bending back in his wake. “I’ve been looking for you, like, everywhere. Please tell me you have last night’s trig homework.”
Brynna looked apologetically at Teddy but was glad for the interruption. With Evan, everything was a screaming drama, and his loud theatrics amused Brynna, but more so, his involved stories and perceived personal tragedies stamped out any thought other than Evan.
“Yeah, no problem.” She turned to Teddy. “See you later?”
There was something in his eyes that Brynna hadn’t seen before, but he nodded and silently turned away.
The rest of the school day—only lunch and three more classes—passed uneventfully, and Brynna was happy. Or she would have been if the image of Erica disappearing into the coffeehouse—and then disappearing altogether—wasn’t still etched in her mind. Even as she was being jostled through the crowd of rushing students talking over her, slamming lockers, and the chorus of get-to-class bells, her mind rolled over and over the scene in the coffeehouse and the girl with the long, black ponytail. The second the bell rang, she snatched up her bag and made a beeline for her locker, then dug through a stash of old test papers and Chapstick tubes until she found her cell phone.
Her fingers shook as the phone downloaded her messages and email—a whole slew of messages about nothing in particular, and not a single one from Erica. Brynna’s shoulders ached as if an enormous weight had been taken off them.
“All right, Bryn, it’s homecoming season,” Evan said as he glided up behind her. “What are we going to do about it?”
Brynna blinked and blinked again, forcing her mind into the hallway, forcing herself to look at Evan. “Homecoming?”
Evan rolled his eyes. “That’s what I said.”
She started to smile. “You care about homecoming season?”
“Maybe. Got a problem with that?” Evan crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Uh, no…”
Lauren stomped down the hall, eyes narrowed. “Brynna Chase, I hate you so much right now.”
Brynna’s stomach folded in on itself and she felt her eyes go wide. She knew that, eventually, someone at Hawthorne High would figure out what she did, who she was, but she wasn’t ready for it. Not now.
“What—what did I do?”
Lauren glared. Though Evan swore that they both had the same color hair once, Lauren’s was bright red now, with dipped black ends. They both had pale, fine-boned features, but even side-by-side, one might mistake them for distant cousins—not siblings and definitely not twins.
But with Lauren’s teeth-clenching glare, she looked more like her twin than ever. Evan had the lighter, more fun personality but eyes that could slice you with a look. Lauren tried to be as bubbly, but she had a streak of her father in her: intimidating and argumentative. He was a top-notch lawyer, and Brynna had no doubt that when Lauren grew up, she would be too. She had a way of telling jokes that were a little too serious and poking fun about things no one joked about. Basic questions sounded accusatory coming out of her mouth. Evan blamed it on the fact she never got over being the younger—by six minutes—twin.
“It’s what you didn’t do.” Lauren pushed an index finger in front of Brynna’s nose. “You never told me you were, like, a massive swimmer.”
Evan gaped. “What?”
“Oh, yeah, your Queen B here has been holding out on us.”
Brynna took a miniscule step back, heat washing over her as she crashed into the bank of lockers. “Where did you hear that?”
“Darcy works in the office third period, and your old school sent something over to you. I heard it was your varsity letter for the Lincoln swim team.”
Brynna clamped her jaws shut certain, if she didn’t, her thundering heart would burst out of her mouth.
“Okay, that has to be a mistake. Bryn hates the water. Don’t you, Bryn?”
Lauren mashed her palm against her brother’s chest. “They don’t give varsity letters to freshmen who hate the water.” She turned her eyes on Brynna. “So?”
“I, uh, I did swim—for a little bit, over at Lincoln.”
Lauren’s eyebrows went up. “Varsity?”
Brynna’s blood thundered in her ears, and a snapshot of Erica, darting through the water in her Lincoln-purple swimsuit, shot across her mind. “It was a really bad team. Everyone made varsity.”
“You must have spent an awful lot of time on the bottom of the pool ignoring, like, everything. Because (a) Lincoln High is beachside and word is that your coach actually makes his team practice in the ocean, and (b) Lincoln was division champions, like, forever.”
