“Where were you going to take me?”

“Ice cream,” he says, and at the expression on my face, his laugh lines appear.

“In October?” I ask, and when he nods, I realize I’m smiling. I can see us—side by side on a little bench outside the parlor, teeth chattering from the ice cream, Mike’s arm wrapped around me to keep me warm, me laughing because of how perfect it all is.

My heart starts to ache, and Mike and I both lift our chins when footsteps begin to clatter against the steel grating.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Shawn says with sincere apology in his voice. He scratches his fingers uncomfortably through his hair. “But it’s time to set the equipment back up.”

Back on dry land, after being showered with hugs and kind words from Jillian, Paul, and the rest of the staff, I head for the long row of Porta-Pottys back up the access road. Dee, Rowan, and even Kit offered to go with me, but honestly, after being literally surrounded by people for the past five hours, I need some alone time.

I regret my decision almost as soon as I step back out of the Porta-Potty. The after party is in full swing—judging by the music I hear blasting back in the clearing—and waves upon waves of people are heading in that direction. I overheard Adam saying earlier that a lot more people were going to come afterward, since the band couldn’t accommodate everyone who wanted to be in the music video, but I never anticipated this many people.

I get swallowed in the current as I make my way back toward the pond, and once I get to the clearing, I realize I have no idea where anyone is. I know the band must be performing out on the water, but the space around the pond is absolutely swarmed with people, and there’s no way my five-foot self is going anywhere near it, not after my experience with armpit guy at the band’s concert a few weeks ago. I fish my phone out of my jacket and consider calling Rowan or Dee to find out where they are, but I pocket it when I realize they’re never going to hear their ringers over the blaring music consuming this entire forest.

Instead, I walk. In my red dress and my black boots, I walk through the grass and pretend I know where I’m going, which is no easy task considering that the entire space has been transformed. Fog machines that were used earlier to make the woods look eerie have been turned up to full blast, and all throughout the clearing, blue strobe lights and lasers cut through the haze. A firework explodes in the sky, and I look up to see a waterfall of white sparks fall from the moon. Cheers erupt all around me while I just stand there with my eyes pointed at the sky, mouth parted in awe.

A shiver sends goose bumps up my arms, and I lower my eyes just as a woman handing out glow necklaces passes me. The night lights up with glow sticks and glow necklaces and glow bracelets, and then the Solo cups start multiplying, and I realize I’m nearing the kegs. And beside the kegs, food trucks advertising free pizza, free pretzels, free funnel cake. Someone carrying cotton candy walks past me, and I realize I am so, so, so incredibly lost.

I keep walking, and my eyes start playing tricks on me. I think I see Kit in the crowd, but it ends up not even being a girl—just a guy with the same incredibly smooth black hair and the same fair skin tone. And beside him, another guy with a buzzed head who also looks strikingly like Kit. And a few feet away, flirting with a group of girls: yet another ridiculously tall guy who looks just like Kit.

I’m walking away from the food area, rubbing my eyes and trying to convince myself I’m not losing my mind, when I hear an unfamiliar voice call my name.

“Hailey Harper,” the guy repeats as he walks toward me, a warm smile on his face, “are you lost?”

He stops just in front of me, a tall twenty-something with honey-shaded eyes and dyed ombre hair—the base, the same striking cerulean color as the highlights in Kit’s hair tonight.

“Do I know you?” I ask, and his smile widens.

“Sweetheart,” he says, tapping his glow stick against the top of my head, “I’m your fairy godfriend.”

I lift an eyebrow, and his face falls.

“Seriously? Again?” He shakes his head in disappointment and exhales a deep sigh of frustration. “What does a guy have to do to earn a reputation around here? When Kit didn’t recognize me, that was one thing, but—” He pins me with furrowed brows and says, “Big gay best friend? Not ringing any bells at all?”

“Leti?” I ask, remembering stories that Rowan and Dee have shared over coffee, and his smile sparkles brighter than the flashing stage lights over at the pond.

“You have heard of me!” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and starts walking me to God knows where. “Those girls were going to give me a complex. Hey”—he looks down at me, and I stare up at him—“you haven’t seen my boyfriend around here, have you? Kit’s brother.”

“Oh!” I say, relieved I’m not actually losing my mind. “Buzzed head? Lots of tattoos?”

“Mason?” Leti snorts. “No, not that one.”

“Tall? Looks a little older?”

“I think you’re talking about Ryan,” he says with a shake of his head. “He’s the oldest. I’m with her twin.”

I think of the guy who was flirting with the group of girls, and I pray I’m wrong when I ask, “Muscular? Really short hair?”

“Bryce.” Leti laughs, and I find myself relaxing under his arm. He feels safe in this chaos—like he’s a native of this strobe-lit Narnia and can help me find my way back home.




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