Chapter 7

We reach the first stop on our summer tour of Lake Michigan just after nightfall. The shoreline is lit up brighter than Christmas morning, and I have to squint against the reflection off the water. The moon is full and high in the dark sky. Despite the gleaming brilliance, the area is still and quiet and a little eerie.

I rub my hands up my bare arms to chase the goose bumps away, but my efforts are useless. I shiver and take a small step closer to Spencer so I can soak up his body heat, but he’s radiating colder than I am.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

Spencer expertly maneuvers the boat alongside an empty dock. “It’s still early in the season. I didn’t expect this place to be too busy.” He eases the boat to a stop, kills the engine, then hops onto the dock.

I glance around as he secures the boat. By my count, there are a dozen or so other boats lined up along the shore. Some have lights on, others are dark. The restaurant Spencer mentioned earlier is open, and people are coming and going. Sounds of live music filter toward me on the warm breeze.

Okay, so maybe this place isn’t as creepy as I first thought, though I can’t seem to get rid of the unease skittering up my back. Something about this place just doesn’t feel right, but I can’t figure out why.

“Hungry?” Spencer asks as he jumps back onto the boat, causing it to rock.

I grip the steering wheel, so I won’t lose my balance. I hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning, and this afternoon all I had was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My stomach rumbles.

“Starving,” I say.

But then I’m struck with the knowledge that I don’t have much money. Thankfully, I remembered to grab my wallet before I left the house, so I have my bank card, but I have less than fifty dollars in my account. I shift on my feet and chew on the inside of my cheek.

“Everleigh!”

I blink and stare at Spencer. “What?”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowed in concentration. “I said you might want to put on a sweater or jacket. It gets cold in the evenings.”

“I don’t have any.” I frown. “I didn’t exactly take my time packing this morning.”

He doesn’t say anything as he disappears below deck. When he returns a second later, he holds a hoodie out to me. It’s a soft gray with our school mascot—the Bulldogs—plastered across the back. Spencer’s last name is stitched in small letters across the front left corner.

Reluctantly, I take the hoodie from him, but I don’t put it on right away. For months, I hoped and waited for Reid to offer me his varsity football sweatshirt, but he never did. According to Whitney, wearing a guy’s hoodie is a sign of commitment. If I put this on, will Spencer think we’re together? I nearly laugh at the idea.

Spencer watches me intently, and against my better judgment, I meet his gaze. He raises a brow as if challenging me. I clutch the hoodie tighter, but I still don’t put it on, despite the fact that I’m freezing.

“If you don’t want wear it, don’t.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I don’t miss the disappointment that flashes behind his dark eyes. “But don’t say I didn’t offer.” He turns, heaves himself over the side of the boat, and lands effortlessly on his feet. He extends his hand to me. “C’mon. I’m starving, too.”

With a sigh, I yank the sweatshirt on, then take his proffered hand. I own a school hoodie, too, but his is much larger and warmer than mine, and it smells like him, too—a mixture of pine-scented soap, the beach, and undeniable high-school-boy smell. The combination is intoxicating, and I hate myself for taking so much comfort in it.

As soon as I’m steady on the dock, Spencer steps back and gives me a once over. He grins. “Looks good.”

I glance down at myself. His sweater is so big it hangs to my knees, completely covering my shorts, giving me the appearance of not wearing any pants. I momentarily consider getting back on the boat and putting on the only pair of jeans I have, but my stomach grumbles in protest.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “Let’s go e—crap. My wallet is in my bag.” Guess I’m getting on the boat whether I want to or not.

“Don’t worry about it.” Spencer waves his hand dismissively. “I can pay for dinner.”

Anger and embarrassment burn in my gut. “I don’t need you to pay my way.”

Even though I’m not rich, and I don’t have a ton of money to blow like my friends do, I’ve never let any of them buy me stuff, and I’m not about to start now. Especially not when the person offering is Spencer.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, and his shoulders slump. “Whatever you want, Ev.” His tone is full of defeat.

I glare at him. So many thoughts rush to my mind, but I bite my tongue so I don’t say any of them. Spencer’s been nothing but nice to me, and I have no reason to be nasty to him. So what if he buys me dinner? Not like anyone we know is here. No one but me and him will ever know.