“Unlike our own Hawthorne Hornets,” Evan said, slinging an arm around Lauren. She glared at him. He wrinkled his nose and tossed a glance toward Brynna. “Hornets aren’t exactly water insects.”
“That’s why we totally need you! You have to try out. Hell, you probably don’t even have to try out. You own a bathing suit, you’re on the team.”
“No, no,” Brynna started, feeling a bead of sweat itch its way down her stomach. “I—I don’t swim anymore.”
Evan shrugged. “You’re going to have to swim either way.”
Brynna felt like she was underwater—drowning—the air being forced out of her lungs. “What are you talking about?”
“Swim test.”
Brynna looked from Evan to Lauren. “What swim test?”
“The one you need to graduate. Everyone has to take one. It’s so lame. Jump in, float, go to the bottom, swim across the pool, and no bikinis.”
Heat snaked up the back of Brynna’s neck. Just the thought of getting into the pool made her seize up, made her heartbeat start to race.
The pool that was once so freeing to her was like a cellblock now. And water, that moving, churning being with icy, clawing fingers, had taken Erica away, and Brynna knew that it wanted her too.
Brynna forced herself to breathe and prayed that her knees wouldn’t buckle. “Why do we need a swim test to graduate?”
This time Evan and Lauren both shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably some holdover from the olden days. Or like, ‘Send your kids to school! They might die here, but they’ll know how to swim.’”
Lauren raised her eyebrows. “Well, they’ve got something there. Bullets are crap in the water.” She swung her attention back to Brynna. “So? You’ll do it, right? If you’re on the swim team, you automatically pass the swim test. Unless you drown.” Lauren laughed at her own joke, a loud kind of guffaw that made Brynna want to hate her.
“Sorry, Lauren. Like I said, I don’t swim anymore.”
Lauren abruptly stopped laughing and put her fists on her hips. “Why the hell not?”
Brynna wished that Evan would say something, would drag her out of this horrible inquiry, but he did nothing, looking at her with an open face.
She snapped her locker shut and spun the dial. “I just don’t.” She slipped away from Lauren and Evan without looking back over her shoulder. She didn’t need to look to know they were staring at her.
Brynna was out past the double doors and had cleared campus in less than fifteen minutes. Hawthorne High was situated on a huge expanse of rolling green hill bisected with paved paths the students were supposed to walk on but never did. There were bald patches of grass, mostly under the craggy cypress trees from years of kids hanging out, and the usual detritus that came from high school: crushed soda cans that never quite made it into recycling, wadded up McDonald’s wrappers under a poster of a fat owl saying “Give a hoot, don’t pollute” that was tacked to a metal trash can. Everything whirled by Brynna. She was walking fast but aimlessly, just needing to move her body—to feel her legs, to propel herself somehow. If she could walk, maybe she could leave everything behind. She crossed campus then turned and started again, walking until her legs ached. Sweat was rimming her hairline and breaking out on her upper lip when her phone rang. She glanced at the number on the screen and caught her breath. Butterflies turned into bat wings and stabbed at her stomach. It wasn’t the phone number that unnerved her—she didn’t recognize that—it was the area code. Six-two-one. Point Lobos.
With a shaking hand, Brynna slid a finger across the screen and pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
There was nothing but static at first, then the high-pitched screech of a girl and a round of far-off laughter.
“Brynna?”
The breathy voice that answered her made Brynna’s stomach drop into her shoes.
“Erica?” Brynna’s voice was pleading. “Erica?”
“Drink this!”
There was a garbled response, and Brynna realized that the people on the phone weren’t talking to her. She heard their indistinct voices and the jostling of the phone as if it was in someone’s pocket. She was about to hang up, to chalk the thing up to a random butt dial, when she heard a voice—distinct, sharp.
“No, no, no, my turn!”
She knew the voice from somewhere—didn’t she?
Laughter. Something popping. Another voice.
“Okay then, go!”
It wasn’t Lauren or Darcy, but she knew that voice too. The first girl laughed then started up again.
