Chip hisses her name, and Dillion spins around. “I’m stupid? You’re the idiot who’s been sitting out here moaning about being eaten alive. You’re wearing enough perfume to give someone an asthma attack. I can smell it from here. Do everyone a favor and use the bug spray so we aren’t subjected to your noise pollution.” And with that she whirls around and stomps back through the trees, flip-flops slapping angrily at the ground.

I sort of want to follow her so I can apologize some more and also so I don’t have to deal with Monica, who is now ranting about how bug spray causes cancer and her skin is too sensitive.

Chip takes her back to the RV, but even behind closed doors we can hear the bickering.

“I’m sorry, man. We didn’t mean to get you in shit with your neighbor,” Frankie says. “I can’t believe Monica said that. She’s always been annoying, but never cruel. Next time we’ll leave her at home. Who knows? Maybe this will finally put Chip over the edge and he’ll break up with her.”

“We can hope.”

They end up leaving first thing in the morning, mostly because Monica is mortified and hungover. Normally I’d let something like this roll off me, but in this case I don’t like that one of the people in my close-friend group could treat someone they don’t even know with so little respect. So I can’t say I’m all that heartbroken about the fact that they don’t stick around. I don’t need more problems than I already have. Especially not with my neighbor.

CHAPTER 11

BEACH PARTY

Dillion

“You think you can give me a ride to the beach tonight?” Billy asks no one in particular as he shovels another mouthful of hash brown casserole into his mouth. His face is about three inches from his plate. He reminds me of a cartoon character with his mouth wide open and a conveyor belt dumping food down the hatch.

“I can drive you,” I offer.

Billy frowns. “You hate the beach parties.”

He’s right. I generally avoided them when I was a teenager, and the few times I did go, I ended up regretting it. There was the time Tucker had initiated one of our many breaks and ended up hooking up with one of the summer girls from the other side of the lake right in front of me. I’d retaliated by kissing some random dude in a game of truth or dare.

Was it stupid? Yup. Did I regret it? Yes and no. I made my point, and Tucker, being the idiot he was, immediately called an end to our break. Not because he’d seen the error of his ways, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of me with anyone else.

To this day I wonder about that boy. Did I ever pass him on the street in town without realizing it? Had I imagined the energy that had zinged through my veins and lit me up from the inside? That kiss had sparked a fire in me, one that had been stoked and snuffed almost as quickly.

Or maybe I’d been drunk, and it wasn’t as magical as I remembered it to be. I don’t even know his name. Or even what he looked like from the nose down, since he’d been wearing a ball cap, and all I could make out was his mouth. Beach parties on this side of the lake are always a drunk fest, lots of hookups and general stupidity, which I’m still not a fan of—see what happened last night with Van and his friends for details. That whole fiasco reminded me of those parties back when I was a teenage girl, looking for a way out. And I have a particularly sore spot over Van’s friend’s shitty comment. I hate that I’ve once again become the small-town stereotype I’ve tried to escape my entire life.

I’m willing to set aside my disdain for beach parties, however, because as much as I dislike them, I also don’t like the idea of Billy being there with no one to watch out for him apart from his drunk and disorderly friends, who have already proven they can’t be trusted to take care of him. That much was clear when Van brought him back from the bar, drunker than a frat boy on frosh week. Last night was the first time I’d seen Van since then, and I still felt bad for assuming he’d had a hand in Billy being drunk, despite his shitty friends.

Even Tawny suggested I come, and I haven’t had a chance to get together with her and Allie yet, so this seems like as good an opportunity as any to make that happen.

I shrug. “If I’m not having fun, I won’t stay.”

An hour later I’m dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I bring a zip-up hoodie, just in case. It’s closing in on eight, and the sun is heading toward the horizon, kissing the tops of trees far off in the distance. Sometimes the breeze coming off the water can cool things down in the evening this early in the summer. It isn’t until mid-July that we get the truly hot and humid nights. Besides, it’s black fly season, and I don’t want to get eaten alive.

I even put on makeup, not because I think I need to impress anyone, but if I’m going to see all the people I went to high school with, I don’t want to look like a hag. I check my hair one last time, add some scent-free product to keep the curls from frizzing, and grab my purse, tossing a bottle of water in there so I can stay hydrated.

Billy’s already waiting for me on the porch, six-pack of beer at his feet, an open one in his hand. I’m almost certain he’s done with his antibiotics, since the infection has cleared up. I refrain from asking, though, not wanting to push his buttons. He’s in his midtwenties, and a lot of the guys I used to hang out with when I was his age could pound a twelve-pack without batting an eyelash.

He drains the rest of his beer, tosses the can in the recycling bin, and pushes out of the chair. He hops once, regains his balance, and reaches for his crutches propped against the screen next to his chair.

“You forgetting something?” I point to the six-pack.

He looks down. “Shit. Yeah.” He tries to bend over to pick it up with his crutches still tucked under his arms, which proves fruitless.

“I got it.” I nab them and head for Billy’s truck—the one he didn’t plow into a mailbox—with him crutching after me. This one he restored back in high school. It’s a 1980s Ford F-150 that’s in decent shape. A few dings in the fender and the tailgate, but otherwise it looks great and drives smoothly.

I drop the six-pack in the bed and get in, not bothering to ask if Billy needs help, since I’m aware he’ll most definitely not want mine.

“You gonna lecture me about drinking responsibly tonight?” he asks when we’re on the road, heading toward the beach.

“I wasn’t planning on it, since this is a beach party and I kind of figured the point is being irresponsible.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“Spit it out, Billy, say what you want to say.”

“I don’t need you to keep an eye on me. I’ll be fine with my friends.”

I sigh. I don’t want to fight with Billy. Ever since I’ve been home, that’s all we do, but his friends are part of the problem. He was with them the night he got that DUI, and they didn’t stop him from getting behind the wheel. Although I don’t have the full story, only the version my dad has given me. “These the same friends who left you at the bar the other night?”

“Dean’s sister was picking him up, and I wanted to finish my beer.”

“Right.” That’s why he was having a nap in one of the booths. I heard from Aaron that all the guys he’d come with had bailed, and no one aside from him and Van had done anything about it. I don’t bother to get into it with him, though, because I don’t want to set him off. “I’m not going to keep an eye on you. Tawny and Allie invited me.”