Then he looks around to see if anyone saw him hit her.
My first impulse is to hunker down so he doesn’t notice me, so his anger doesn’t refocus in my direction.
But I can’t hide. That’s not who I am. Or at least, it’s not who I want to be.
I lunge out of the car and slam the door behind me as hard as I can. And I stare Tom down across the stretch of oil-stained pavement.
Myrtle is sobbing, clutching her face. I know he’ll apologize to her in a few minutes—buy her a treat or a gift to make up for what he did. “You push my buttons, girl,” he’ll tell her. “You know exactly what to say to make me mad. It’s a sign, you knowing me so well. A sign that we’re meant to be together.”
I should walk straight up to them and offer to call the police. I should offer to stand by her while she holds him accountable.
But I’ve pushed my courage to the max, and Nick is waiting for me. So I glare at Tom to let him know that I witnessed the slap.
A long moment passes, his eyes locked with mine, the ugly truth hanging in the air between us. Then he turns, without saying a word, and goes inside.
I take a few steps toward Myrtle. “Are you all right?”
“Fuck off,” she snaps, and she pushes through the door into the gas station.
Sure. Fine. I can totally fuck off.
My fingers, my legs—hell, my entire insides are still trembling as I get in the car and drive away. I’m still shaking when I reach Nick’s house. The Prius almost careens into the mailbox, but I manage to avoid it and park crookedly in the driveway.
Aunt Sarah is mowing the lawn in a cutoff T-shirt, her strong, tanned arms bared to the sun. She shuts down the mower and waves. “Nick’s out back.”
“Thanks.” I skirt the house and head to the backyard.
As I walk, I breathe, and I refocus. I did what I could at that gas station—I faced Tom, maybe stopped him from doing worse to Myrtle. That was enough, for now. Tom and Myrtle aren’t my immediate problem. I need to make sure Nick is really okay.
Their pool is small, and the concrete around it is spiderwebbed with thin cracks. The blue tile is faded and chipped. But what does it really matter? The water is the main thing. Nick is sprawled face down on an inflatable pool mat, trailing his fingers through the pool’s limpid surface. His freckled back looks as if someone sprinkled him generously with cinnamon.
He turns his face toward me and grins, his sparkling blue eyes a match for the pool. I hope that cute face of his didn’t get him into real trouble last night.
I kick off my sandals and swing my feet into the water. “You okay?”
“I am now.”
“What happened to you last night?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. I danced with someone named Cody. Super hot. Said he went to USC. We danced a long time, and then we got drinks, and then we danced some more, until we weren’t dancing so much as—” He clears his throat. “Grinding. It was… He was… Well, we found a place to make out, and had another drink…and I don’t remember anything else after that.”
“Oh my god.” My stomach wrenches. “Did he…hurt you?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not sore anywhere. There’s no sign of anything, and trust me, I checked. Thoroughly. The only weird thing was a couple marks on my inner thigh. Two little dents, like I slept on something pointy. Which is possible. Anyway, when I woke up this morning, I was in one of the bedrooms in Gatsby’s house. Second floor. The staff brought me this amazing breakfast—bacon, eggs, a yogurt parfait, fresh-squeezed orange juice, toast, the works. They barely talked to me except to tell me to eat up and drink a lot of liquids. When I was done, they called me a car and gave me a gift bag full of stuff—good stuff, like fancy cologne, Haus samplers, lotion and Summer Fridays lip balm and macarons.”
“Did you see him? The Gatsby guy?” My heart quivers when I say his name—stupid freaking heart.
“Nope. Saw a few other party guests, though. A handful of girls, a couple more guys. They all seemed fine. They were squealing about the goodies in their gift bags. One woman said her dress got ripped the night before, and when she woke up, there was a new one hanging over the chair in her room. Similar style, her size and everything.”
“Wow. So he’s, like, super generous.”
Nick slides off the pool mat without answering and swims underwater until he can tweak my foot. He resurfaces, water glittering in his auburn curls. “Either that, or he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t want trouble. With anyone.”
I shiver. “Foreboding much?”
“Just keepin’ it real.” He plunges back into the water and does a lap before returning to me. “One more thing—there was another invitation from Gatsby in my bag.”
“What? Why didn’t you mention that earlier?” I kick water into his face.
“Yeah, apparently he’s heading to Lake Keowee tomorrow, to take his boat out. He said I could come along, and bring someone. You wanna go?”
“Did he just invite you, or the others who stayed overnight as well?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, I’m not letting you go alone, especially after the weirdness of last night. I’m surprised you’re even considering it.”
“I’m going because I want to meet him, and because I want to run into Cody again,” says Nick simply. “And because I don’t have a boat of my own. Come on, Daisy. It’ll be fun. This whole Gatsby deal is the best thing that could possibly happen to us this summer. Lavish parties, hot guys, and a mystery to solve!”
His smile is infectious. “Fine, I’ll go. But I’m bringing my pepper spray and my Taser just in case there are plans to ax-murder us and dump our bodies in the lake.”
“Fair enough.” He twirls in the pool. “You coming in?”
“No, I’m good. I didn’t bring my suit, just rushed over here to check on you.”
“Aww, so sweet.”
I flick more water in his direction, and he dives.