“Okay.” A muffled, drunken snicker. “I dare you to take off all your clothes and jump, right now.”
Ice water shot through Brynna’s veins. She wanted to drop the phone, to run. But she was paralyzed, phone pressed to her ear.
“Where? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You. Take off your clothes. Walk your fine little butt to the edge and jump. Come on, Erica…”
The voice belonged to Brynna.
She strained to hear over the thundering sound of her blood as it pulsed in her ears. Every cell in her body was electric, moving so fast that Brynna felt like her skin would explode. Sweat broke out over her upper lip, dampening her palms, and her chest ached, begging her to breathe.
She remembered every second.
In her mind’s eye, she could see pictures of that night, of all of them—Erica, Brynna, Ella, Michael, and Jay, bare feet pressed in the sand as the fire crackled in front of them. Behind them, screams, laughter, and the soft music as the end-of-summer party went on. Erica was winding a stray piece of Lincoln-purple crepe paper around and around her hand. Michael kept hiccupping. Brynna leaned against him, breathing out the saturated sweetness of breath soaked with some kind of punch that made her eyes cross.
“So you want me to get buck naked and jump off the pier? First of all, the water is, like, eight degrees.”
Ella started to crow like a chicken.
“It’s August. The ocean is, like, sixty-eight degrees.”
There was a muffled, masculine voice, and Brynna remembered Michael nuzzling into her neck, saying something disgusting about sixty-nine. Holding the phone against her ear, she shivered and pulled back, thinking of his beer-soaked lips kissing the spot behind her ear. Then, the feeling was warm and sensual; now, just the thought sent ice water down her spine.
“Okay.” Brynna listened to her own voice sounding foreign on the phone. “No nakedness. In your clothes.”
Erica said something muffled, and Brynna’s heart started to speed up as memory filled in the gap.
“Just because you dare people to do stuff doesn’t mean they have to, Bryn. You don’t rule the world.”
She remembered the way she felt then, her body made lithe by the liquor, her skin hot from the fire, from Michael’s body heat.
“Prove it!” Brynna sang back to her friend.
Brynna took a few steps back on the lawn as if the scene was still in front of her. The chill that ran through her was gone, replaced by a searing heat that oozed into every pore of her body. She felt the fist knotting in her chest. She knew what came next.
“Come on.” Brynna could hear sand shifting, bodies moving. She knew that was when she rolled onto her knees and eyed Erica hard. “You said dare, you have to do it, you big baby. It’s not my rule. It’s the world’s rule.”
The soft cackle of her friends’ agreement.
Erica’s silence.
“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll totally do it with you since you’re such a massive wimp.”
“Bryn, for a best friend, you’re a super huge ass. But if I have to do it, your big assiness is coming in with me.”
“’Kay, but you both should really take your clothes off. They could be a water hazard.” Jay’s warning was equal parts drunken and lascivious.
“Okay, so, there’s no way I could, like, do something else?” Erica again.
“Come on, wimp. You’re doing it.”
She knew she didn’t want to hear anymore, but she couldn’t get her arm to move. She was paralyzed in the makeshift park, the phone pressed against her ear.
Erica’s groan. “Fine. But I’m shaving off your eyebrows when you fall asleep.”
There was a silent pause, and Brynna remembered her and Erica running down the beach. Her toes itched as if the sand were still there. Her palm twitched, remembering the way she pulled Erica along.
We were laughing, Brynna reminded herself. We were both laughing.
There was more static on the phone as if someone was fumbling or moving with it. The sound of the ocean was more clear now, the rhythmic whoosh of waves pounding shore.
“Time to step out of your comfort zone, E!”
“May you get eaten by a great white, Brynnie.”
Brynna was there again, standing on the dock, the sliver of yellow moonlight washing over her and Erica as though it were dawn. She felt Erica grab her hand this time.
“If I go down, you’re going down with me.”
Brynna dropped the phone and slammed a hand over her mouth as the crash of the water flooded the earpiece.
They jumped.
Tears filled her eyes and the line went dead.
“Ms. Chase?”
