So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy)
Read So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy) Online
Authors: Rachel Carter
EDICATION
To my father, Phil Carter, for never doubting
ONTENTS
HAPTER
1
T
he
bonfire in the clearing spits out flames and smoke. Red, yellow, orange sparks fly up into the night sky. My classmates cluster around it, everyone drinking out of red plastic cups. It’s the seniors’ unofficial end-of-the-year party, and this small open space in the woods is packed and pulsing with bodies.
I stand to the side and pretend to sip at the bitter, cheap beer. The forest rises behind me, the silhouettes of trees towering overhead. Shadows dip and blend as the wind rustles branches and sends the smoke of the bonfire in all different directions. Someone has hooked up a stereo to a car battery and I can feel the beat pounding through the crowd. The lyrics, something about mushrooms and dark corners, are muffled in the shouting and noise.
The fire gives off enough light to illuminate the clearing, but beyond this circle the woods are a black, impenetrable wall. I don’t know why the seniors decided to throw this party at Camp Hero, a state park at the very eastern end of Montauk. I’ve been here a hundred times with my grandfather, walking along the sea cliffs that border the park, or hiking through the dense, sunlit forest. But it feels like a different place at night—the darkness creeps through the trees like a living thing.
On the other side of the fire, my best friend, Hannah, waits in line for the keg. She looks bored and a little lost in her long peasant skirt, her black hair parted down the middle. A tipsy girl in front of her stumbles, and beer splashes on the people nearby. Hannah scowls and steps away. She catches my eye across the clearing and raises her eyebrows in a
What have you gotten me into?
look.
I smile and turn to see Shannon Perkins approaching. “Hey, Lydia,” she says. Her blond hair is straight and sleek, her bright dress tight. “I thought you said you weren’t coming tonight.” Her eyes are glassy and unfocused and she smiles widely in my general direction.
“How could I miss all this?” I wave my hand toward the keg, where a bunch of guys are lifting Dave Marcus, a senior, into a keg stand. “One, two, three, four …” everyone chants in unison as he sputters around the foaming beer. The crowd is roaring and the wind whips through the fire, making it crackle and spark.
“Yeah, Dave!” Shannon calls out, and her voice is immediately swallowed up in the rest of the noise. “Do you think he’s gonna break his record?” she asks more quietly.
I give her a confused look. “I have no idea.”
“Oh, right, Lydia. I forgot you never come to these things.”
I shrug. I
don’t
ever come to these things, and I’m still not sure what compelled me to tonight.
Shannon smiles at me again, slightly more focused this time. “I liked that article you did for the paper, the one about the squad. Let me know if you want any more quotes.”
I smile back. “Sure. Thanks for helping out.” Shannon and I both grew up in Montauk, and we’ve known each other since we were little kids. We’re not exactly friends now—our social circles are different—but we’re still friendly.
Shannon tugs at the spaghetti strap on her dress, forgetting that she’s still holding her beer. It spills a little, and the tiny, amber-colored drops catch in her hair. “God, can you believe we’re going to be seniors?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No. Sometimes it feels like we’re still in second grade, running around on the beach, building sand castles and stuff.”
Hannah approaches us, her plastic cup empty. “I couldn’t get any beer before the frat-boy routine started.” She looks surprised when she sees me talking to Shannon, and they awkwardly nod at each other.
“Well, I’ll see you around, Lydia.” Shannon waves as she walks away.
Hannah steals the cup from my hand and takes a sip of the warm beer. She grimaces as she swallows. “What did the cheerleader want?” She wipes her hand across her mouth and shoves the drink back at me.
“Just to say hi. What’s your problem with her, anyway?”
“I don’t like cheerleaders on principle. It’s for all of us artsy nerds that ever felt the sharp sting of a mean girl’s wrath.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re delusional. Shannon’s not like that.”
“Whatever. All you Montauk kids are so weird. You’re so …
nice
to each other. It’s not natural.”
I laugh at her scrunched-up expression. “It’s a tiny town. You have to be nice to everyone. You’re just mad you grew up in fancy East Hampton with all the celebrities.”
