Chapter Five Delaney

Chapter Five

Delaney

Now: Friday, 12:00 p.m.

Something about Eden Laskin is different. It's been bothering me since the airport. Like she's shifted one more degree toward perfect, the change both noticeable and imperceptible at the same time.

I've had a front-row seat these past three years to the evolution of Eden Laskin. I forget sometimes how uncanny it is, the before and the after. She's not the only student at Warner Prep who's had work done; among the elite in places like Los Angeles and New York, sweet-sixteen nose jobs are not uncommon. But the LA influencer-to-celebrity track is next level.

So we don't say anything about how much Eden's transformed. We pretend it's a normal preteen ugly-duckling glow-up, even if we know better.

But. Being friends with Eden is a mind game. She sets the bar for beauty, and it becomes more unattainable by the day.

At least I have Liam, who always tells me I'm gorgeous. "I love your natural beauty," he says all the time, running his strong, capable hand over my perfectly rouged cheek, through my silky-smooth blowout. He's one of those guys who has no clue how much work goes into a "natural look."

I watch him now, concentrating intently on our chaperone doling out room assignments, making a mental catalog of the surroundings, the rules, the to-dos. Liam's at his best when he's focused, driven, and resourceful. And it doesn't hurt that he looks like a K-drama star. I surge with pride. We have three years of history and our whole future in front of us. This weekend will solidify everything. My stomach quavers for what's ahead.

Then my eyes are drawn to my past. It's hard to miss Declan's scowl and the petulance coming off him in waves. He's still pissed about Silva's dig at his stupid TikTok nickname, which he tried to make happen for, like, a year. Introducing your boyfriend to people as Prime is as humiliating as it sounds. File that whole relationship under stupid things we do when we're fifteen.

My nonviral, totally normal current boyfriend's cut-glass jawline twitches as Silva announces that the boys will share a bunk-bed room on the second floor. I know Liam doesn't care for Wyatt, but the assignment's a no-brainer. Why waste two rooms on three boys?

Splitting things up fairly among the rest of us is another story.

"There's a main suite on the second floor, and two doubles on the third," Silva says. "Ms. Laskin will take the single, with Ms. Moss and Ms. Sutter in one double, and Ms. Hawley and Ms. Giambruno in the other."

First I'm rankled that Eden gets a room all to herself. Because of course she does. But at least I'm rooming with Camille and not Willa. Bullet dodged. We haven't really spoken in years. See, Willa's so into ghosts, she decided to become one.

As everyone rises to get their bags and go upstairs, I loop my arm through Liam's and hang back with him by the warmth of the fireplace. I meant to check in with him earlier, but this is our first proper moment alone.

"Hey, how are you doing?" I ask. As much as I know he wants to enjoy the Senior Excursion like the rest of us, the timing sucks. He's been off all morning. "You thinking about him?"

He turns his rich brown eyes toward me. "Thank you for remembering. I'm okay. He would have been fifteen today." Liam worries his bottom lip, eyes darting to the door. "Maybe I shouldn't have come. My family said it was fine, but you know we always do a memorial thing."

"They understand, Liam," I reassure him. "Your aunt wouldn't want you to stop living. Noah wouldn't have wanted it either."

Some of the tension melts off Liam's shoulders at his cousin's name, with my firm reassurance. Most people are afraid to bring up Noah, let alone the way he died. But after my dad's untimely death, I wanted nothing more than to talk about him, not treat him like some taboo. So I never shy away from remembering Noah. I squeeze Liam's hand in mine.

"Hey, babe. This might be in poor taste, but I have something that might take your mind off things…." It's hard to tell what brings on my full-body flush: the heat of the flames or what I'm about to suggest. "I was thinking," I say, once everyone else has left, "I know we talked about waiting until prom to, uh, ya know." I nod in a way I hope is meaningful. "But what if we moved up the timeline? We're here. Our parents aren't around. The cabin, the snow, it could be kind of…romantic?"

There's a beat while I watch Liam understand. I love the way his brows soar into his hairline once he does.

"Seriously?"

I nod again, solidifying the idea in my head. I had all these grand plans for prom, but maybe this trip is the better venue, better timing. Make this weekend one we'll never forget. It feels right.

"Uh, yes, obviously yes," Liam says. A puppyish grin lights up his face, and he tugs me into an embrace. I breathe in the scent of him, immediately comforted. A prelude of better things to come.

Silva clears her throat at the foot of the stairs, where the rest of our classmates are hoisting their suitcases.

"Everyone go upstairs to drop off your bags and change," Silva says. "First item on the agenda is a short cross-country ski before dinner, which will be prepared by Eden, Willa, and Liam." She frowns at Piper and her arm sling.

"Ms. Giambruno, we'll have to find some other activity for you to start. Give me ten." Then she claps to let us loose in the house.

I turn my back for one second to retrieve my forgotten agenda and lose Liam to the chaos. When I finally spot him, he's already off without me or my bag. Willa follows him up the stairs. Luggage-free.

I swallow the burn of jealousy. It's stupid. They've been friends almost as long as I've been dating Liam. Just because Willa and I aren't talking doesn't mean they can't. There's nothing more pathetic than a possessive girlfriend who can't let her boyfriend be nice to other girls.

I recite the plan in my head as I haul my own suitcases up two flights of stairs:

Liam and me at Yale, transitioning beautifully from high school sweethearts to college coupledom. A five-year global-health BS/MA degree with a cushy internship or four, and slide right into a six-figure salary by twenty-five with some political-action committee. One of the do-gooder ones, of course. Move wherever Liam gets into med school, and get married by the time he's in residency. And from there? Sky's the limit.

