He glances up the beach to the dark cliff wall, where he’d planned to sleep, then nods.
Together, we walk to the bonfire.
***
It’s late.
Everyone is drunk.
The stars sway and slip out of alignment overhead, reconfiguring themselves. My head thrums; my skin itches from the salt water.
We find a place to sit on an open log, and I untie my shoes, leaning them against the ring of rocks encircling the bonfire. My cheeks already feel flushed, and my toes tingle as the blood circulates back through my feet. The fire licks at the sky, licks at my palms.
“Thank you again,” I say, looking at him from the corner of my eye. “For the rescue.”
“Right place at the right time, I guess.”
“Most guys aren’t so chivalrous around here.” I rub my palms together, trying to warm them, my fingers cold to the bone. “The town might be required to give you a parade.”
He smiles full and big for the first time, a softness in his eyes. “The hero requirements in this town must be pretty low.”
“We just really like parades.”
Again he smiles.
And it means something. I don’t know what, only that I’m intrigued by him. This outsider. This boy who glances at me from the corner of his eye, who feels both familiar and new all at the same time.
Down near the water’s edge, I can see Rose still talking to three boys who’ve taken a sudden interest in her after her swim, but at least she’s safe and out of the water. Half of the crowd has wandered back up to the bonfire, and beers are handed around. My head still feels swimmy from all the whiskey, so I set the beer in the sand at my feet.
“What’s your name?” I ask the boy as he takes a long sip of his beer.
“Bo.” He holds the can loosely in his right hand, casual, noncommittal. He doesn’t seem uneasy in this foreign social setting, in a new town surrounded by strangers. And no one seems to think he looks out of place.
“I’m Penny,” I say, glancing at him, his eyes so green it’s hard to look away. Then, twisting my hair over my shoulder to ring out the small amount of seawater from the ends, I ask, “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
I press my hands together between my knees. Smoke from the fire swirls over us, and the music continues to blare. Olivia and Lola stumble up to the edge of the bonfire, hugging each other around the waist and looking completely trashed.
“Are those the Swan sisters?” Bo asks. Olivia and Lola do look alike, with their jet-black hair and matching piercings, so I can see why he might think they’re related.
But I let out a short laugh. “No, just friends.” I dig the toes of my right foot into the sand. “The Swan sisters are dead.”
Bo turns back to me.
“Not recently,” I amend. “They died two centuries ago—drowned in the harbor.”
“Drowned on accident or by intention?”
Olivia, who is standing on the other side of Bo, laughs hard and sharp. She must have overheard his question. “It was murder,” she answers for me, peering down at him. Her coral lips arch into a smile. She thinks Bo is cute—who wouldn’t?
“It wasn’t murder,” Lola counters, swaying left then right. “It was an execution.”
Olivia nods in agreement then looks across the bonfire. “Davis!” she calls. “Tell the legend.”
Davis McArthurs, who has his arm around a girl with pixie-cut dark hair, grins and walks closer to the fire. It’s tradition to recount the story of the Swan sisters, and Davis seems rather pleased with himself to be the one to do it. He finds an open stump and stands on top, peering down at everyone around the bonfire. “Two hundred years ago—” he begins, voice booming, far louder than is necessary.
“Start at the beginning,” Lola interrupts.
