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I mean, that is plausible. Peyton wouldn’t even have to break in to steal them.

Paul bought me one of those fake rocks you hide a spare house key inside, just in case I ever locked myself out. With my dad gone so much, he wanted to make sure I always had a way in. He bought one for their house too after Peyton managed to lose more than a few keys in a single week. Which means she knows exactly where I keep a spare.

She’s had plenty of opportunities too. Other than my days off on Mondays and Fridays, I usually work at the diner after school. She could’ve come over any other weekday, let herself inside with the spare key, and taken every notebook without anyone seeing her.

So maybe I’ve spent the last few hours blaming Misty for something Peyton did all on her own.

“Max! Come on! Stop standing there and get in the car.”

There’s only one way I’m going to know for sure whether Misty had anything to do with this whole shitshow. I need to talk to her.

“Okay, I’ll go. But I really need to talk to you when we get there, okay?”

“Sure, babe. Just get in the car. I didn’t get this cute to waste my Friday night parked on your street,” she says while checking her makeup in the rearview mirror. “Simon’s been looking real good lately.”

“Stay away from Simon. He’s a creep,” I say, sliding into the back seat and doing my best not to slam the door.

“Still hot, though. Not Milo Fetcher hot, or even Craig Peterson hot, but he’s a close runner-up.” She reapplies her lip gloss in the mirror and smacks her lips together. “Slim pickings in this town, girls. You have to nab the ones you can.”

Before I can get a word in, Misty tosses her lip gloss into her bag, starts the engine, and pulls away from the curb. I open my mouth to speak, but she cranks up the volume on her playlist, drowning out any chance of a conversation as she launches into her own one-woman karaoke show.

I love Halsey, but after listening to Misty murder one of her songs at a pitch I’m pretty sure only dogs can hear, it might take me a few weeks before I can listen to her again.

Only when the familiar streets of Fairhope begin disappearing behind us do I sit up straight.

“Wait. Where are we going?” I shout over the music.

“I told you. A party.”

“Where?”

“The old mill, silly. That’s where everyone goes after the football games.”

I swallow dryly, not exactly thrilled about the location.

Crowley Mill doesn’t hold particularly good memories for me. Then again, I doubt anyone around here remembers the place fondly. Not after it went belly-up and took half the town’s jobs with it.

The papermill has been sitting abandoned ever since it closed down years ago. Every once in a while, rumors circulate that the owners are looking to sell the property, but so far, no one seems particularly interested in buying that much land in Fairhope. And since the owners apparently aren’t interested in paying to demolish it either, they’ve simply left the place to rot.

That neglect, however, has turned it into every Fairhope teenager’s playground. No security, no adults, and plenty of room to do things you don’t want anyone else to see.

I try to temper my anxiety and remind myself that going to this stupid party will kill two birds with one stone—I’ll get to confront Misty and finally get to the bottom of who stole my notebooks, and I’ll get to see Milo.

The thought of him is the only thing that manages to calm my nervous system down.

My mind is still on Milo when I realize we’re no longer on the road leading to the mill.

“Misty? I think you took a wrong turn or something. This isn’t how you get to the old mill.”

“It’s a shortcut,” she sings, turning the music a little louder.

I catch her eye in the rearview mirror, and she throws me a wink before going right back to murdering yet another song playing through the speakers.

Then I look at Kayla and frown. If I weren’t exactly thrilled about going to this party, then Kayla looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Five minutes later, Misty pulls off the road and parks near the woods. Some of my unease fades when I realize where we are.

When Mom was still… well, Mom, she and Dad used to bring me here for picnics all the time. It’s a wooded area behind the old mill, with a few weather-beaten picnic tables, tire swings hanging from the trees, and a narrow stream that winds through the woods all the way to Alder Lake.