The Names They Gave Us(68)

I assume the question is for me, but Anna answers sternly, “I said I’ve got this.”

Anna’s anxiety has clearly eased a good deal since this morning, but Keely still frowns as she hands us drinks.

A half hour in, we squeeze together on a high-rise deck to watch the fireworks.

“These are my favorites. The drippy golden ones.” Anna sighs, tracing one finger against the black sky.

“Yeah,” Keely says. “Like a glittery weeping willow.”

The grand finale starts, burst after burst—white and green, red and purple circles expanding over each other like a kaleidoscope view.

“I wish Jones was here,” Anna whispers. “All five of us.”

All five of us.

Mohan presses a kiss against her temple, and I feel like I’m intruding on a personal moment.

“Simmons, Tambe!” a voice yells from the kitchen. “Game time! Defend your title or forfeit it.”

“So,” Anna says once they’ve left. “You and Jones?”

“I think so,” I admit. “Yeah.”

Her smile is almost smug. “Good.”

She wrings the details out of me—how helplessly I like him and last night’s kiss. The memory is only twenty-four hours old, and it already feels precious, like I have to whisper it. So as not to disturb the magic. I thought I wasn’t ready to tell anyone, but . . . it’s Anna. She’s been my person here since the first day.

We’re on our way to get some water when a voice calls out, “Hey, ladies. Why don’t I know you two?”

Anna pauses, and I can tell she’s debating whether or not to turn her head. Before she can, a girl’s sharp voice replies, “Oh my God. Don’t bother with that one. Fully crazy.”

Only then do I turn. By the staircase, there’s a girl with dark hair standing between two guys. Her eyes are on Anna, and I step forward. It’s a useless impulse—as if my body will block my friend from this girl and her blazing eyes. I’ve heard Anna call herself crazy, but this is different. It’s nasty. Intentionally nasty.

“Good to see you too, Greer.” Anna’s voice, from just past my shoulder, is over-the-top saccharine—totally sarcastic.

“Oops, we better be nice.” The girl’s laughter trills through the air, still directed at the two guys as if we don’t exist. “Don’t want to witness a freak-out.”

“Like some kinda mental breakdown?” one of the guys asks.

Anna tugs at my shirt, but I am not letting this girl get away with it.

“Yeah,” the girl—Greer—says. “She’s actually—”

“Don’t,” I cry out, holding up a hand as if I can stop whatever words come next from entering the air. “Ugh. What is wrong with you?”

Anna’s fingernails dig into my arm. I’ve floated outside my body, pulse thumping and palms sweating with the foreign, poisonous feeling of confrontation.

“Excuse me? This is my best friend’s party, bitch.” The girl retracts her head, but not even her darkened expression will stop me. She glances between Anna and me. “And who the hell are you, her girlfriend?”

I’m about to say . . . something, I don’t know what, when Keely wafts in, settling between me and this minion of Satan. The coconut scent of Keely’s leave-in conditioner and her sandalwood perfume drift in too, and I realize how much I associate these with our cabin, with the peace of going to sleep. I breathe in, glad to have broken my gaze with the girl.

“Hey, ladies,” Keely says to us, in a singsong. “Let’s get going.”

Keely’s eyes cut over to the girl. If I didn’t know her, this would seem like a casual glance. But, oh no. It’s measured, calculating. “Oh hey, Greer.”

I watch the little posse take Keely in, dark curls to scuffed-up boots. The outfit that made me feel like I was trying too hard by comparison. Her build—somehow both full and compact at once, beautiful and strong. Her lip color has worn off a bit, now a rubbed berry color across her mouth. She’s a presence. Everything about her says: I’m cooler than you, and yet I care less than you.

“Keely,” Greer says icily.

“Thanks for the booze. You all have a good night.” Keely takes Anna by the hand and they’re gone, moving through the hallway crowd.

Before I follow them, I turn to the girl, hands trembling. “You’re . . . mean. And, just, like . . . incorrect about several things. Which makes you seem stupid.” I hold out my hand to number off these accusations. “So, to summarize . . . Mean. Wrong. Stupid.”

Well then. Not as clever as I’d hoped. But, hey, it’s my first party confrontation. I barely register the look of utter revulsion on her face before turning to leave.

She calls after me. “Don’t bother ever coming to another party because—”

“Great,” I say, barely glancing back. “I literally don’t care at all.”

“Oh, burn,” one of the guys says, laughing.

“Shut up, Cal,” she snaps. She says something else, her tone slashing at me like razors, but I’m not listening. My back is to them; I’m as good as gone.

I go numb to any feeling but my thumping pulse. Fortunately, my feet keep moving down the front porch and the lawn, to where everyone waits for me on the sidewalk. Anna’s face is tear-streaked, her hair wild—as if she’s tugged at it in agony. She and Keely are half-talking, half-ranting under a yellow streetlight. Mohan’s arms are crossed, like he’s refereeing.