“Wait,” Maggie called, but Harper was already weaving through the horde. Maggie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying not to look nervous. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to have fun, or was a prude. And Harper was wrong: she’d had a drink before, and even made out with Reeves Anderson after the science fair. But for her entire high school career, she’d been living with the aftermath of a party just like this one.

She felt a pit in her stomach about lying to her father. But she hadn’t really lied, had she? She’d said she was staying the night at Harper’s, which was true. Dad didn’t ask about their plans. And she couldn’t spend her life avoiding parties, right? She was headed to college soon. Matt told her that he went to parties all the time at NYU, though she couldn’t imagine Matt’s uptight girlfriend going to a gathering like this one.

The crowd roared again at a ball plopping into the cup, and Maggie thought about the cell phone video—the anonymous tip she’d received from that night. The last hours before Charlotte’s murder. The six seconds of video had the decadent feel of this party—as if something could veer out of control at any moment, which made tonight both scary and exciting.

She’d spent many nights thinking about the infamous house party seven years ago. What had happened? Had Danny and Charlotte really gotten into an argument? Why did they separate when the cops busted up the party? And why couldn’t Danny remember anything? Maggie hadn’t been allowed to attend Danny’s trial, she was only ten years old at the time, but she’d since read all the transcripts.

PROSECUTOR:

You attended a party?

DEFENDANT:

Yes.

PROSECUTOR:

At Kyle Brawn’s house?

DEFENDANT:

Yeah.

PROSECUTOR:

What time did you leave?

DEFENDANT:

I don’t remember. I drank too much. I blacked out.

PROSECUTOR:

You ran out when the police arrived?

DEFENDANT:

I don’t remember, but I must have.

PROSECUTOR:

You fought with Charlotte at the party.

DEFENDANT:

No.

PROSECUTOR:

She told you she was pregnant and you had a fight.

DEFENDANT:

No!

PROSECUTOR:

If you don’t remember anything, how do you know that?

Someone touched her shoulder, and Maggie turned around, thinking Harper had returned. But it was him.

“Hey,” Eric said. “You made it.” He’d obviously been at the party awhile. His eyes were glassy, speech slurred.

She smiled, not sure what to say.

“Come with me,” he said, dragging her by the hand.

Soon she found herself in a laundry room making out with him. He reeked of pot and stale beer, and her eyes kept going to the dirty laundry piled in the basket on top of the dryer. She pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” Eric slurred.

“Nothing, but this isn’t how I—”

He grabbed her by the arms, pushing her against the wall. He jammed his tongue into her mouth. With one hand, he managed to hold both of her wrists above her head. With the other hand, he started groping her breasts.

“Stop,” Maggie said, yanking back.

But he didn’t. He kept her arms pinned. The fingers of his large hand squeezed her wrists together, both arms against the wall. It hurt and she was scared. And his other hand managed to slide down, unbutton her pants. Panic enveloped her.

She looked him in the eyes. They were nothing like earlier at the Center.

They were dark.

Wolfish.

“I said, stop!”

Another wave of terror coursed through her. Of all the horror stories her father had warned her about—exaggerated fears of a man who couldn’t bear another loss—here she was. He would be so disappointed in her. And she was in herself.

But there was one positive that had derived from all of Dad’s fears: he’d made sure his children were prepared if they ever encountered a monster. Self-defense classes, role-playing, emergency planning.

Maggie steeled herself. “Slow down,” she said, softer. “I’ll let you, but what’s the rush? Take off your shirt.”

He released her arms, yanked his hand from the waistband of her pants, then clumsily tugged off his shirt and threw it on the floor. Unexpectedly, he unbuttoned his pants and they dropped to the floor around his ankles.

“Touch it,” he said. His rank breath wafted over her.

Maggie tried to remain calm. She put her hands on the balls of his muscular shoulders now. She stared seductively into his eyes, trying not to show the panic in hers. “If that’s what you want.” She drew back slightly like she was going to lower to her knees, and Eric’s body shuddered.

She squeezed his shoulders tightly, using them as an anchor as she rammed her knee into his balls.

