Lina lingered around the outskirts of the Club the next day, hoping to fly under the radar. She wore her favorite pair of oversized sunglasses in a pathetic attempt to disguise herself. If anything, the huge shades made her closely cropped, white-blonde hair stand out that much more. At least the rest of her outfit was ordinary, boring, and practical. She wore the only pair of shorts she owned and an army green ribbed tank top. But she drew the line at her lips and nails. In Lina’s experience, it was impossible not to be in control when wearing Big Apple Red nail polish and Venetian Red lipstick.
Dew-drenched grass tickled Lina’s toes as she wove her way along the path through the woods—laser-focused on making it to the Club’s basketball courts before Trip Gregory’s weekly game began.
When she found a large tree with a perfect hidden view, she surveyed the branches, tucked her phone into her bra band and began climbing. Her bright red nails looked shiny and out of place against the peeling bark of the tree, her muscles taut as she climbed. Only when Lina settled into the gentle curve of a thick branch did she let the tension ease slowly from between her clenched shoulders. The court was still empty, the green asphalt pristine.
She was here. She was ready. She was in control.
Lina fished out her phone and scrolled through the texts. Rose was driving her crazy with her plan for James Gregory. Apparently she’d figured out a way to get him out of his pants, but she needed Lina to play photographer. She still couldn’t get past the fact that Rose and James were a thing. There was no doubt in Lina’s mind that their relationship somehow played into Rose’s real agenda for joining the War. Her only hope was that seeing Rose and James interact tonight would finally give Lina the proof she needed to get rid of Rose McCaan for good. An image of Willa wrapping a scarf around Rose’s waist the night of the party surfaced in Lina’s mind, unbidden. Willa had been prone to picking up strays. Jessa Phillips the summer of third grade, Nora Williams in fifth, but it wasn’t until the summer of seventh that she’d found Carolina Winthrop.
Metal clanked as the door to the courts swung open and then shut again.
“Game on,” she whispered under her breath. She clicked on her camera phone.
The first boy through the gate wasn’t Trip. It was actually someone Lina didn’t recognize as a club member. A busboy. Rory Something. He walked the length of the court, right beneath Lina. Her pulse quickened. She held her breath. She hoped if she remained frozen, he wouldn’t be prickled by that feeling of another presence, the feeling of being watched. All he’d have to do is look up and she’d be screwed. Rory threw a duffle bag down against the fence, swearing when something spilled out. Small white pills rolled every which way. He jumped to stop them, furtively scooping the stash back into the container just as more players arrived. Interesting. Clearly busboy liked his meds, and liked them secret.
Trip entered the court wearing his trademark cocky smile. Other boys followed, doing the handshake-shoulder-bump that every phys ed teacher must teach males when they separate the sexes and roll condoms onto bananas. Her jaw tightened. It was as if nothing had changed. Of course, for them, nothing really had.
As they started to play, she spotted James Gregory waltzing slowly toward the gate. His eyes were hidden behind aviator sunglasses, and he sat on the bench near the courts. She stared at him looking bored out of his skull while the game around him continued, sweaty and violent. Trip threw elbows, talked trash, and generally kicked ass. She couldn’t help but be impressed. No wonder he’d wanted the basketball court relocated closer to the main grounds. After maybe ten minutes, the boys took a water break. Rory spent the majority of his time chatting up a very unengaged looking James until Trip joined the party, slapping both of the boys on the back. She couldn’t catch the exact words; she was breathing too heavily and her phone shook in her hands, but a laugh exploded from Trip’s chest. The sound rolling over the court and spilling into the woods beyond.
Without warning, he threw the ball across the court in one of those “look at me, I need attention every second of the day” kind of shots. It clanged the rim and bounced toward the fence. Trip jogged to retrieve the ball, but kicked it instead—which was odd. It rolled directly in front of Rory’s duffle. Lina held her breath again, watching Trip scoop up the ball while discreetly plucking the bottle of pills from the open zipper and tucking them into the pocket of his mesh shorts. Guess that rules out allergy medicine, Lina thought. She raised her phone to her eyes. If only she had super-zoom so she could actually see what drugs he’d just stolen.
Water bottles were emptied; players swiped the backs of their hands across their mouths and used their shirts to wipe the sweat from their faces. In the meantime, Trip trotted back to James who dug money from his bag to hand to Rory. Unbelievable. The scene below came into crisp focus. Trip hadn’t stolen a thing. She’d just witnessed the most discreet drug deal in the history of mankind.
The bark from the branch dug into Lina’s bony butt and she prayed the boys would finish soon. She was sweating. All at once, her fingers slipped and she lost her grip on the phone. It made a dull thump when it landed, partially concealed by a low shrub. A few boys turned to the sound, stretching their necks to survey the woods, but gave up and turned back to their game. Not Trip. His eyes were narrowed in the direction of Lina’s tree. He jogged to the edge of the fence, cocking his head, not a dozen feet below her. Lina made her lanky body as small as possible along the tree branch. Waiting.
Willa. Willa. Willa.
Lina couldn’t understand why she mentally repeated Willa’s name, but it was as though every thought had been washed away. Her friend’s name was the only word that remained—a mantra. Was she praying? She didn’t know; she just needed Trip to walk away.
And then he did.
She would have thought in that moment that Willa would feel closer, more alive, eternal almost. After all, she’d answered Lina’s prayers. Or someone had. But instead, it was just a stark reminder that Willa was dead. Gone. Ashes scattered. All because of a boy who hung around a country club, bought drugs, and lived his life like nothing had changed. In that moment she wanted to jump down from the tree and destroy every stupid boy on that court. On some level they were all in this together. It was the way Hawthorne Lake worked, with its secrets and cover-ups and dismissive “boys will be boys” rules. And it would happen again. To another girl. Another friend. Another sister.
For a moment Lina swayed on the branch thinking about how good it would feel to rake her red nails across James’s inscrutable face. But instead, she stilled herself, tilting her face to the sky, allowing the light filtering through the leaves above to paint her body with splashes of sun. Lina waited. She felt something inside her stir; something that felt dangerously close to hope, and for the first time since she’d handed Madge $25,000, she thought they might actually be able to do this. She finally had physical, undeniable proof of the Gregory boys breaking the law. Proof that might finally force the Captain to disinherit them both. Maybe power wasn’t an illusion after all. Maybe it was out there for the taking just as long as you knew where to find it. Or at least how to fight for it.