over, crowding beaches. Kids around here are used to being entertained. Dangle something in front of their faces and tell them they can’t have it, they’ll stomp until you give it to them—or just up and take it.
Ever since jumping became taboo, it’s everyone’s go-to stunt. It makes or breaks reputations. What the core doesn’t know is that Ben took me here way before this was Gant’s preferred dare. When I was eleven, I could find my way to the top of this precipice in the dark and cannonball into the water between the rocks poking up like knuckles.
“Rusty’s next,” Duncan calls.
“Bro”—Rusty wags his middle finger at Duncan—“I told you I can’t hurt my shoulder before season. The team would have my balls if I couldn’t start. You go next.”
Duncan tips his skipper hat and gives what he thinks is an irresistible smile. “I can’t risk screwing up this perfect face. I’m taking Bethany J. out tonight.” He says her name like it’s an exotic delicacy he can’t wait to gobble up. Bethany J. is a petite cheerleader with D cups. Bethany G. is a stocky flutist in the school band. To Duncan—and the majority of Gant High’s male population—it’s an important distinction.
Duncan shouts up to me, “This one time, Kara Moren jumped with her beer and gave herself a black eye.”
“You could put your beer down to jump,” Willa deadpans. No doubt she’s glaring at his white skipper hat. “It’s like he thinks he’s the captain of the whole island,” Willa groaned as we pulled up behind the others at the trailhead for the spring earlier today. “Promise you won’t blame me if I knock it off his head; it’ll be justifiable hat-homicide.”
Duncan kicks up from the water, punching the sky with his free hand. “You can take my freedom but never my beer!” He’s the only one staying afloat without relinquishing his bottle. With his drink, metallic-framed sunglasses, aforementioned cap, fitted swim trunks he brought back from Crete, and gold chain around his neck, he looks like he’s starring in a music video and the others are his entourage. Knowing Duncan, this is by design.
“No one’s jumping. She’s going to freak,” Carolynn gloats, not even deigning to say my name. She smirks only at her bestie, Becca, who’s sitting cross-legged beside Carolynn on the rocks that rim the spring.
“It’s okay, Lan,” Becca calls. “I wouldn’t even jump to save Duncan’s life.”
“Hey,” Duncan shouts, lifting his chest from the water to see her. “What did I do to you?”
Becca props her huge-framed glasses on top of her head and gives him an innocent look. “I’m over Bethany J. is all. Bethany J. is blacklisted. She’s all you talk about this summer.” Her lips pout and she gives a little huff in place.
“Not true.”
“Kinda, man,” Josh says, laughing. Rusty grunts in agreement.
Duncan slaps the water, feigning anger. “Guys, she’s Bethany J.” A pause, and he grins. “BJ?”
Becca claps her palms over her ears dramatically. “Stop traumatizing me,” she moans. Duncan blows her a kiss. She mimes plucking it from the air and then slumps to the side in Carolynn’s lap, giggling. “Why can’t we all just marry each other?” Becca asks wistfully. “Then there’d never be reason to talk to anyone but us, and I’d never have to go on another date where the boy wants to go halvsies.” Carolynn absentmindedly rearranges the bracelets stacked on Becca’s wrist.
Despite being best friends with Carolynn Winters, Becca Atherton is not soulless. Becca pats my empty towel. “C’mon down, Lan, and we can predict hookups and couples for senior year.” She says this as though it’s the most alluring carrot she can dangle in front of me, a famished bunny rabbit. Before I would have whispered to Willa that news flash: All girls are not boy and gossip crazed. All girls are not kittens or bunny rabbits. Some are sharks. This is ironic, since although my former self would have acknowledged this, she never would have had the guts to act on her sharkish impulses.
After Lana grins at Becca and shouts, “Lemme jump and then I have a few predictions.”
The sun refracts off the diamond stud in Carolynn’s pinched nose as she tips her face up to the cerulean sky. “I’ve seen loads of guys jump,” she says. “Girls aren’t meant for stunts like that.” She drops her chin and winks at Becca. “Pussies are pussy.”
Willa sits bolt upright. She’s the only one of us not in a swimsuit, since she doesn’t swim