Brynna whirled and threw her arms up instinctively. She was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering, and although her mind was registering someone standing in front of her, that was where recognition stopped.
“Brynna?”
She felt a soft touch on her forearm and stepped back.
“Just breathe.”
“Mr. Fallbrook.”
Brynna’s English teacher was standing in front of her, his head cocked, his normally shining blue eyes clouded. “I’m sorry if I scared you—are you okay?”
Mr. Fallbrook looked barely old enough to be a teacher and had the high school girls following him around Hawthorne High in a panting, giggling line. His hand was still on Brynna’s arm, soft, barely touching her, but her heart was still thudding so hard it hurt, and she wanted to tell him everything. He was an adult; he could make everything all right.
“Um…” Immediately she heard the echo of Erica’s voice on the phone, the definitive tone of her own as she ordered her friend to jump. “It was just—I just…” She stared down at the phone dumbly then used the back of her hand to swipe at her tears. “Nothing. Thanks.”
His hand dropped from her arm, but his concerned expression didn’t break. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Shouldn’t you?”
A small smile touched Mr. Fallbrook’s lips. “I’m a teacher and I have a free period. You’re a student and you have…?” He raised his eyebrows.
“P.E.”
“Look, if there’s something wrong, you can talk to me, but you’re going to have to go back to class eventually. If you’re not feeling well, I can write you a pass to the nurse’s office.”
Brynna grabbed her phone from the grass. She shoved it into her back pocket and sniffed, trying her best to settle herself into some semblance of a non-hysterical mess. “That’s okay. I’m fine, really.” She shouldered her bag and started to walk, making a straight line for the school building. “Thanks,” she called over her shoulder. Mr. Fallbrook stood, watching her go.
She was met at the double glass doors by Evan. He was framed perfectly on the other side of the glass, arms crossed in front of his chest, a sharp, scrutinizing look marring his features.
“What was that all about?” he asked as he stepped through the door. His brown eyes grazed over Brynna and immediately brightened. “Oh my god. You’ve been having an affair. You’re pregnant with his love child.”
Brynna was taken aback and found herself laughing. “No.”
Evan frowned, running a hand through his rumpled brown hair. “Nothing good ever happens around here.”
“What are you doing out of class?”
He shrugged. “Same thing you are. Ditching.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Come on.”
Brynna wanted to stop him. She wanted to find a dark corner, dig the phone out of her pocket, and listen to the call message again and again, as if every second, every staccato note of the conversation, wasn’t already etched in her head. But Evan linked her arm and dragged her toward the student lot.
“Wait,” Brynna said as they approached the edge of the grass. “Fallbrook is out here. He knows I have P.E.”
Evan put a hand over his eyes, shielding the sun. He did a quick scan. “I don’t see him. Besides, Fallbrook remembers what it’s like to be young. He’s not going to report us. He’s not been at Hawthorne long enough to get bitter and start hating his students.” He waggled his eyebrows. “He’s still fresh. So come on!”
Once Brynna was strapped into the passenger seat and Evan had cleared the Hawthorne campus, she tried to focus on him, on the road in front of them, but Erica and Michael and Ella and Jay kept whispering in the back of her mind.
“You said dare, you have to do it!”
“It’s not my rule. It’s the world’s rule.”
“Earth to Queen B!” Evan said, snapping a finger a half inch from her nose. “Want to get something to drink?”
She snapped to attention, eyes wide as she stared at Evan’s profile. Immediately, she could feel the hard burn of something smoky and dark as it slipped down her throat, singing away the memories, her reality. Her mouth started to water, and she could feel an icy cup in her hands, could feel the way her stomach churned with the first few swallows of vodka or whiskey or rum.
She was supposed to be over that. She was supposed to be better now.
But it wasn’t the alcohol she craved; it was the oblivion that came with it. She knew she was breaking every rule they had forced her to learn at rehab. She knew that she was breaking her probation. She didn’t care.
“Yeah, I do.”
Evan flashed a wide grin at her and flipped on his blinker. “Great. I know the best place.”