Page 20 of Only If You're Lucky
I look around, recognizing Trevor and Lucas and a couple other brothers from next door. I’ve gotten to know them all intimately this summer, the small pocket of them who stayed behind, too. Trevor is boorish and loud—the polar opposite of Nicole, who’s always too nice to set him straight. It’s hard to know what they see in each other, to be honest, besides their uncannily good looks: poreless skin, milk-white teeth, both of them almost too perfect to be real. I have a feeling there’s something between Sloane and Lucas, too—something she doesn’t want to admit—and they’re an odd match themselves, but one that makes sense when I catch little glimpses when they think nobody is looking. Sloane is always so serious, so stoically bored, and Lucas makes her laugh in a way no one can.
I glance at the two of them now, Sloane and Nicole, though they don’t look as surprised as I feel.
“I didn’t realize they came here, too,” I mutter, staring at the boys, my cheeks burning hot the second I say it. I don’t want to admit it, the attachment I’ve grown in such a short amount of time—and not just to the roommates, the girls, but to this place, too. Ever since my first night here, I’ve come to think of Penny Lanes as something sacred, the four of us swinging in circles, holding each other’s sweaty hands. A secret spot, like that pocket of air beneath the dock, where we can go to hide, to get away.
A thing we share and keep from everyone else.
Lucy turns to look at me, a flash of what feels like pity appearingacross her face. Then she grabs my hand and gives it a quick squeeze before walking over to a group of them and leaving me alone.
I decide to walk over to the bar and mix myself a drink before turning around and surveying the room. It’s giant, square, and completely windowless, the way bowling alleys usually are. The cavernous atmosphere makes it the ideal place to do something like this—nobody on the outside could possibly know that there are people on the inside—and as a result, it’s easy to feel a little punch-drunk in here. The concrete walls make everything feel impersonal, teetering on clinical, time stretching on the same way it did when my dad let me tag along to the casino once: with no natural light to indicate the passage of time, your mind feels perpetually suspended, like you’re reliving the same scene over and over again.
I look to my left and see a couple guys flinging themselves down the lanes, laughing hysterically as they slam into the bumpers. Nicole is sitting on Trevor’s lap on top of the ball return and Sloane has wandered over to the jukebox again, flipping through various options before deciding on Fleetwood Mac.
“Hey, Margot.”
I twist around, my eyes bulging at the sight of him. Levi is here, self-consciously gripping a plastic cup so hard it’s beginning to bend beneath the pressure. I’ve been bracing myself for his return, of course, my eyes continually darting over to the Kappa Nu parking lot, scanning the cars for his rusted white Jeep with the Outer Banks bumper sticker peeling at the edges. I’ve been on high alert every time we venture next door, ears tingling with the emergence of every new voice. Chest squeezing with each peripheral glance I got of a tall, tan boy with tousled brown hair… but I hadn’t been expecting himhere,of all places.
I look around again, my gaze darting madly around the room,trying to understand what he’s doing. Why he’s hanging out with Trevor and Lucas and all the guys a grade above him instead of people his own age, when I remember what Trevor had said that very first night.
“He’s a legacy, so, you know. Special treatment and all that.”
“Hey,” I respond, trying to somehow swallow my heartbeat. I can feel it rising, slowly making its way up my throat. Levi’s father was in the fraternity, which means he’s always going to get the invite to these things, at least in the early days when they’re still trying to schmooze him. Still trying to convince him that he’s different, special. Somehow immune to the hazing that’s inevitably headed his way.
“Look, let’s just get this out of the way, okay? I know you don’t want me here,” he says, almost urgently, like he had been bracing himself all summer to say it. “You made that clear from the beginning. The very beginning.”
I bite my lip, remembering that first day under the dock. The way Eliza and I had watched him walk toward us before we dipped beneath the water, reemerging in that secret space. How interesting: that female instinct to duck, to hide, like prey catching sight of glowing eyes in the night. Something inherent in our very genes, our very DNA. I wonder now if he knew we were down there all along, planting his feet and refusing to move.
If he liked the feeling of being on top of us, smothering us. If it made him feel big.
“But I’m here,” he continues. “And I’m not going anywhere, so you’re going to have to get used to it.”
I remember the way I used to walk up to them, after, once they became friends. Smiling politely as I plopped down, too. The way an awkward hush would settle over the three of us, whatever they were saying before screeching to a halt.
“We don’t have to be enemies,” he continues, and I think about the way he would smile back, biting his cheek, hating me for existing. For being there, too. “We both loved her—”
“Stop,” I say, holding out my hand. Remembering his silhouette in the yard, watching her in the dark. I can’t listen to him say that word. “Just stop talking.”
“I swear I didn’t mean—”
“Stop,”I repeat.
A sharp whistle erupts from behind us and I spin around, grateful for the interruption, my eyes landing on Lucy. She’s making her way down one of the lanes like a model on a catwalk, a single pin in one hand slapping against the opposite palm. Her legs are long and lean in those little short shorts, crisscrossing each other in flashy finesse, and I think of Eliza again, sauntering her way down the dock.
They are so similar, those two, reveling in the watching. The wanting. The risk.
“Everyone, gather round!” Lucy yells. “It’s game time!”
I watch as she makes her way to the front of the lane and plops down at the base of it, pretzeling her legs on the floor. Then she places the pin in front of her and flicks it, sending it spinning in a circle.
I look back at Levi, registering the way his eyes swell at the sight of her. Then he cocks his head, intrigued, before turning back toward me.
“Do you know her?” he asks at last, a curiosity in his voice he can’t contain.
“That’s Lucy,” I respond. “She’s my roommate.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again, apparently deciding against whatever he was about to say, and I wonder if he sees it,too. The similarities between them. The magnetism of Lucy and the way she pulls people in against their own will. The power she has over everyone else, a dominant force like gravity itself.
I wonder if he feels it: that elusive aura, tugging at us both just like Eliza.
