“Wait,” I say, getting my bearings, “are you taking me to—”
“Yep. Rose’s cottage.”
I’ve been there before—we all have. It was a big hang out for us in middle school. Part treehouse, part doll house, the little cottage sits up on stilts and is painted bright green, with pink trim. Everything about it looks authentic—like a tiny home—real windows and a door, shutters that open and close, and it’s fully furnished inside.
Kenley climbs up the small staircase and twists the brass door knob. It’s unlocked, and even after all these years, the cottage is plush. Whoever built it designed it to last, because everything from the wallpaper to undersized living room furniture is in pretty good condition. I glance in the corner and see dark pebbles. Well, other than the mice that decided to move in.
There are other small differences, like the One Direction poster on the wall that must have gone up since I was here last. There’s a red, faded heart around Harry Styles' face. I also notice the makeshift ashtray on the small table in the corner, filled with the stubs of burned out cigarettes. A couple of crushed beer cans on the floor.
“I think the last time I came here was the summer before ninth grade—”
“When Ezra brought that bag of weed,” she says, completing my sentence. The five of us had all smoked up that afternoon. It was probably the last time we’d hung out together before everything fell apart. From the expression on Kenley’s face, she’s remembering the same thing.
The cottage is just one room—a tiny living room. The ceilings are high enough that I only have to b
end a little bit, and really, it’s larger than I remember. I sit in one of the musty arm chairs and Kenley takes the loveseat.
“You ready to tell me the big story.”
“With all this pressure it feels sort of dumb.”
I catch her eye, the blue filled with worry. “Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s not dumb, but I do want to know.”
“Well, like you said, the summer before ninth grade was fun. During the day we hung out at the pool and spent nights watching movies in Ezra’s home theater. Juliette had moved to town and everyone was excited about the new girl. On top of that, Thistle Cove legend Jason Chandler had moved back home to save our floundering football team.”
I nod, remembering. I’d spent those days pretending like I wasn’t obsessing over Kenley and the red and blue tankini that showed a swath of tan skin across her stomach. I was fourteen and constantly nursing a raging hard on. I took so, so many showers.
She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “Things kind of escalated that summer, you know, like with the weed. That was Juliette’s idea. There was something about her—something exciting—that made me and Rose both want to try new things.”
“She definitely has that energy.”
Juliette moving to town had been kind of like a time-bomb for all of us. A catalyst, I guess.
“About two weeks before school started, I woke up to the sound of something clanging outside, followed by voices. I looked out the window and saw two bikes by the curb and Juliette and Rose hovering in the space between my yard and Finn’s. I thought they’d come to get me. There’d been rumors of a party at Rich Crawford’s house and they were both determined to go. Juliette was dying to go to a high school party, and Rose seemed game, which meant I was too. I’d do anything Rose would do. In the streetlight I could make out that they were dressed in matching tanks, ripped jeans.” Kenley’s voice takes on a faraway quality. “I saw the thick makeup on their eyes and the dark red lipstick they both wore every day for the next year. They looked so mature, and I was wearing pajamas with teddy bears on them. Although I was petrified at the idea of sneaking out, there was no way I was going to miss it. I rushed to change.”
I lean forward, seeing a shine in her eyes, and sensing that we were getting to the crux of the story.
“I crept downstairs and carefully opened the front door. I’m this close to calling out their names when I hear that clanking sound again, followed by a long hiss. Then I see it.”
“See what?” But I have an idea.
“In bright red spray paint, the words 'Fuck You' were scrawled across the front of the garage.” She blinks rapidly. “I look over and see them cackling with laughter—followed by a deeper, familiar voice. Finn. He’d been in on it, too."
“Wow,” I say, fighting back a wave of sheer anger. “Kenley, that’s really awful. And Finn…are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“I never saw the painting,” I tell her. “Never heard a thing about this.”
“I went to bed, and I guess my father got up, cleaned and painted it before nine a.m. No one ever mentioned it again. It was like it never happened.”
“Except it did, and you knew exactly who did it.”
“It was like a punch in the gut. They were my friends—Rose was my best friend. I felt so dumb, but my mom, when she noticed I wasn’t rushing out to meet them like I’d done every other day this summer. I didn’t give her details, but she encouraged me to try to work it out. And I really didn’t have much choice. I had no other friends. Rose and I were so wound up in one another that without her, I had nothing.” She uses the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her eyes. I want to tell her that she had more than Rose, that she had me, but the truth is that after this happened our group fell apart, and she and I barely spoke anymore. Rose and Finn pretty much ignored me, too.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“I sucked it up and went to the pool. We went every day and sat in the same seats by the diving boards. They were already there, but not in our normal spots. They were by the lifeguard stand, where the upperclassmen hang out, wearing new, matching bikinis. Even from across the pool I could hear Juliette telling some wild story about being at Rich’s house the night before. Rose saw me, blinked, and looked past me like I never existed. I’d been officially cut out.”