I close my eyes for a second and breathe out. Misha, where the hell are you? He’s the only one I can vent to.
“Well,” Lyla speaks slowly, staring out the window. “He hasn’t had you, and that’s what he wants. But he’s only going to chase for so long, Ryen. It won’t take him long to move onto someone else.”
Is that a warning? I peer at her out of the corner of my eye, feeling my heart start to race.
What are you going to do, Lyla? Sweep in and take him from under me if I don’t put out? Delight in my loss when he gets tired of waiting and screws someone else? Is he doing someone else right now? Maybe you?
I fold my arms over my chest. “Don’t be concerned about me,” I say, toying right back. “When I’m ready, he’ll come running. No matter whom he’s killing time with.”
Ten laughs quietly from the backseat, always in my corner and having no idea I’m talking about Lyla.
Not that I care if Trey comes running or not. But she’s trying to bait me, and she knows better.
Lyla and I are both brats, but we’re very different. She craves attention from men, and she’ll almost always give them what they want, confusing shallow affection for real feelings. Sure, she’s dating Trey’s friend, J.D., but it wouldn’t surprise me to see her go after Trey, too.
Winning a guy makes her feel above us all. They have girlfriends, but they want her. It makes her feel powerful.
Until she realizes they want anyone, and then she’s right back where she started.
Me, on the other hand? I’m weak. I just want to get through the day as easily as possible. No matter who I step on to do it. Something I learned not long after that picture of me sitting alone on that bench on Movie Night was taken.
Now I’m not alone anymore, but am I happier? The jury’s still out on that.
Reap, reap, reap, you don’t even know, all you did suffer is what you did sow.
I smile small at Misha’s lyrics. He sent them to me in a letter once to see what I thought, and they make a lot of sense. I asked for this, didn’t I?
“I hate this road,” Ten pipes up. His voice is filled with discomfort, and I blink, leaving my thoughts.
I turn my head out the window to see what he’s talking about.
The headlights of Lyla’s car burn a hole in the night as the light breeze makes the leaves on the trees flutter, showing the only sign of life out on this tunnel-like highway. Dark, empty, and silent.
We’re on Old Pointe Road between Thunder Bay and Falcon’s Well.
I turn my head over my shoulder, speaking to Ten. “People die everywhere.”
“But not so young,” he says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Poor kid.”
A few months ago, a jogger named Anastasia Grayson, who was only a year younger than us, was found dead on the side of this very road. She had a heart attack, although I’m not sure why. Like Ten said, it’s unusual for someone so young to die like that.
I’d written to Misha about it, to see if he knew her, since they lived in the same town, but it was in one of the many letters he never responded to.
Taking a right onto Badger Road, Lyla digs in her console and pulls out a tube of lip gloss. I roll down the window, taking in the crisp, cool sea air.
The Atlantic Ocean sits just over the hills, but I can already smell the salt in the air. Living several miles inland, I barely even notice it, but coming to the beach—or the Cove, the old theme park near the beach where we’re going—feels like another world. The wind washes over me, and I can almost feel the sand under my feet.
I wish we were still going to the beach.
“J.D.’s already here,” Lyla points out, pulling into an old, nearly deserted, parking lot. Her headlights fall on a dark blue GMC Denali sitting haphazardly in no designated space. I guess the paint marking where to park wore off long ago.
Waist-high weeds sway in the breeze from where they sprout up through the cracks in the pavement, and only the moon casts enough light to reveal what lies beyond the broken-down ticket booths and entrances. Looming still and dark, towers and buildings sit in the distance, and I spot several massive structures, one in the shape of a circle—most likely a Ferris wheel.
As I turn my head in a one-eighty, I see other similar constructions scattered about, taking in the bones of old roller coasters that sit quiet and haunting.
Lyla turns off the engine and grabs her phone and keys as we all exit the car. I try to peer through the gates and around the dilapidated ticket booths to see what lies beyond in the vast amusement park, but all I can make out are dark doorways, dozens of corners, and sidewalks that go on and on. The wind that courses through the broken windows sounds like whispers.
Too many nooks and crannies. Too many hiding places.
I pull up the sleeves of my hoodie, all of a sudden not feeling so cold. Why the hell are we here?
Looking to my right, I notice a black Ford Raptor sitting under a cover of trees on the edge of the parking lot, and the windows are blacked out. Is someone inside?
A shiver runs up my spine, and I rub my arms.
Maybe one of Trey’s or J.D.’s friends brought their own car tonight.
“Hoo, hoo, hoo,” a voice calls out, imitating an owl. I tear my eyes away from the Raptor, and we all look up in the direction of the noise.
“Oh, my God!” Lyla bursts out, laughing. “You guys are crazy!”
I shake my head as Ten and Lyla hoot and holler, running toward the Ferris wheel just inside the gate. Scaling the grungy yellow poles about fifty feet above us, between the cars of the old ride, is Lyla’s boyfriend, J.D., and his buddy, Bryce.