Darcy looked me up and down, taking in my white tank top and gray, wide-leg sweats with the side stripe. “You can borrow something of mine,” she said, reaching for my hand and pulling me toward the stairs.
“Dad will kill us if we sneak out,” I said, grasping at straws.
“So? What else is new?”
“Darcy—”
“Oh, come on, Rory!” she whined, tipping her head back as she now took both my hands in hers. “Please? Please, please, please? I’m dying of boredom here. We’ve been locked up in this house for two whole days after being locked up in our house for a week. Please come with me? I’m begging you here. Please? You owe me.”
I looked into my sister’s eyes and felt a thump of foreboding mixed with overwhelming guilt.
“Why do I owe you?” I asked slowly. She didn’t know, right? How could she possibly know?
She glanced away and lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know. For defending you to Dad the other day? For defending you to Dad every day? For leaving behind all my friends and ditching Becky’s party and missing my graduation to come here?”
“Like that was my fault,” I pointed out. But still. I could breathe a small sigh of relief, because at least she hadn’t been talking about Christopher. At least she hadn’t somehow found out. But the damage was done, and the guilt was now pressing down on my chest.
Besides, Darcy was right. She had given up a lot to come here. When Steven Nell had attacked me, she’d been looking forward not only to her graduation and Becky’s bash, but also to about a half dozen other parties and a trip down the shore. Not to mention another summer working at her friend Liam’s family restaurant. This year she would be old enough to bartend and bring home “mad tips.” I’d never liked or understood her friends, but she lived for them, and all of that had been taken from her.
“All right, fine. We’ll go,” I said, shoving my feet into the sneakers I had kicked off next to my bed earlier. “But I’m wearing my own clothes.”
“Yay!” Darcy actually hugged me for half a second, and a smile flickered on my lips. I moved to the wardrobe, yanked out my favorite navy-blue Adidas zip sweatshirt and zipped it on over my tank. Then I followed my sister down the stairs and out the back door.
The air outside was cool, and even from down the beach, I could smell the ash on the breeze. Long, thin lines combed into the sand beneath our feet, as if it had recently been evened out and spruced up by a maintenance crew. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and matched Darcy’s casual pace as we approached the bonfire. My pulse raced with nerves when the first revelers on the outskirts of the crowd started to notice us. I felt conspicuous, like I didn’t belong here. But Darcy was in her element. She paused a few feet from the fire and pushed one hand into the back pocket of her jeans, shaking her hair away from her face.
“There he is,” she said through her teeth, sliding her eyes to the right.
Darcy’s dark-haired hottie stood with Lauren and Olive near a blue cooler. They were with the two boys and the pretty blond girl from the general store, along with two more surfer-type guys and the redhead who had stared at us from the sidewalk. All of them were beautiful and completely at ease, their hair wind-tossed, their smiles carefree, their clothes loose and beachy and casual.
>
“The key is to let the guy come to you,” Darcy informed me, leaning slightly toward my ear. “Never, ever go to—”
“Hi, there.”
We both jumped. Darcy’s crush stood just to her right, holding a red cup and wearing a perfect, smooth grin. He had one dimple in his left cheek. His brown hair fell over his right eye, and the sleeves of his red T-shirt clung to his biceps. His jeans were frayed at the bottom, and he was barefoot, as was the rest of his group. Even Darcy had gone shoeless. Suddenly, I felt out of place in my laced-up running sneakers.
Then the blond guy from across the street fixed his eyes on mine. A split second later, he looked away and sipped his drink. I licked my dry lips and clutched my hands together behind my back. My pulse began to race as I wondered if he would talk to me—what I would say to him if he did.
“Hi. I’m Darcy Thayer,” my sister was saying. She tilted her head with a smile. Her long brown hair tumbled over her bare shoulder.
“Joaquin Marquez,” the guy said. He gestured at the blond guy, and I noticed that Joaquin was wearing the same woven leather bracelet Lauren had on. “This is Tristan Parrish.”
Tristan simply nodded. My eyes darted to his arms. Sure enough, a leather bracelet was tied around his wrist.
“And that’s his sister, Krista,” Joaquin said, lifting his cup toward the blond girl, who wore a gauzy white dress; a long, delicate gold necklace; and the bracelet, although hers looked newer than the others.
“Hello,” she said, her eyes trailing over me from head to toe as if she were a fashion designer scrutinizing her work. There was a sophisticated confidence about her, which wasn’t all that surprising considering how beautiful she was. She had the same sharp cheekbones as her brother and the same stunning blue eyes. “I love your hair,” she mused, touching the end of my braid.
“Um, thanks.” I squirmed under her touch.
“How about we get through introductions first before you grope her, Krista?” Joaquin suggested lightly.
“Sorry,” Krista apologized, dropping my hair.
“Don’t mind her. She’s cute but socially awkward,” Joaquin said under his breath, leaning slightly toward us.
“Shut up!” Krista said, shoving his arm but smiling in a self-deprecating way as everyone else laughed. So he was that guy. Didn’t matter if what he said was rude or obnoxious, everyone just let him say it. Darcy had one of those in her crowd—her friend Liam—and I couldn’t stand him.