Page 70 of Within These County Lines

A few of the windows are open, but with it pushing a hundred degrees outside, they might as well be closed. The heat swirls through the house like steam trapped in a pressure cooker. In the kitchen, five people lounge on the counter, shouting over each other. Another group plays flip cup at the table, chugging beer and howling like wild animals. Everyone glistens with sweat.

Xander points to a tray of soggy hot dogs swarmed by flies, then sticks his finger in his throat. “I no longer miss the presence of other humans,” he says.

Whitley winces. “Don’t tell my dad these are the participants in my study,” she says. “He’ll never think I’m legit. Better yet, don’t mention this party to anybody.”

She tugs at the bracelets around her wrist, but my attention shifts past her, out through the sliding glass door. On the back deck, gripping a beer so strongly the can caves under his fingers, stands Murray. My chest tightens like he’s squeezing me too.

Amanda laughs, oblivious to my spiraling. “We started drinking at ten this morning, so it’s been a gradual decline in decency,” she says. “But we’re doing fireworks later and there’s still beer outside. Have at it.”

“Where should we start?” Whitley asks.

I fixate on Murray.

She follows my gaze, then lets out a heavy sigh. “Oh. Oh, no.”

Xander leans in. “That’s him. From the pictures. It’s your ex.”

I exhale. “Yeah. Unfortunately, it is.”

“Relax,” Whitley says. “According to your story, it’s not like he can see you.”

“I know,” I say, inhaling sharply. “But the sight of him is bad enough.”

She groans. “For the hundredth time, if you told me what he did, I could actually understand your feelings.”

Xander gasps. “Was he a cheater?” he asks.

“No.” I drag a hand down my face. Why didn’t I think about the possibility of him being here? He’s starting in the fall.

“Let’s get what we need and get the hell on out of here,” Whitley proclaims.

She’s right. A Penango College party with my ex isn’t where I want to spend my night. None of the couples here know that in a year’s time their boyfriend might be a gaslighter, their girlfriend might resent them for wanting something more, or their perfect person might do what Murray did to me earlier this summer.

I step around her.

“Hey, Amanda?” I ask.

She raises her eyebrows.

“Before we grab drinks . . . Whitley said you knew something about Pinehurst Swim Club.”

Her expression changes. Her back stiffens. She glances over both shoulders before pressing a finger to her lips. “Don’t be so loud,” she whispers. “That’s sensitive stuff.”

I shift on my feet. “Oh. Uh. Sorry.”

She nods toward the flip cup table. “You can ask Robbie about it.”

“The guy in the tank top?”

“Mm-hmm.” She swirls her half-empty cup. “His stepsister was the one who went missing there.”

“Went what?!” Xander, Whitley, and I shout in unison.

For the first time all night, Amanda isn’t laughing.

31

“There’s another one of us!” Xander yells.