Everyone rolls their eyes at the way I plotted out my future, but ambition without planning and action is merely a dream. I've always been a doer.

"We're in here, Del." Camille calls me over to the door left of the third-floor landing. Inside is a spacious California king. Even so, I wrinkle my nose.

"I know, I know," Camille says, shuffling around to her side, already claimed by her mouth-guard case on the nightstand. "It was the nicer room, though. Plus, it came with a cat."

She ruffles the scruff of a giant, fluffy black cat lounging on an otherwise pristine white bedspread. The cat gives her the stink-eye and departs, though not before circling my ankles.

"Fine, I didn't like you anyway," Camille huffs, falling backward onto the bed with a bounce. Then a dramatic sigh. "God, I can't believe Piper's still milking her arm after all these months. What a drama queen. Pretending her injury's worse than it is just to take the heat off her spectacular failure to be recruited."

I sense a Piper vent incoming, so I busy myself with unpacking my toiletries and wait for Cam to rev up. She and Piper used to do competitive gymnastics together, and there are years of pent-up bitterness between them. Especially since Camille got booted from the team three years ago.

"Don't you think it's weird she's still wearing her sling? It's been, what, three months?"

"Four," I correct her. "It happened before senior year." I retrieve my ski suit and boots from the bottom of my case.

Camille rolls onto her side, propping up her head with one hand. "Right! And isn't it so weird how she just came back to Warner after all this time? You know, I asked her if she was off the Olympic track and going collegiate, like me, and she refused to tell me. Then she breaks her arm two weeks before nationals. It's the biggest meet of the season! Suspicious." Her tone turns conspiratorial. "How do you think she broke it?"

"You mean you didn't do it?" I deadpan. Cam's used to it.

"You push someone off a balance beam once …" She groans, hauling herself up to get changed too.

"What about Astrid?"

"Ugh, fine, twice ! But it was worlds, and she is a smug bitch."

Camille's a doer too.

"I wouldn't have blamed you if you did push Piper off a ledge." I punctuate the thought by thumping my foot into a boot. "Petty Piper's had it coming for years."

Camille glows with reinforcement. "Right? Ugh, I can't believe I'm stuck with her all weekend. Of all people." But then a grin spreads across her face. "I'll just remind her that I'm going to Arizona in the fall. See if I can get her to spill about what third-rate gymnastics team agreed to take her. Maybe she'll also dish about why Coach Beal kicked her off the team."

We've made the jump to college plans, which means a patented Camille guilt trip is incoming in three, two…

"You know, there's still time to change your mind about Yale. Arizona has rolling admissions…. Oh, come on, Delaney, stop making a face."

I hadn't realized I was. Quickly, I school my features to calm.

"But seriously, forget the stuffy East Coast pretentiousness and come party with meeeee," Camille whines. "You and Liam can survive long distance no problem. You guys are endgame."

I sigh. "Cam, it's Yale. Maybe if you'd been recruited to UCLA, I might have been tempted, but no."

For a microsecond her face falls, but then Eden hollers up the stairwell.

"CAM, DEL, GET DOWN HERE!"

Her voice is urgent, which probably means she needs help picking out a scrunchie. Cam gasps, pretends shock. "We've been summoned!"

"Best not let the queen wait." I grab my ear warmers and follow Cam out the door.

Downstairs, Eden stands in front of a floor-length mirror debating between two puffer jackets.

"Periwinkle or magenta? One goes with my eyes, but the other compliments my hair…."

Now the trick is to intuit which one she wants to wear, and agree with her.

"Pink," I say. Because it's the opposite of what Eden was wearing earlier.

Eden tilts her head at her reflection and smiles coyly, a test run of the pink princess getup. "You're right—I look romantic yet sweet…." Suddenly she grunts. "But who even cares, when I don't have my phone? Silva is the worst."

"You'll survive if you don't post to Instagram for one day," I say, eyeing a giant black box sitting on the end of Eden's bed. It's tied with a red ribbon, and a card is tucked beneath a crisp bow.

Welcome

"Four days," Eden snaps as she shimmies into the magenta parka. "And, what, are you on her side now? I thought Willa was the brownnoser, not you."

"God, no." I gag. "I just don't think it's that bad. We did manage to sneak the booze past her, and this place has a charm…."

Eden's scowl turns wicked. "Speaking of." She turns to fetch something from her suitcase. Camille shuts the door. Then they approach me like the twins from The Shining.

"What—"

They cut me off with a fit of giggles.

From behind her back, Eden produces a roll of condoms. "These are for you. In case you forgot."

"Congrats!" Camille springs a tight hug on me before I can react. Intense heat explodes in my cheeks as I try to extricate myself from her gymnast grip. Camille is strong.

Once I'm free, Camille answers my shocked expression. "I overheard you talking to Liam downstairs."

"Don't worry about me and Dec," Eden joins in. "Now that I have the single, he'll bunk with me, and you guys can banish Wyatt to the couch. And then…" She begins making suggestive hip motions.

"What's in the box?" I'm untying the red ribbon before they can blink.

Inside is an assortment of weekend-away essentials: bougie shampoo and conditioner, artisanal soap, a sudoku book, a hot-water bottle, and, oddly, a jigsaw puzzle.

Camille snorts. "It's like a grandma welcome pack."

"Not quite." Eden fishes a rectangular object from the bottom of the box and holds it aloft. It's one of those rated-R group card games. The title— Oh, the Humanity! —is inscribed on the black box in a fiery font.

"We'll have to play tonight after Ms. Killjoy goes to bed. Make a dent in the alcohol and loosen up."

Something about the way Eden says it raises goose pimples on my arms. Eden's idea of fun tends to have collateral damage. I'll just have to hope I end up on the right side of her wreckingball.