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They both look at Beck, and Caleb laughs. “We know it wasn’t you. You were borrowing gas money from us.”

“It had to be one of you guys,” Luke says. “Juliet made this big, embarrassing announcement around the bonfire basically insisting everyone donate, and the money was in there a few hours later.”

They look at each other, and then Luke looks at me, and I see something shift in his face. A question, one he dismisses then calls back. “She had no money,” he’s telling himself. “It would have taken every penny she had.”

“I’d better check on Donna,” I say with a forced smile. “I’ll see you guys at the gala, right?”

I don’t even remain long enough to hear their answer. I cross the yard toward Donna, who’s talking to a stunning woman in a nicely tailored suit. I realize, belatedly, that the girl is Summer, all grown up. She’s ditched the bleached blonde hair and heavy self-tanner, lost a little of the baby fat.

Is she here for Luke? She always liked him, and I’m pretty sure they slept together. Of course she’s here for Luke.

She throws her arms around me. “You’re more gorgeous than ever,” she says, then turns to Donna. “I was so jealous of Juliet, back in the day. She was the only girl in the group that was taken, and she was still the one they all wanted.”

My smile falters. “That’s not true. But anyway—”

“Oh, it was definitely true. My God, the way they all mooned over you at night. And then you started singing and it was game over for me and Rain.”

My gaze darts to Donna, wondering if she knows what Summer’s really saying. It wasn’t that everyone wanted me, it’s that Luke did.

“Just look at all of them over there,” she continues. “How did they manage to get even more attractive?”

I glance at Luke across the yard, in a blue shirt, now slightly unbuttoned, tie loosened. He’s so lovely. She wants another shot. How could she not?

And in the meantime, the reporter is with Libby and Grady, and Luke’s talking to the prep school guys about that donation. I’m beginning to think this day can’t get worse.

“So good to see you,” I tell Summer, squeezing her hand as I walk away. I want to stop everything that’s happening right now. I want to pull a fire alarm or call in a bomb threat, and I know as I walk into the house, frantic and lost, that even those things might not stop what’s already in motion.

I go to the kitchen and sink into a seat. I fucked up, during that interview. I fucked up by refusing to mention Luke when she was bound to find out that he lived here with us for two summers. It’s highly suspicious, that omission of mine, a neon sign saying, “Check out this clue I’ve left for you.”

I close my eyes and press my face to my hands, briefly imagining that I didn’t come back to Rhodes in the first place, imagining all the choices I could have made that would have led to a different outcome. And finally, I let myself dream of the outcome that was always the most improbable, the one I fall asleep to at night during my weakest moments. The one I’d have given up almost anything for and still would: Luke and I, together, swaying in a hammock outside the beach house we share.

“You’re sure you don’t want to go to Paris for spring break?” he asks.

The breeze from the ocean ruffles his hair, and I reach up to push a hand through it. “I’m sure.” I can’t imagine anything better than where we are because I’ve seen the entire world now, and it was meaningless without him.

“Juliet?”

I startle, my head jerking up, resentful that I’ve been pulled out of my reverie, guilty I was there in the first place.

The reporter stands there, her head tilted, her eyes slightly narrowed.

She followed me into my fucking home. She must be feeling pretty sure of herself to just walk in here after me.

“Yes?” I ask, rising, my voice brusque. A you-have-no-right-to-be-here voice, as if this woman has ever cared about boundaries.

“It was a very nice service,” she says, but there’s something more guarded in her demeanor than there was the night we met. “I’m surprised you never mentioned Luke Taylor lived here too. Especially given how close you were.”

I lick my lips and smooth my dress, stalling for time. “Whether or not Luke wants to discuss living here is his business, not mine. It didn’t seem like it was my place. And we were hardly ‘close’.”

She raises a brow. “He was in several altercations on your behalf. Sounds pretty close to me.”

Altercations, she said. Plural. Who even knows about most of them except him and me? This has gone off the fucking rails and all I can do is deny it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If Luke got into any fight because of me, he was doing it on Danny’s behalf, not mine.”

“So you’re denying you were close,” she states. “Even though you were the one who begged him not to make that risky jump right before Danny died.”

Who told you that? I guess it could have been anyone. It might have even come from the police interviews when it happened.

“Several of us begged Luke not to make that jump,” I snap. “I wasn’t even the first. I can’t imagine how any of this is relevant to an article about Danny’s House, and you agreed the article wouldn’t focus on Danny’s death.”