“Thank you for offering,” I say with a smile. “I’ll buy next time.”

He smiles, and his dimples appear again. “Deal.”

I fall into step beside him, and we walk the length of the dock until we reach the end. A small building sits empty and dark, and I try to sneak a peek through the window, but it’s covered with dirt and grime. Though I swear I see a figure standing against the back wall, staring straight at us.

“I think someone’s in there.” I clutch Spencer’s arm to stop him. “See?” I point at the window.

Spencer moves toward the building and all but presses his face against the window. “I think you’re seeing things.”

I elbow him out of the way, cup my hands around my face, and peer into the dark room. My gaze scans the small, enclosed area then zeroes in on the far wall where just moments ago someone had been standing. The space is empty now, though, and I ease back.

“I’m telling you. There was someone in there.” I look over my shoulder, fully expecting to find someone behind me, but the dock is deserted, save for me and Spencer. A chill races across my skin.

“This building hasn’t been used in years,” Spencer says. “They built a new one over there.” He turns and points to a brand new building several feet away.

Light shines through the windows, and a young woman stands outside the door talking with a guy who appears to be her age. Even from where I stand, I can hear their laughter. My gaze darts from them back to the dark, abandoned building, then to Spencer.

“Oh,” I say.

He smiles, but the action is forced, and his expression is guarded. “Can we please go eat now?”

I nod and once again fall into step with him. He’s clearly distracted now, though, and he keeps looking around. A sense of paranoia surrounds him, and that only makes me more nervous. The dread in my stomach tightens into a knot, and by the time we reach the restaurant, my appetite has vanished.

Spencer yanks open the heavy wooden door and motions for me to go in first. I step around him and am hit with a blast of icy cold air conditioning. I shiver. The scent of fresh fish and fryer grease hangs in the air. I inhale deeply, and my appetite returns with a vengeance.

“Hi,” says the perky hostess whose nametag reads Lucy. “Just the two of ya tonight?”

“Yes,” Spencer says.

“Great. Follow me.” She snags two menus, pivots on her heel, and walks into the dining room. Her high ponytail swishes with each step she takes.

I follow, Spencer close behind, and take in my surroundings. The entire place is decorated in a nautical theme—not very original for a lakeside restaurant—but the salvaged ship deck that comprises the bar is pretty cool.

Lucy stops at a two-person table. “Here ya go. Danny will be your waiter. Can I get you some water?”

“Yes please.” I sit and smile at her.

Spencer sits across from me. His gaze darts around like it did on our way here. I narrow my eyes and study him. He’s still tense, and I can’t help but feel like he’s seconds away from jumping up and running out of here.

“What’s up with you?” I ask.

He turns his attention back to me. “What do you mean?”

I fold my arms on the table and lean forward. “Ever since I thought I saw someone…” I lower my voice and lean a little closer. “You act like you’re afraid we’re going to be attacked or something.”

“No,” he says but doesn’t offer any further information or explanation.

“Whatever.” I sigh and pick up my menu. I stare at the plethora of options, but my mind is elsewhere.

Why is Spencer lying to me? Why’s he suddenly so nervous? Had he seen someone, too, and just doesn’t want to tell me? Questions swirl through my mind, and the words on the menu blur together. I snap the menu shut, prepared to say something to him, but Lucy arrives with our water. She sets a glass in front of each of us, then leaves without a word.

I take a small sip. Spencer doesn’t touch his. “Okay, what’s—”

“Good evening. I’m Danny, and I’ll be your server tonight,” he says, interrupting me. “Do you know what you want, or do you need a few more minutes?” He looks at me expectantly.

“Oh, um… I’ll have the fish and chips basket with applesauce instead of coleslaw.”

He jots my order down on his pad, then looks at Spencer, brow raised.

“I’ll have the same,” he says.

Danny nods. A moment later, he’s gone.

“Okay, what gives?” I say to Spencer before I’m interrupted again. “You’re tense and fidgety and you’re barely talking.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a teasing grin. “I thought you’d be happy that I’m not talking.”

I roll my eyes. “Tell me what’s going on with you.” I pin him with an unflinching stare.

