7. Logan

7LOGAN

Kira’s eyes go wide. “What?”

I shove my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie, shivering even in the heat. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be. But it was. The dark shape down by the water, the thing I thought was seaweed or driftwood, something discarded by the sea. Until I saw the legs.

“I was walking on the beach, at the back of the house.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “And I saw a body.”

“Are you sure?” Max asks quietly.

“Yes! I mean, I think. I—” I swallow, try to breathe. “I didn’t, like, examine it. I just started running.”

Kira turns and walks back inside, going straight to the closet. She throws it open and starts digging around.

“What are you doing?” I ask, sounding as small and helpless as I feel.

“Flashlights.” Kira pulls a couple out. “Let’s go.”

There’s no way in hell I’m going back out there. But then, as Kira and Max start walking, I realize there’s no way in hell I’m staying here alone, either. I jog out after them, stopping on the patio and watching as they get farther from the house. It’s like they disappear into complete darkness, nothing but the beams of their flashlights. Like we’re floating at the edge of the world.

Footsteps sound behind me, and I jump.

“Logan?” Zane’s voice is like cold hands down my back. He stands in the doorway, McKayleigh and Graham behind him. “What’s going on? We heard someone scream.”

My mouth goes dry.

Cole stumbles out with his stupid Fortyhands. “We boolin’ out here now?”

Aaron’s at his heels, and Elody steps out in front of both of them.

“Babe? You look like you’re gonna vom.”

Corinne’s next, wearing her pajamas and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. “What’s happening?”

I take a breath, force it out. “I saw a body.”

“What?” McKayleigh squeals.

But I can’t deal with them right now. I run down the patio steps and out to the water, toward Kira’s flashlight.

“Do you see it?” I call out, keeping my eyes on the sandy ground, because I don’t know if I can look. The waves break against the sand, loud enough that it feels like they’re inside my head, crashing against my skull.

“It’s not a body,” Max says. But his voice sounds like what it is isn’t any better.

Finally, I look up to see what Kira’s light and Max’s camera are trained on.

A mannequin. Faceless, turned up to the inky sky. A message on its chest, painted the color of blood:

YOU’VE BEEN #CANCELED.

“Was this supposed to be a joke?” Zane looks around the living room like he’s searching for the culprit. “Because it’s not funny.”

His gaze lands on me, sharp and probing, like this is my fault. I glare back, clenching my teeth to keep them from chattering. Now, back in the living room with everyone, I’m embarrassed at my own freak-out, but Zane doesn’t get to act like I did this.

Aaron shoots a look at Cole. “Why don’t we ask our resident prankster?”

“C’mon, bro.” He laughs, still drunk. “‘You’ve been hashtag-canceled’? That’s so cringe, dude. Not my style.”

Corinne shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “To be fair, Cole’s probably lacking the hand-eye coordination required to pull off a prank right now.”

He gives a warrior cry, raising his Fortyhands.

“Then who was it?” McKayleigh’s eyes snap around the room, landing on me. “If this is part of your little meltdown from earlier, then you need to grow the heck up.”

“What?” My embarrassment morphs into anger, hardening my spine. “Where would I even find a mannequin and spray paint anyway?”

“I don’t know!” She throws up her hands. “But we all saw what you did to Cole.”

A harsh laugh cuts through me. What I did, like I’m some kind of criminal. Throwing a plate, like, six whole feet away from Cole Bryan might have been immature, fine, but it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve ever done. McKayleigh should know that better than anyone.

“Logan’s right,” Kira says. “Why would any of us do this?”

“Well, someone did,” Aaron mumbles.

“Maybe it was Tilly.” Corinne rubs under her glasses like a tired librarian. “I don’t know. Some kind of joke to set the mood.”

“God, Millennial humor is so lame.” Elody looks at Aaron. “No offense.”

He glowers. “I’m not even the oldest one here.”

“Okay, wait,” Graham cuts in. “We’re saying Tilly did this?” He wrings his beanie in his hands, black hair staticky. “When? We were with her the whole time.”

“Not when we were moving into our rooms,” Kira points out. “She could have snuck back there before she left. Did anyone go out to the beach between Tilly leaving and now?”

The room is silent.

“Just Logan,” McKayleigh says, like the smuggest fake detective I’ve ever seen.

“Again,” I say through clenched teeth, “why would I do this?”

“Why would Tilly?” she shoots back.

“I guess it could’ve been her.” Graham is trying to keep his voice level, to keep the peace like he always does, but I hear it tremble. “Maybe she just has, like, a super weird sense of humor.”

I laugh bitterly. “She does work in reality TV. Those people eat human suffering for breakfast.”

As usual, no one seems to find me funny anymore. I throw my hood over my head and tighten the drawstrings, wishing it would eat me alive.

Corinne lets out a breath. “Look, I’m pretty exhausted, and this seems more like a whole lot of nonsense than an actual threat to anyone’s safety, so … I’m going back to bed.”

Kira nods. “Tilly said they’d all be here by eight tomorrow. We can get this all figured out then. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Corinne and Kira start toward the stairs. Cole boos after them, cupping his bottles around his mouth.

Elody stands up from the couch. “Well, if anyone wants to not be super old and boring, I’m gonna keep getting drunk.”

Cole cheers, and soon, everyone is trickling to the kitchen, where Elody rifles through the alcohol like a drunk-but-somehow-sexy raccoon. For half a second, I want to join them, but then I see them looking at me. McKayleigh, Zane, and Graham, their stony glances making it clear. I’m not one of them anymore. I’m not wanted.

I climb upstairs alone.

As I go back to our room, all I can think is that I wish I had my phone. I’m pretty sure I’d give my left ovary just for the distraction, even though I know what’s waiting there: an endless parade of comments, mean and hateful, words that claw under my skin even though the people who left them probably think I’ll never read them. Emails from brands explaining that, without the reach of the Bounce House, I’m not the partner that they’re looking for.

But I’d take it all, if I could at least call Harper. Laugh with her about my shitty luck until it stops hurting so much.

I close the bedroom door behind me, shutting out the rest of the house. The truth is, if I had my phone, I know exactly what I’d be doing, the same ritual I’ve done at least once a week for months: scrolling through my old TikToks. The ones I posted before the Bounce House, the sketches and dumb jokes that made people laugh—made Zane laugh enough that he saw something in me, that he sent a DM that changed my life. I don’t know why I’ve been watching them again. Maybe to remind myself that I used to be more than trends and lip syncs and sponsored videos. At least, I used to think I was.

But thinking about it is pointless, because my phone is fifteen miles away, and I chose this. Because I thought this would help me fix things, or at least tune them out for a while.

Voices float up from downstairs as I turn off the lights and crawl into bed. Closing my eyes, I try to focus on the crash and pull of the waves, to forget what I thought I saw down there. What I thought I’d run away from.

TRANSCRIPTION: NIGHT ONE, 3:47 AM

(RECORDING FROM WATCH #2)

[FOOTSTEPS. DOOR OPENING, CLOSING. WAVES GET LOUDER.]

COLE

Shit. [Hushed laugh.]

[FOOTSTEPS. CREAKING SOUND. PAUSE.]

COLE

Hello?