“Not at all, babe. Think of it as family and friends checking in, making sure your summer rocks.” He smiles way too brightly. “Now get up and shower.”

“Hmm,” I mumble, lying back and plopping the second pillow onto my face. “Don’t have to shower. Will swim in pool later.”

“Chlorine doesn’t equal soap, precious. You need to cleanse and condition. Come on, out of bed.” He wriggles one hand under the sheets to tweak my toes, and I yelp.

“Fine, I’m up,” I growl. “Screw you.”

“Love you too.”

Nick has chosen my outfit by the time I get done showering—cute shorts, a blousy tank, and dangly earrings. I don’t complain because he used to do that for me all the time when we were in high school together, and it’s kinda sweet that he’s trying to bring back the good old days.

I swap out the many studs in my upper ears for fresh ones in the shape of tiny stars and moons and shove my feet into flip-flops that are way too expensive to be scuffed around in red North Carolina dirt all day. I can remember a time when my flip-flops were from Walmart and my clothes came from Goodwill. That was before Dad developed the antibody therapy that made him one of the top medical researchers in the country. Shortly after that, he scored a new job, one we were sure he’d never get. But somehow, against all odds, they hired him, and that decision changed our lives. Now my parents live on Glassy Mountain in a sprawling, luxurious development packed with amenities; but even after eight years, none of us are used to being wealthy. I still have this sort of desperate feeling, like I have to enjoy it as much as I can, because it could all melt away as easily as it came.

“Earth to Daisy.” Nick snaps long fingers in front of my face. He has painted his nails electric blue with dizzying swirls of purple. “Breakfast?”

“I guess.”

My parents are long gone to their respective jobs, so the enormous kitchen is empty. I snatch a pastry from under the bell jar on the island and hand one to Nick. “I shouldn’t,” he says, but he takes it anyway and pulls me out the front door so fast I barely have time to grab my bag and sunglasses.

When we burst outside, the sun doesn’t seem as offensively bright as it did in my room. There’s a humid promise of sultry heat in the air, but it’s not horribly oppressive yet.

“Gotta stop for gas,” Nick says, vaulting over the door of his Fiat Spider and settling into the driver’s seat.

“I’ll grab coffee for both of us.”

“From the gas station?” He makes a face. “You drink that trash?”

“They have cold Starbucks in the coolers.”

“Fiiiine.” He draws out the word to about four syllables as the car glides out of our driveway.

“Watch the speed limit until we get through the gate—they’re really strict in this neighborhood,” I warn him. “So what’s Jordan’s stunt for the day?”

Nick glances at me through the cinnamon curls blowing across his face. “She doesn’t want you to know until you get there.”

“Something super dangerous then.”

“You know Jordan.” He shrugs. “She didn’t get her followers by sitting around.”

“She’s going to end up in the hospital. Or dead.”

“Ah, here we go. High school all over again.” Nick rolls his eyes. “I’m not getting into this with you, okay? Take it up with Jordan. Just do me a favor and argue about it when I’m not around.”

I tilt my head back against the leather headrest and close my eyes, relishing the sensation of warm wind pouring over my face. The sun filters through the leafy trees skimming past overhead, and its dappled light plays across my eyelids. This is bliss—a summer glow on my face, a breeze across my skin, and music singing through me, its intimate beat soothing me right down to my very soul.

A long-forgotten memory sifts into my mind—my blond hair brushing my bare shoulders, someone’s fingertips trailing over my sun-warm skin, slow and wondering. A boy’s touch, tentative, unsure. Wide brown eyes searching mine, reflecting the same startled amazement that I felt in that long-ago moment. The sensation of awakening to something universal and frightening and thrilling.

My eyes pop open. I haven’t thought about that boy in ages, not since I left him behind with the Walmart flip-flops and the thrifted clothes. I couldn’t fold him into a moving box and bring him with me into my new life. He was like a new friend at the playground—one you vibe with intensely and then never see again.

Except that boy and I weren’t just friends for an afternoon. Our lives intersected for years. And when I had to leave, he let me go. Didn’t even try to stay in touch.

Nick nudges me with his elbow. “You’re not yourself today, precious. What’s up?”

“I’m… It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“Thinking about the cheating bastard?”

Tom. “Actually I wasn’t, but I am now. Thanks for that.”

We roar into the gas station parking lot, skew into a spot in front of the pumps, and slam to a stop so hard my whole body jerks.

“Thanks for the whiplash, too.” I slam the car door with extra force, and Nick winces.

“Careful with my baby!”

“You should take better care of your baby, and your passengers.” I stalk across the parking lot and swing into the gas station. I shouldn’t fuss at Nick. He’s not the one I’m mad at. I’m pissed at men in general: the ones who screw you over, and the ones who let themselves fade out of your life—

I grab a pair of cold coffees from the fridge and turn toward the checkout counter.

But the sight in front of me stops me cold, a fist to my gut, and I suck in a pained breath.

Crimped blond curls, big blue eyes. Lips like bubble gum, and a chest that strains against her crisp uniform.

Myrtle.

How is she working here? She and Tom are supposed to be three-and-a-half hours away in Durham.

Unless…unless their plans changed, and they decided to move here after graduation—oh fuck no.

My brain devolves into a string of curses, punctuated by flashes of bare limbs and huffing breaths. Why am I picturing her tangled up with Tom? It’s not like I actually caught them in the act. I was spared at least that much.

Acidic fury spurts in my chest at the thought, drowning out the flash of panic, but I suck in a breath to quell it. I’m not that girl. I don’t smash headlights with a crowbar or drag my keys along car doors. I don’t bad-mouth people on social media.

I just burn and burn inside, while I smile sweetly because I’m freaking Daisy Finnegan—the nice girl, the fun girl, the one you want at all your parties, whether I want to be there or not.

More calmly than I feel, I set down the coffees on a random shelf and walk straight out the side door. It’s a big place, so it’s possible Myrtle didn’t see me. God, I hope she didn’t see me.

My skin is a frozen shell over the molten core of my soul. I slide into Nick’s car and stare ahead, unseeing.

“Where’s the coffee?” he asks.

“Myrtle works here.”

“What?”

“Myrtle. Works. Here.”

“The hell?” Nick gasps.