With a heavy sigh, he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Not here, okay? I’ll tell you when we get back on the boat. I promise.”

Dread fills my stomach, and I want to argue with him, to demand he tell me everything right now, but something in his tone has me keeping my mouth shut.

Our food arrives, and we eat in a tense, uncomfortable silence. Not that I really expected this trip to be any different. I mean, I’m not exactly be sties with Spencer anymore, and we have no mutual friends, no shared interests, no common ground. What are we supposed to talk about? The good ole days? No thank you.

An hour later, we’re finished eating and heading back to the boat. Spencer’s head is on a swivel, and his pace is determined. I struggle to keep up with him. His demeanor is making me paranoid, and I soon find myself looking over my shoulder every few seconds.

He stops near his boat, glances to the left, then the right, before nodding for me to climb aboard. I step over the side of the boat, and it rocks unexpectedly. Spencer clutches my hand to steady me, and then he’s climbing on right behind me.

“Okay, start talking,” I say before he can get too far away.

“I thought I saw someone I knew. That’s all.”

Anger ignites in my chest, and I scowl. “Are you kidding me?” I cross my arms. “If you saw someone you knew, why are you acting like you’re expecting an attack?”

“Because the person I thought I saw isn’t exactly a nice guy, Ev.” His tone is sharp, but his expression is even sharper. He busies himself with untying the ropes from the dock. “I think it’s best if we find somewhere else to stay tonight.”

He moves around the boat with a speed I didn’t know he possessed, and within moments, the boat is untied, and he’s motoring away from the dock.

All I can do is stare at him with confusion. Over the years, I’ve seen a lot of different sides of Spencer, but I have never seen him this scared before, and that means I should be downright terrified. But of what? Or whom?

“The next town is hours away. Are you planning to stay up all night driving there?” I ask.

“No. We’ll find a spot to drop anchor, and we’ll stay on the lake.” He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, his attention focused on the dark expanse of lake in front of him.

I shift on my feet, which makes me slightly dizzy, so I flop down on the bench. Spencer’s always been a little weird, but his behavior right now is beyond weird, even for him.

“This guy you saw… who is he?” I ask.

“No one you need to worry about.”

I let out an incredulous laugh and throw my hands in the air with frustration. “Obviously I do if we’re running from him.”

“We’re not running from him,” Spencer says.

My temples throb with an impending headache. Clearly, I’m not getting any real answers from Spencer right now, and I’m too tired to sit here and argue with him.

“Whatever.” I stand. “I’m going to sleep.” I head for the stairs, then stop and turn back to him. “Dibs on the bed. You can have the hammock.” I disappear below deck before he can say no.

I change into a pair of pajama shorts and a T-shirt and climb into the bed. The mattress creaks beneath my weight and dips in the center, but it’s still better than what amounts to a mesh net suspended from the ceiling.

Settling under the threadbare blanket, I open Instagram and scroll through, looking for any updates from my friends. But there isn’t a single post from any of them. That’s odd. Whitney lives on Instagram, yet she hasn’t posted a picture or shared a funny meme since the night of Marc’s graduation party. Granted, only twenty-four hours has passed since that party, but still—Whitney posts hourly.

I visit Mya’s profile and find several pictures of her in front of her house, at the airport, on the plane… She looks happy, and I smile. Despite what’s shaping up to be a crappy summer for me, I’m truly glad my friends are having a good time. I can’t wait to see all of Mya’s photos of her cruise—and all the hot pool boys she meets.

Exhausting my search of Mya’s profile, I switch to Liz’s. Hers isn’t as active as Mya’s, but she’s posted within the last twelve hours. Worry wiggles through my veins, and I shift uneasily in the bed. Did something bad happen to Whitney?

I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating texting Mya and Liz to ask if they’ve heard from Whitney. But doing that meant they’d ask questions about me, where I am, and what I’m doing, and those are questions I do not want to answer. Instead, I open my messages with Whitney and send her one.

Me: Hey! How’s the RV trip? Is lover boy as great as you thought? Lol.

I hit send, but the message doesn’t send. Ugh. Of course we’re now far enough away from land that I lose service. Frustration bubbles to the surface, and I toss my phone to the foot of the bed. At this point, all I can do is hope Whitney is okay.