CHAPTER TWO
R I V E R
10:42 a.m.
RIVER REYNOLDS HAD never seen water so black.
From the sun deck of the yacht, the Atlantic Ocean looked like Onyx Ink, the newest color from her favorite nail polish line, Mineral Manicure: it was shiny and sleek as a raven’s feather, so smooth it looked fake.
She squinted into the distance, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, but there were only the tiniest ripples in the ocean’s glassy surface, and all caused by their boat, like the bow was a knife, the ocean a cake. She’d been at sea before (her uncle had been a naval officer since she was three), so she was used to both rough and calm waters. But in the fourteen years since she’d first stepped foot on a ship, she’d never seen water look like this.
River felt a warm presence at her elbow and tensed. Before she could turn around, the scent of hazelwood and honey flooded her nostrils.
Quintin McCallum IV. Her endlessly adorable—and wildly infuriating—crush. Who she’d always refused to call Quatro like everyone else did.
“Whatchu up here thinking about?” he asked as he joined her at the railing. She felt the tension leave her muscles. And hated it. Quintin had precisely no right to make her so comfortable. With a mom like Dana Reynolds, DC’s most sought-after crisis manager, River had been trained to prepare for the worst while hoping for the best. It was survival, but it’d also split her, she realized, into both an optimist and a realist.
A Gemini through and through.
There was the River who did everything right and chased what she knew she could catch (as Mama demanded). But there was also the River who knew that certain things were impossible.
Like actually being with Quintin.
River noticed that she’d been morphing more into Dana’s Daughter around her friends since last year—the “perfect” River that she worked hard to be, instead of Real River, which is what she called her hidden self.
But she felt more like her real self around Quintin. Softer. Less guarded.
Safe.
She didn’t feel the familiar instinct to put up her wall with him. And though it should’ve been a relief not to be on, it just frustrated her. Made her want things she knew she couldn’t have. She sighed and forced herself to turn and take in his warm smile.
And instantly regretted it.
One of the problems with Quintin was that he was beautiful. Gorgeous, even. Gleaming copper skin, a fresh cut edged up sharp as broken glass, heavy brows over soulful eyes, a dimpled grin that always looked like trouble. And then there was the rest of him: broad shoulders, long legs, and an ass that made her wonder why his position on the football team wasn’t tight end.
His expression morphed into one of concern. “Yo, you good, love?”
She wanted to scream. Even his beauty couldn’t lure her into telling him the truth—that the darkness of the ocean was frightening in a way she didn’t know how to explain. That it was making her feel weird and jumpy, on edge about this trip and the future. She couldn’t say what she wanted to say: that ever since last year, being close to water had felt inherently unsafe.
Even his beauty couldn’t lure her into telling him the truth—that the darkness of the ocean was frightening in a way she didn’t know how to explain.And that him standing this close and gazing at her that way was both helping and hurting. That she wanted him to leave her the hell alone. Stop acting like he cared. But she also wanted him to come closer.
See? Infuriating.
So, she pointed to their friends, who were gathered on the main deck. “I’m thinking about how much it sucks that we’re stuck rooming with Noelle. Sydney didn’t even want her to come, so you know she’s only here because of Ant.”
Quintin leaned over the railing beside her, so close their pinkies nearly touched, and looked down at everyone else. The girls were beside the small pool at the front of the boat—Sydney’s locs hanging almost to the deck as she threw her head back laughing and Noelle anxiously twirling her twists around her finger. And there were the boys: Ant, tall and slim, and Dwayne, whose arms and legs were thick with muscle like Quintin’s, were at a table tossing playing cards and money around in what looked like a rigged poker game. River could see Dwayne peeling cards off the bottom of the deck when Ant wasn’t looking.
“I know, Riv,” Quintin replied. The nickname hit River’s ear like Styrofoam, but she couldn’t tell him it grated on her because she’d have to explain why. That would bring up the topic they most wanted to avoid: Keisha White. Their dead best friend.
His dead former girlfriend.
“But it’ll all be fine,” he continued. “We’ve known Noelle practically our whole lives. And even though she’s been kinda . . . difficult these last few months, I’m sure she’s coming around.”
River nodded, but she wasn’t so sure. Yes, they’d all been friends for years, but with one member of their group gone, the balance had been off for a while.
Honestly, River had never fully trusted Noelle. Call it intuition, a sixth sense, but it had been too strong for River to ignore over the years. So she’d always kept Noelle at arm’s length. She was a person who would never meet Real River. And now River would be trapped with her for a week.
Everything had been off-kilter since spring break last year. And River didn’t know how to stomach any of it: that Quintin was beautiful and kind despite the loss of his girlfriend. That they were all trying hard not to talk or think about said girlfriend—the girl Noelle had blabbed to a reporter about despite the pact they’d made when Key died. That beautiful, kind Quintin wasn’t with Key anymore solely because she was dead.
That she, River, wanted Quintin for herself, now and when Key had still been alive.
Even though she’d been gone for a year, Key still lorded over them all.
River felt her wall creeping back up, Dana’s Daughter slipping in. “You think Sydney and Dwayne will finally hook up this week?” she asked, trying to bury the dark thoughts that were attempting to rise to the surface.
As though she’d heard River, Sydney called out to Dwayne, and despite the ache in her own heart, River couldn’t help but smile at the way Dwayne leaped up from the card table at the sound of her voice. A shy but hopeful grin settled at the corner of his full lips, like he’d been waiting for her summons, and he hovered next to her: a hungry hummingbird hoping to taste a flower’s nectar without ever touching down. He was so loud and confident except when it came to Sydney. With her he seemed like he was afraid to get too close.
