He’s still standing close enough that I lose myself in a suspended moment of drinking in his features. I seem to have this issue—this thing, bordering on fixation—with his silhouette. Like the times before, outside our houses, the night seems to cut his bone structure into something mysterious and sharp. In the daytime, at school, his eyes are guarded, and he still has that tense stillness about him. But like this, in the dark? The intensity is enough to make my insides flutter. It’s like he’s someone else—someone unreachable, hard like stone.
It’s like a physical hurt to pull my eyes away, but I am surprised by the two non-Devils, Tyson Riggins and Sebastian Wilcox. And I’m downright shocked to see five other girls. Afton Cross and Elana Maxwell are the two seniors, then Georgia Haynes, Caroline Richmond, Aubrey Willis, and myself are juniors.
Their shocked and annoyed expressions make me feel a little more at ease. At least I’m not the only one who has no idea what’s going on. Nevertheless, I’m clearly the odd one out. It’s like one of those grade-school worksheets. One of these things is not like the others. All of these people are beautiful and talented, athletic and smart, popular and fun and skilled.
Sebastian, like me, had an older brother in the Devils. Heston was popular, good looking, and horribly mean. Unlike his brother, Sebastian plays lacrosse, which has the reputation for the absolute douchiest of the jocks. I don’t know if he has the same mean streak, but there’s no doubt he’s intimidating.
As everyone looks around, sizing each other up, I feel the sweat beading on the small of my clammy back. It’s impossible to ignore the reality of it all. I’m not here because of any of those things. I’m here because I used the leverage of knowing a secret to get an invitation.
God, I really am a loser.
We’re on an old dock of some kind, the metal rusted from age. Thick tree branches hang over our heads, and although we’re obviously on the lake, I have no idea exactly where we are. Emory holds up a camping lantern and spins on his heel, heading down the boardwalk toward shore. Once he gets there, he pushes aside heavy vines of ivy and reveals a door that looks like it leads straight underground.
I remind myself, as I follow my brother and the others into a dark tunnel, that I have a goal—a cause—and whatever risk I’m about to take will be worth it if it means that Emory doesn’t get himself in too deep.
Reynolds doesn’t speak.
“I swear to god, Emory! If I see a rat, feel a rat, or hear a rat, I am going to lose my shit.”
The flashlight swings around, momentarily blinding my eyes before once again focusing ahead. “There aren’t any rats,” my brother tells Afton. In a lower voice, he adds, “Well, I haven’t seen any.”
“It smells in here,” Aubrey adds, voice surly. “Like a coffin.”
“Seriously, how much longer?” Sebastian asks.
“Jesus,” a voice mutters behind me, “complain much?”
I turn and see Tyson Riggins’ cute face in the dim light. His blond hair is fried from chlorine, skin a warm brown. He and I are the last two in the line and I know I’m holding him up with my slow gait.
“You can go ahead if you want,” I tell him, stepping to the side while also trying not to touch the damp walls.
“It’s fine.” He grins. “I figure if I’m back here, there’s less chance of running into rats or cobwebs. At least they’ll warn us if they do.”
When I turn back around, a bright light shines from the end of the tunnel. Emory stands in an open doorway, allowing everyone to pass. I pause at the threshold, shifting to navigate a step. Tyson offers me his hand.
“Oh, thanks,” I start, but my brother’s palm pushes into Tyson’s chest. “Emory!”
“What?” he says, shooting Tyson a glare before clutching my elbow to steady me. “I was already here.”
Jesus Christ.
When I turn to the room, Reyn is standing there, his dark eyes watching the exchange. He instantly looks away. I try to give Tyson an apologetic look, but he’s already joined the others in a makeshift circle, situating himself between Caroline and Elana.
That leaves me between Emory and Reyn.
How appropriate.
The room is small, musty, and old. There are no windows, but the arched ceiling makes it a little less claustrophobic. Candles are scattered around the room, giving everything