Page 3 of Even After Sunset

I think.

“Gosh, get a room!” I shout, picking up a pool noodle beside me and launching it at Seb. It hits him smack in the side of the head, bullseye, and the two of them jerk back, mid makeout session. Seb turns and laughs when he realizes I was the instigator of the attack, grabs the noodle and strides through the water toward me with a predatory smile.

I scuttle across the pool deck to reach for another stray noodle, and seconds later, the two of us are involved in a swash-buckling noodle sword fight. And two minutes after that, more people have joined in, too.

I’m going to miss this: summer pool parties and spontaneous backyard barbecues, group trips for ice-cream at Scoopies that turn into evenings on the boardwalk and midnight skinny dipping.

All stolen moments, I remind myself, that don’t really belong to me.

A sophomore interrupts our epic battle when she makes her way down the steps from the main house and calls over to Scarlett. “Some guys from Allerston Lake just tried to crash the party!”

Scarlett puts down her drink and gets to her feet.

“What?!”

Her reaction is a little over-kill. Allerston Lake is just a less affluent town, about forty-five miles from here. It’s actually the town where I grew up. Where Silas still lives, as far as I know: I haven’t seen my former best friend in almost seven years. Since the day two police officers came to pick me up from school in fifth grade to tell me the news about my mother. And two other officers dragged Silas from his home, kicking and screaming, because he didn’t want to leave his parents lying face up in a puddle of blood on the kitchen floor.

Then Silas’s aunt Deborah agreed to become his guardian and made it clear that she didn’t want him seeing me ever again. Which I understand, given everything that went down. But still, I wish we could have at least stayed in touch. I wish he was on social media even, so I could see what he looks like at least.

I would be lying if I said I don’t drive out to Allerston Lake sometimes, past his house even, hoping to catch even a glimpse of him.

Anyway, all this to say that Allerston Lake is kind of a run down town. No gated subdivisions. Definitely no historic cobblestone shopping district or French patisseries or coffee shops with flowery wreaths on the door with bells that jingle when you leave. So I guess in Scarlett’s world, maybe that equates crime and mayhem and midnight rumbles at the drive-in.

“There were three of them. Totally hammered, and trying to pick fights and stuff,” Scarlett’s self-appointed messenger informs her. “But they’re gone now: Xavier and a few of the other guys kicked them out.”

“Are they definitely gone?” Scarr asks, glancing around as if one of them may have wandered out into the back yard un-noticed.

The girl shifts, still not leaving. “Um, yeah. They’re gone…It got a little rough. That’s what I wanted to tell you: one of the Allerston Lake guys shoved someone into that blue and yellow sculpture in the front hall. The glass one?” She lifts her shoulders bashfully, likeshe’sthe one who was throwing punches in the front hall. “And it broke. Like, it shattered all over the floor.”

“Oh my God!” Scarlett shrieks. “The Chihuly? Those thugs broke my dad’s freakingChihuly sculpture?”

“Relax, Scarr.” Sebastian hoists himself out of the pool. “It’ll be fine… It wasn’t like it was any of your friends who broke it or anything. Your dad will understand.” He hands her another drink from the side of the pool, and the two of them get into a quiet conversation. I decide this is a good opportunity for me to head indoors and find Xave.

Inside, the music is even louder, and the air feels warm and thick—probably from the crush of bodies crowded in the sun room. The space is so huge it boasts three entire seating areas, and still,it feels cramped.

There’s a heightened vibe in here; a lingering sense of chaos… of violence. It’s the intensity of the chatter and the stretched-out expressions on people’s faces. Also, the way everyone is clustered into a large mob by the half wall that separates the sun room from the informal eating area. A couple of girls are crouched down, attempting to sweep broken bits of blue and yellow glass against the high baseboard with a towel.

As I make my way closer to the three steps at the far end of the room that lead up to a wide hallway, a group of six guys approach from the arched opening. They’re all tall and built; all on the football team. My close friend Xavier is among them, and when he spots me, he heads in my direction as the others break off and disappear into the crowd.

“It’s the gypsy queen!” Xave grins when he reaches me. I start to smile, but then notice that the whole left side of his face is red and swollen.

“Your cheek! Oh my gosh!”

He rubs it lightly with his fingers, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah, there was, uh… a small altercation.” He returns his attention to me. But then his eyes flit over to the low wall where two more girls have joined the shattered glass clean-up crew. “We had to escort a couple of unwanted guests out.”

“I heard. Are you okay? Should I get ice?”

Xavier laughs. “Already iced it. I’m good.”

We talk about other stuff for a while and then join a group of friends sitting on one of the sectionals by the fireplace. By nine o’clock, I’ve had my fill of socializing and saying my goodbyes, and I’m ready to hit the road.

Everyone crowds around the driveway when I announce that I’m leaving, and we go through another round of hugs. People cheer and wave as I climb into the driver’s seat and a couple of girls even throw handfuls of rice, which is kind of funny because I’m pretty sure you’re only supposed to do that for weddings. But it doesn’t matter because I’m so pumped that I am actually doing this. I. Am. Actually. Doing. This.

I feel more alive right now than I’ve felt in my entire life.

I turn the key in the ignition. Trudy stutters, then growls to life and people cheer louder. There’s an awkward moment where my girl-power pride deflatesa little as I wrestle with the gearshift, yanking it forward and back, then forward again three times before it locks into drive.

And then I’m off, rattling along the winding cobblestone path and onto the main road, hoping that someone is filming right now—because I can’t imagine what this must look like: a giant yellow camper pulling out of a fancy suburban driveway in the middle of the night.

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