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“I enjoyed ‘Wannabe’ the most,” she replies, smirking.
“Fuck. I’m going to kill Kyle.”
“Was he the lucky guy last night?” She winks.
I make an unintelligible sound, and Emma’s arrival saves me from actually having to answer. I didn’t hook up with any of the more-than-willing soccer guys last night. I drank myself into a haze that apparently resulted in a Spice Girls concert.
Emma arrives next, bouncing into the room and leaping atop the back of the couch. Except she misjudges the distance and ends up half-smothering me.
“Emma!” I protest as her elbow digs into my left thigh.
“Miss me?” She grins, rolling back onto the cushions she was actually aiming for. “I thought you were some badass soccer player who couldn’t feel pain. The way you talked about Scholenberg, I thought you’d come back wrapped in a wall of muscle or something.”
“I’ve always been a badass soccer player,” I respond.
Emma’s attention shifts to the living room. “Damn, I knew I should have come back last night. You had a party without me?”
I shrug. “Just a few of the soccer guys.”
Emma perks back up. “Speaking of which, I told them we’d meet them at Peak’s Point in twenty minutes. Put on something other than…that.” She wrinkles her nose at the sweatpants I’ve barely taken off this past week. “Anne’s meeting us there.”
I groan. “Now?”
“Now. It’s senior year, Saylor. I don’t care how hungover you are.”
“I’m not hungover,” I protest, even though I absolutely am.
“Uh-huh,” Emma replies, giving Cressida a hug and then bouncing upstairs.
I trail after her and into my bedroom, yanking off the baggy T-shirt I paired with sweatpants this morning.
I put on a bikini and then pull the same T-shirt back on, too lazy to find something else. I twist my hair up in a messy bun, grab my sunglasses, and meet Emma in the hallway. She’s wearing an emerald sarong and eyes my outfit critically.
“Don’t start,” I warn.
“What about that cute cotton dres?—”
“It’s dirty,” I reply, which is true. I still haven’t unpacked any of my suitcases from Germany. I’m wearing my second favorite bikini because I don’t want to look at the one I wore with Beck.
Emma sighs.
I follow her downstairs, where Cressida is already waiting, always the first one ready. She’s changed into a tank top that sapphire bikini straps peek out from and a pair of athletic shorts. Emma sighs again when she sees Cressida’s choice of attire, and Cress and I share a grin.
It’s a short trip to Peak’s Point, which is a small enclave filled with brackish water. Its sandy beach is littered with enough stone to keep snobbish tourists away, which makes it a prime party location for Lancaster students. The road is lined with cars since there’s no actual parking lot.
I climb out of the back seat of Emma’s SUV and squint at the water before slipping on my sunglasses. We traipse along the thin trail that cuts through the greenery lining the road and then hit the rocky shore that slowly turns into more sand than pebbles. It’s not just the soccer teams here. I plop down next to Sarah Hawley, who is on the field hockey team.
“Hey, Sarah.” I lean back on my hands.
“Hey, Saylor,” she replies. “Good summer?”
Emma snorts as she settles on my other side. “Great summer. This lucky bitch was at Scholenberg.”
“Should I know what that is?” Sarah replies, looking confused.
“It’s a soccer camp in Germany. They play at the Kluvberg field,” Emma explains.
“Wait, isn’t FC Kluvberg the team Adler Beck plays for?” Sarah asks.