“God, I hope so,” Quintin said, laughing.
But River knew Sydney and Dwayne’s situation was just as complicated as her own with Quintin. Despite the fact that they had all grown up together, Sydney’s mom—a senator—and Dwayne’s dad—the governor of Maryland—had become political rivals. So Sydney and Dwayne were star-crossed, too. It ate Sydney alive.
River glanced at her best friend and wondered how things might change between them if Sydney did start officially dating Dwayne. Then she looked at Noelle and felt something awful deep in her gut. At least she still had Sydney. Yeah, the Six had always rolled pretty tight, but they each still had their singular person: River + Sydney; Quintin + Dwayne . . . Noelle’s person—Key—was . . . gone.
River turned to face Quintin then. His lashes looked almost fake in the sun. She lifted her hand to point to the captain, about to make a joke that he looked like somebody’s uncle at a cookout in his sandals and socks. But Quintin caught her wrist and brought her hand closer to his face.
“I like these,” he said, admiring her nails. She’d started giving herself elaborate manicures the year she turned twelve to kill a nasty nail-biting habit she’d formed after her grandmother passed. Her mother had started batting her hand away from her mouth if they were in public, and it was getting embarrassing. The habit had flared up again last year after everything happened with Key. But River squashed it as soon as her mother told her it made her look like she was guilty of something. Looking guilty is as good as being guilty in Dana’s book.
For this trip River had chosen a shimmering shade of blue that glimmered like gems in the sun. She wiggled her fingers, and her nails looked like they were covered in sapphires.
“Thank you,” she said, and she wanted to flirt back, but she could feel their friends’ eyes on her. She could only imagine what they must be thinking: Really, River? Flirting with the dead girl’s boyfriend?
She pulled out of his grip and stepped away from him.
“I guess I’m just glad you’re here,” he said, and River couldn’t help but smile then even though she was still thinking about how different last year had been and about the person who should be standing next to him instead of her.
“I’m glad you’re here too,” she said. And dammit, there was Quintin’s troublemaker grin. He was like her, she realized—a coin with two sides. She wondered what secrets he might be keeping. That curiosity drew her even closer to him.
River looked out at the dark water again. She’d chosen this color for her nails thinking they’d match the sea, but she’d been so wrong. She swallowed hard, pulled a pair of sunglasses out of her purse, and slipped them on like they could hide her real feelings as easily as they hid her eyes. “I just hope this trip goes as well as we want it to.”
“You worry too much,” Quintin told her. “Of course it will.” But River could tell by the small crease in his brow that he wasn’t as confident about their long-awaited spring break as he was making himself out to be.
Over Quintin’s shoulder, River saw Ant pull out his laptop, walk over to the cabin, and duck inside, his infamous gold chain glinting in the sunlight.
They were headed to an island resort called Kuzimu, which was owned by Ant’s father, and she watched as Noelle followed Ant into the cabin, panic evident in her wide eyes and the hot spots of red against the light brown of her cheeks. River knew that panic. She’d felt it whenever her mother told her that mistakes could follow a person for life if they weren’t careful.
“How do you think everyone’s feeling about the anniversary?” she asked Quintin.
She had to ask. The question had been haunting her for weeks. He didn’t immediately respond, and River wished she could take it back. But whether she brought it up or not, it was a shadow hanging over everything: a year ago this week Keisha White had died.
Quintin sighed and shifted away from her. “I think it’s good we’re going away. That news story Noelle did is probably gonna break soon, but I think we all want to put the whole thing behind us. Pretend none of that shit ever happened.”
“But what if she told that reporter things we promised to keep secret?” River whispered.
He met her eyes. “Maybe we should just focus on senior year coming and college and shit, Riv.”
That nickname again. It was what Key used to call her.
River wished she could pretend none of it had ever happened. That the events of that night would die too. There were things no one knew about Key and River, the gala, the after-party, and the weeks leading up to it . . . and she wanted to keep it that way.
The yacht picked up speed. River swallowed hard and smoothed her hands over her braids and the fabric of her summer dress. The ocean’s breeze made both ripple in waves behind her, so she turned to face Quintin and squinted up at him, trying to read his expression.
Before she could say more, River felt the baseline of a song drop as the whole yacht began to vibrate with music. She looked back down at her friends as Sydney grabbed Dwayne’s hand and started dancing, and Ant emerged from the cabin, laptop still open, headphones on and arm in the air like the DJ he was pretending to be with Noelle trailing him like a tail.
Quintin pumped a fist in the air. “Yo, this my song!” He put out his arm like a gentleman inviting a lady to dance in an old movie and River laughed. She took it despite her head being full of Key and the anniversary. The movement felt like it was made for forgetting. And she desperately needed to forget.
When the song changed, she and Quintin descended the stairs and joined their friends on the lower deck. Soon the whole boat felt like one of the parties they would’ve thrown back in DC. Which should’ve been a good thing: the Six’s parties were legendary. But it just made River think of last spring break, after the gala. The last party where they’d seen Key alive.
She could see the island in the distance. It looked lush and green, like Emerald Envy, the color she’d brought to paint Sydney’s nails because it matched her friend’s new swimsuit. But as they got closer, the water became choppier, eventually rocking them in a way that felt like a warning. Still, the island looked like paradise. And River was excited.
There was only one problem. In paradise it was easy to forget that sometimes you couldn’t do anything to stop bad things from happening.
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