Page 3 of Wanted You More

“You thinking is scary,” I remark, snickering when she shoots me a look from across the counter of Sips, our one and only smoothie shop in Cherry Cove, New York. Despite having classes together on and off throughout middle school, it wasn’t until we both got hired here that we became friends. She didn’t care about who I was or what my past was before my family moved here permanently. Enough of the town knew us from our summers spent at the house we only used to occupy during a couple months out of the year, but everyone knew the reason we sold our other house an hour away after the news broke about that horrible Fourth of July weekend.

Dad couldn’t afford two houses after Mom’s death, and he felt it was best for all of our sanity to leave Limepeak and all the bad memories the small town held. It’s almost ironic in a sad way. The one July Fourth we decided to spend in Limepeak with friends and family, and it scarred us forever. I remember asking why we couldn’t stay in Cherry Cove like we did every Independence Day, and Mom said it was because giving new traditions a chance was worth a shot.

Marybelle didn’t pay attention to any of that stuff. I wasn’t the girl who survived a mass shooting, or the girl whose mother—along with other innocent victims—didn’t. I was simply Austen Magnolia Cole. The girl whose craziness equaled her own, much to my father’s dismay. Although sometimes I think he tends to look the other way is because he’s glad I have a friend.

For a long time, I had nobody.

At least, that’s what it felt like.

“Har har,” Marybelle says vacantly, watching the last customers leave before turning to me with a giddy smile on her face. “So, I was thinking about that party over by the marina. The country club is closed for a private party, and guess who rented it?”

As if I’d ever get the answer right. Cherry Cove is full of rich people who can afford to do something like that. Who needs anentirecountry club for a party anyway?

Marybelle answers her own question with a mischievous grin. “Cheyanne.” The name instantly sours my stomach, and the second she sees my face, she doesn’t let me get a word of dismissal in. “Before you say no, think about it. That bitch ruined your last two birthdays, and let’s not forget the ridiculous locker incident. She hasn’t forgiven you since the Conner thing, and that mess was his fault to begin with.”

The “Conner thing” happened almost three years ago. Marybelle and I went to some school party where I met a blond boy with a boy-next-door kind of face—cute and innocent. We’d gone from dancing and drinking warm beer to making out on the couch in the packed living room. What I quickly learned was that he was certainly not innocent. He was dating Cheyanne Kraus, the host of the party and one of theitgirls at school. Captain of the debate team, organizer of the school’s newest Green Earth club, where they save whales or something, and a member of the community service commission, where they apparently do good somehow. These days, nerd is the new sexy, which means the nerdier you are, the more popular you are.

I made out with Cheyanne’s boyfriend; she found out, and she’s made my life a living hell since. I’ll give her credit—she doesn’t tiptoe around my feelings like everybody else. Unfortunately, that also means she has no boundaries for the shit she likes to pull. Like on my fifteenth birthday, when she called the bakery to switch my cake from chocolate to carrot, which is the one flavor I hate, and the design from a basic “happy birthday” message to “sorry you were born” with red, white, and blue flowers bordering the white frosting.

Three colors I despise these days.

Or my sixteenth birthday last year when she paid a few of the football players one hundred dollars each to crash the small get-together Dad hosted for me by setting off firecrackers. I’d been paralyzed with fear as soon as the loud crackles began, but it wasn’t just me I cared about. The second I saw my father’s white face, and my brother’s violent shaking as he sporadically looked around to figure out where the best hiding spot was, I knew Cheyanne had gone too far.

She can fuck with me, but I draw the line when she messes with my little brother. I may have been the sibling to be marked physically by that horrible night nearly ten years ago, but Wolfe, Dad, and everybody else who attended the fireworks show were marked mentally and emotionally.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Belles,” I prompt the bubbly brunette, hoping she’ll drop it.

I should have known better. “Don’t they say that about thebestideas? You should totally stoop to her level and crash her birthday party. I heard that she’s seeing one of the lacrosse players now. If I find out which one, we can both move in on him and—”

“That’s what got me into this mess,” I cut her off, scowling as I start our nightly closing routine. “I’m not interested in repeating that same mistake twice. Who knows what else Cheyanne is capable of?”

That keeps her quiet for a few seconds before I hear her sigh dramatically. “I guess we could just smoke at the Diamond and hang out unless your dad locks you away again.”

Truthfully, Dad never “locked me away” two weeks ago when she asked me to hang out. I just didn’t feel like going out. I’d barely slept the night before, Wolfe was on my back about never being home, and Dad lectured me about staying out of trouble this summer. I never told him I would, but I secretly told myself I’d try.

For them.

I ball up the rag I’m using to wipe up the countertop and throw it at her, giggling when it strikes the side of her face. She bats the slightly damp fabric away with a glare but can’t help except join in with my laughter.

“The Diamond sounds like fun,” I tell her once our laughter subsides. “Usual time?”

Her eyes brighten before she all but tackles me with a hug. “Yes! I’ll pick you up around the corner and bring one of the bottles of wine from my parents’ cellar.”

I return her hug and let out a quiet breath that eases some of the tight muscles in my chest that have been there since I woke up.

***

I know thesecond we round the corner of West Harbor Road that we’re not going to our favorite abandoned hangout that everybody refers to as the Diamond—or the diamond in the rough. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know where we’re heading instead. In a matter of seconds, we’ll see the lit-up country club perched on the steep hill for the entire town to see. It’s a beautiful building that resembles a castle and screams wealth.

Tugging on the hem of my denim cutoffs, I turn toward Marybelle as she turns into the long driveway leading to one of the many parking lots. “What are you doing?”

She doesn’t bother looking guilty when she briefly glances in my direction. “You don’t have to do anything, but I am. I told my brother’s goonie friend that I’d give him head if he helped me get back at Cheyanne tonight.”

My nose scrunches. “Ew! You’re not actually going to give that weirdo a blow job, are you? He always smells like booze and Lucky Charms.”

Marybelle scoffs. “Do you really have to ask? I’m not putting my lips anywhere near him. He doesn’t need to know that.”

I’m a little uncomfortable by this whole conversation, mostly because I have no idea what’s up her sleeve. “What did you need him for? Last time he helped us, it was collecting all that dog poop to put in bags and light on fire in front of the teachers who gave us detention.”

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