Eric doubled over and howled. Maggie pushed him hard. With his pants still around his ankles, he toppled to the laundry room floor.

He started yelling at her as she heaved open the door and ran.

CHAPTER 13

In the car ride home, tears spilled from Maggie’s eyes. She felt emotionally hungover, adrenaline ripping through her. Anger at Eric. At herself for being such a fool.

“Talk to me,” Harper said. She was in the back seat with Maggie. One of Harper’s friends Maggie didn’t know was driving.

Maggie wiped her eyes. Her chest convulsed in a flutter of tight breaths.

“What did he do?” Harper said. “I swear to God, I’ll—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That motherfucker.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I just want to go home.”

“You’re not gonna stay over?”

“I just want to go home.”

Harper told the girl driving where to go. They made their way down the suburban roads, Maggie staring out at nothing, tuning out Harper ranting about Eric. Finally they pulled up to Maggie’s house.

“Text me later,” Harper said as Maggie unbuckled her seat belt.

“Can you tell I’ve been crying?” Maggie asked, worried her dad would ask questions if he was awake.

Harper wiped Maggie’s eye with her thumb. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Maggie said, slipping out of the car. “It’s mine,” she added quietly to herself.

She unlocked the front door, surprised that the lights in the entryway and down the hall in the kitchen were still burning bright. It was late. Dad was usually in bed by now, and he was a stickler about saving electricity.

She thought of just heading up to bed. But if he was awake, he’d wonder why she was home and not staying over at Harper’s. She tried to look composed as she walked quietly down the hallway.

That’s when she saw her father on the kitchen floor.

CHAPTER 14

“Dad! Oh my god!” Maggie ran over to her father. He was out cold, a pool of vomit on the kitchen floor near his head.

She crouched down and shook his shoulders, fumbling for her phone to call 9-1-1.

But her dad jerked awake. He sat up quickly. His pupils were dilated, and he seemed off balance.

“Dad, what happened?” Maggie said in between ragged breaths. “Are you okay?”

Her father looked around, confused. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he seemed to have a flash of lucidity.

“I’m fine, honey,” he said, grabbing the counter with one hand and pulling himself up. His movements were slow, labored, like an elderly person with arthritis. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Maggie stared at him, trying to process the scene. “What happened? Did you slip and bump your head?” Her eyes went to the vomit. When Maggie was little, her mother seemed obsessed with concussions, the plight of a football mom, and Maggie remembered that throwing up could be a sign of a serious head injury.

“No. I think I may have gotten food poisoning. After dinner, I got this intense heat in my face and I threw up.” Her dad went to the sink and ran water from the faucet, cleaning whatever was in the basin. “I must’ve passed out. But I’m okay, I’m fine.”

What would make you so sick you’d pass out? Maggie’s eyes were drawn to the bottle of Scotch on the counter. It was nearly empty, less than a finger of brown liquid settled at the bottom. Her dad wasn’t much of a drinker—well, until lately. She started to put things together. He was passed-out drunk. Embarrassed to tell her.

“You’re home,” her dad said, more upbeat. He grabbed for the paper towel dispenser, unraveled a handful, and cleaned up the mess on the floor, casually, as if it weren’t strange at all.

“I thought you were staying at Harper’s?”

Maggie considered telling him about the party. About what had happened with Eric. She was still shaken up. But she, too, was embarrassed. Weirdly ashamed. But most of all, she worried that her dad might go off half-cocked. Call Eric’s parents. Or confront him, even.

“I wasn’t feeling well myself,” Maggie said. “I wanted to sleep in my own bed.”

“Can I get you something?” Her father opened the cupboard where they kept Advil and over-the-counter medicine.

“I’m fine,” she said.

He seemed to believe her. And he didn’t notice that she was dressed for a party, not a lazy sleepover. Just as well. Her dad didn’t need more to worry about.

Her father had a glint in his eyes, like he’d just realized something. Maggie felt a jolt, worried that he knew she was lying. But he rushed to his smartphone on the counter and gestured for her to come over.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he said. His tone was excited, eyes manic.

He started thumbing the phone. “I got a video call. Right before I got sick.”

Maggie just watched him.