“No, I mean swag-wise. You need to possess a certain amount of swagger to rock the red.”

She’s not wrong. It’s a look that requires confidence. Ironically, it’s what gives me confidence. I know it sounds absurd, but I feel invincible every time I slather on some crimson lipstick.

“I can lend you some of my swagger if you want,” I offer.

Tansy’s nose scrunches up as she grins. The silver stud in her left nostril catches the light and seems to sparkle. “Aw thanks, Bee. I knew there was a reason you’re my favorite cousin.”

“Well, the others aren’t exactly prime candidates for that honor. Leigh and Robbie are too preachy about religion. And don’t get me started on Alex.”

We both grimace. Alex is our uncle Bill’s daughter and she’s incredibly annoying.

I hear the chirp of an incoming message. “Hey, can you check that?” I left my phone on Tansy’s desk, and she’s closer to it.

She reaches over from her bed. “Someone named GB says he misses you. He used about a hundred u’s and five, no, six, heart emojis. Oooh, and it’s the red heart. That means he’s serious. So. Who is GB and why haven’t you mentioned him?”

I sputter with laughter. “GB stands for Greenwich Barbie. That’s what I call my friend. Summer. She’s a hot rich girl from Connecticut.”

“Liar. I’ve never heard you mention a Summer,” Tansy accuses.

“She transferred to Briar at the beginning of January.” I stick the mascara wand back in the tube and twist it closed. “This chick is insane, like in a good way. She’s hilarious. Always up for a party. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

“Are we seeing her this weekend?”

“No, unfortunately. She’s performing her girlfriendly duty and supporting Briar at the semifinals against Yale tomorrow night. Her boyfriend is on the team.”

“Why does she miss you?”

“We haven’t hung out since last weekend. And yes, I know a week is not a long time at all, but in Summer years that’s a decade. She’s melodramatic.”

My phone chirps again.

“See what I mean?” I chuckle, tucking my mascara and lipstick into the small makeup case I brought with me. “Pass me my phone, will ya? If I don’t text her back, she’s liable to have a panic attack.”

Tansy checks the screen. Her shoulders stiffen slightly. “It’s not Summer,” she informs me.

I knit my brows. “Okay. Who is it?”

There’s a long pause. Something shifts in the air, and suddenly a cloud of tension settles between us.

Tansy studies me, wary. “Why didn’t you tell me you were still in touch with Eric?”

5

Brenna

The tension seeps into my body, turning my shoulders to stone and my spine to iron. And yet my fingers feel like jelly, and I begin to tremble. Luckily, I’m finished putting on mascara; otherwise, I would’ve poked an eyeball out.

“Eric messaged?” I’m bothered by how weak my voice sounds. “What does it say?”

Tansy tosses me the phone. My gaze instantly lowers to the message. It’s brief.

ERIC: Call me, B. Need to talk to you.

Uneasiness trickles down my spine like drops from a leaky faucet. Shit. What does he want now?

“What does he want?” Tansy speaks my thoughts, only she sounds far more distrustful than I am.

“I don’t know. And to answer your question, we’re not in touch.”

That’s not entirely true. I hear from Eric two or three times a year, usually when he’s high as a kite or drunk off his face. If I don’t pick up, he keeps calling, over and over and over, until I do. I don’t have the heart to block his number, but the heart I do possess splinters each time I answer his calls and hear how far he’s fallen.

“Did you know my mom ran into him, like, six or seven months ago? It was around Halloween.”

“Really? Why didn’t she say anything about it over the holidays?”

“She didn’t want to worry you,” Tansy confesses.

A heavy breath gets stuck in my throat. The fact that Aunt Sheryl thought I would be worried tells me the state Eric was in when she saw him. “Was he high?”

“Mom thinks so.”

I exhale slowly. “I feel so bad for him.”

“You shouldn’t,” Tansy says frankly. “He’s the one who chooses to keep indulging in that lifestyle. His mom got him a spot in that super-expensive rehab in Vermont and he refused to go, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” I feel bad for Eric’s mother, too. It’s so frustrating trying to help someone who refuses to admit they have a problem.

“Nobody is forcibly pouring booze down his throat or making him do drugs. Nobody is holding him hostage in Westlynn. He can leave town anytime. We did.”

She’s right. Nothing is keeping Eric in Westlynn, New Hampshire, except for his own demons. I, on the other hand, fled to Boston right after high school graduation.

There’s nothing wrong with my hometown. It’s a perfectly nice place, meeting the small-town requirements of tranquil and quaint. My dad and his siblings were born and raised in Westlynn, and Aunt Sheryl and Uncle Bill still reside there with their spouses. Dad waited until I moved out before he relocated to Hastings, Massachusetts. Before that, he made the hour-long commute to Briar so that I could continue to attend school with my cousins and friends. I think he’s happier in Hastings, though. The town is five minutes from campus, and his house is a roomy old Victorian with a ton of charm.

My ex-boyfriend chose to stay in our hometown. He spiraled after graduation, falling in with all the wrong people and doing all the wrong things. Westlynn isn’t overrun with drug dealers, but that’s not to say you can’t find drugs there. You can find drugs anywhere, sadly.

Eric is stuck. Everyone else has moved on, and he’s still in the same place. No, he’s in an even worse place these days. Maybe I shouldn’t feel sorry for him, but I do. And our history makes it hard to write him off entirely.

“I don’t think you should call him.”

My cousin’s stern words jolt me back to the present. “I probably won’t.”

“Probably won’t?”

“Ninety percent won’t, ten percent might.”

“Ten percent is too high.” She shakes her head. “That guy will only drag you down if you let him back in your life.”

I blanch. “God, don’t even worry about that happening. A hundred percent chance it won’t.”

“Good. Because clearly he’s still obsessed with you.”

“He was never obsessed with me,” I say in Eric’s defense.

“Are you kidding me? Remember when you got mono junior year and couldn’t attend school for a couple of months? Eric had a total meltdown,” she reminds me. “He called you every five seconds, skipped class to go see you, freaked out when Uncle Chad told him to stop coming over. It was intense.”

I avert my eyes. “Yeah. I guess it was a tad dramatic. What do you think of this top, by the way?” I gesture to my ribbed black crop top. It ties around the neck and the back, exposing my midriff.