Page 7 of Kiss Slay Replay

Cassie greets us at the door. She wears an old cutoff sleeveless T-shirt that shows off her tattoos, cigarette pants, and fuzzy slippers. Her bleach-blond bob is pulled into a low, nothing ponytail.

“Thought I smelled gossip,” she says, drawing me in for a hug. “Come in. Let me show you. This is this room…”

She gestures vaguely. The walls are white shiplap, adorned with framed postcards from the camp’s bygone era. There are leather chairs and couches, plaid blankets, dried flowers in vintage milk jugs. There’s a fireplace mantle but no fireplace, a TV mounted above it. I count three doors—two at the back, and one directly to my left. I’m guessing that’s my room, since my suitcase is in front of it.

“Me?” I ask, pointing.

“It’s a twin bed. Sorry,” Cassie says, making a please-don’t-be-mad-at-me face.

I flip her off.

“You two. So well-mannered,” Evan says, grabbing one of the plaid blankets and draping it over his shoulders.

“Oh, hey! Willa the Killa.” Luke appears out of nowhere, shooting me with finger guns.

I return fire. “Luke the Nuke. How are you?”

He wears a button-up shirt unbuttoned, no undershirt, saggy sweatpants, rainbow boxers. He’s the same lanky stoner I met freshman year. He hasn’t aged a day, and the rest of us are green with envy.

“Did you get the cooler?” Cassie asks him, annoyed. “The thing I fucking sent you to the car to get?”

He turns on his heel and walks out of the cabin.

Cassie throws her hands up. “He’s so stoned. Five minutes without the kid, and he’s high out of his mind.”

“You don’t send me enough pictures,” I say. “Such a cute baby, and I never see him.”

Cassie takes her phone out of her back pocket and shows me her lock screen—baby Theo with his nose scrunched, tongue out.

“He’s a ham,” she says, smiling.

“So cute! Oh my God, Cass. He’s growing up on us!”

Wyatt wanders into the room, a tie loose around his neck, a confused look on his face. “Help?”

Evan kiddingly rolls his eyes and goes over to assist.

“What time does it start again?” Cassie asks. “Should I be getting dressed?”

“The pre-ceremony welcome reception is at five,” Evan says. “So, yes.”

“I don’t need three hours to get ready,” Cassie says. “I’m insulted.”

“I do,” I say. “I need to look good. Somehow.”

“Somehow,” Evan and Cassie say in unison, all melodramatic.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I wave them off and roll my suitcase into my room.

It’s a glorified closet. There’s a window that looks out to the porch, which is great for privacy. There’s the twin bed, as promised. A nightstand with a frosted glass lamp, a small retro alarm clock, and a key card that I assume is for the cabin. A clunky wardrobe that makes the space even more claustrophobic. There’s a pocket door that leads to the bathroom. Toilet, sink, standing shower stall. Those tiny hexagonal black-and-white tiles. The mirror’s a decent size and the lighting isn’t terrible, so there’s that.

I kick off my shoes and start to undress, pull down my jeans, then remember I’m potentially putting on a show for anyone who steps foot onto the porch. I scurry over to the window and pull the thick burlap curtains closed. Now it’s dark, and I’m half naked, and I can hear my name being whispered in the other room.

“Willa is…” Cassie starts. I miss the rest, so I tiptoe to the door and press my ear against it. “It’s not good, Ev. It hasn’t been good.”

“She’s fine,” Evan says. Whispering is not one of his many talents. “Is there a small chance she’ll have a nuclear meltdown in the middle of the ceremony tonight? Perhaps.”

Cassie sighs.