“Hey, it’s not all Barefoot Contessa and Burberry. Some of us are regular old middle class.”
“You’re so lucky I came along to save you from the pampered masses.” I put my arm around her, squeezing her smaller figure up against mine. I’m not tall, but Hannah’s practically miniature.
“Get off me.” She twists away, laughing.
Hannah and I have been inseparable since eighth grade, when my small Montauk class started getting shipped over to East Hampton to attend the larger regional high school. Our lockers were next to each other, we were in all the “smart kid” classes together, and we both harbored a secret love of old musicals. Our friendship was basically inevitable.
There’s a tall, lanky boy headed in our direction. Hannah groans. “Don’t look now, but your boyfriend’s coming over.”
“Stop,” I whisper. “We’re just friends.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Hi, Grant,” I say, loud enough to drown out Hannah’s giggling.
“Hey.” He grins as he approaches. “Lydia. How’s it going?”
“Good.” I smile tightly. “How are you?”
“Awesome. I’m glad you came.” He tries to catch my eye, but I avoid his gaze, concentrating on the cup in my hands.
“Awkward,”
I hear Hannah drawl under her breath. I resist the urge to elbow her.
It didn’t used to be like this. Grant and I grew up next to each other on the same quiet, tree-lined street. But lately he’s been watching me when he thinks I’m not looking, following me down the halls at school, and waiting for me after my classes. I’m dreading the day he tries to make a move.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here.” He sounds surprised.
I’m starting to get kind of offended. Sure, I don’t come to parties often, but it’s not like I’m a social pariah.
“Hannah and I decided to mix things up,” I say, keeping my tone deliberately light. “You can only watch
Singin’ in the Rain
so many times.”
“That is
so
not true,” Hannah mumbles.
Grant laughs. “I remember you used to make me watch that movie over and over. I think I still know it by heart.”
I laugh with him, remembering the blanket forts we would make in his living room that left only a tiny window to see the TV. Grant and I used to spend every minute together, just playing and laughing, and a part of me wishes we could go back to that time, before everything became so complicated.
“Do you want another drink?” Grant asks.
I shake my head. “I’ve had my fill of cheap beer for the night.” To make my point I tip my cup over, and the last of the pale liquid splashes to the ground.
Hannah clutches my arm dramatically. “Not the precious beer. We can’t possibly lose the beer!”
Grant laughs and plays at being offended. “You don’t have to waste it.”
Hannah straightens. “I dare you to tell me it accomplishes anything other than drunken hookups and hangovers.”
“I don’t know, what about a little liquid courage?” He holds my gaze before tipping his cup back and taking a sip. I look at Hannah helplessly. She shrugs, trying to contain a smile.
It’s not that Grant isn’t cute. He might have been painfully dorky when we were younger, with his love of
Battlestar Galactica
and anime, but lately he’s cornered the whole sensitive guy thing. He wears Chucks and skinny jeans and he’s the editor of our school’s literary magazine. He’s tall, so tall that I have to tip my head back to look at his face, and all long and lanky. The goth girls worship him.
“Well, I need a refill.” He shakes his empty cup in my direction. “Let me get you one.” He gives me an intense look, tilting his head to one side and staring at me through a fall of shaggy black hair.
“No, thanks.”
Hannah is quiet as he starts to move away from us. The music has shifted from pounding rap to some shrill popstar. The breeze picks up and I smell the sharp salt of the ocean, the beach only a few miles from here. It’s a familiar smell for those of us who grew up in Montauk, a town so far out on the tip of Long Island it feels as though we’re more connected to the water than the land.
“Is he why you wanted to come tonight?” The way Hannah asks it sounds like an accusation.
My mouth falls open. “Of course not! You know I don’t like Grant like that.”
“You keep saying that, but you don’t seem to be doing anything to discourage him.”
“I don’t want to hurt him.” I turn away, staring at where the fire burns in the middle of the clearing. A drunk guy is pretending to throw a freshman girl into the flames. The girl’s shrieks echo through the night, so that it sounds like the screaming is coming from the woods behind us.