I don’t see him anywhere. Though I do see that Russian guy that Bella was dating—Grisha Lukin. He’s crouched down on the sand, playing some dice game with a couple other guys. It might be a drinking game, or else he’s taking shots to cheer himself up when he loses.

“Nobody’s Love” is playing on a Bluetooth speaker. People are sitting on sand-dusted logs, others on spread-out Mexican-style blankets. A couple of girls dance in a mellow sort of way, just swaying to the music.

The vibe is peaceful. Maybe because Nero isn’t here, nor Bella either. Only Beatrice, who seems a lot less aggressive, stripped of the rest of her squad. She actually sends a little wave in Patricia’s and my direction.

One of the girls brought a pack of marshmallows. Beatrice tries to roast one in the bonfire, but the flames are too high, and it instantly incinerates. She shrieks and swings the stick out of the flames, flinging the charred gooey mess in the direction of Levi and Sione. It barely misses Levi’s shoe, landing in the sand right next to his foot.

“Watch it,” he growls at Beatrice. “Or I’ll throw you in the fuckin’ lake.”

“Sorry,” she cringes.

Levi looks like he’s in a sour mood. I don’t know about what. He’s sprawled out on a blanket, not talking, just glowering at everybody else. Sione tries to make some comment to him, and Levi doesn’t even bother to reply.

Ali sits down on the lid of a cooler. She has one of those little plastic bottles of bubble solution, and she’s blowing bubbles away from the bonfire, out over the dark, smooth sand.

I sit down next to her.

“Wanna try?” she says. She hands me the bubble wand.

I haven’t used one of these since I was a little kid. It’s harder than I expect to create a steady stream of perfect bubbles like Ali is making.

“You’re blowing too hard,” she laughs. “Look.”

She takes the wand back, pursing her lips and blowing a slow, steady, and gentle breath of air into a dozen round, glossy bubbles that go spinning away over the sand.

“How’s your week been going?” I ask her.

“Good,” she says. “It was my birthday on Tuesday.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” she says serenely. “I went for a walk by myself in Lincoln Park. It was perfect.”

“Levi didn’t take you out?”

She laughs. “No. He said we’d go for dinner, but then his brother called, and they got in a big fight. And he didn’t want to go anymore.”

“What were they fighting about?” I ask, casually.

“Oh . . . his brother is coming back from Ibiza.”

“So?”

“So he wants his house back.”

“I thought Levi owned that house?”

“No,” Ali says patiently. “The other one.”

I frown, confused. Ali is such a conundrum, because she’s strangely innocent and seems to say whatever comes into her head. But she also seems to assume that I already know what she’s talking about, when in fact I have no fucking idea.

I want to keep talking to her, but I can see Levi watching us with a malevolent expression on his face. Catching my eye, he motions me over with a jerk of his head.

I get up reluctantly, joining him on his blanket.

“What’s up?” I say.

“Why are you talking to Ali?” he demands.

“Uh . . . because she’s cool?” I say.

“You know she used to dance at Exotica.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that.”

“That’s where I met her.”

“Good for you,” I say, trying to sound sincere. The idea of Levi hitting on Ali by shoving dollar bills in her thong is not at all romantic to me.

“I saw your mom there, too,” Levi says. “Before she quit.”

My skin prickles with anger and disgust.

I don’t give a shit that my mom used to strip, or whatever else she got into. That’s her choice. What I fucking despise is how everyone tries to use it as a weapon against me—to shame me and degrade me.

“She was really hot,” Levi says, an ugly smile on his face. “Hotter than you.”

“I know that,” I say stiffly. Everybody always said how beautiful my mom was. She wanted to be an actress when she was young. She wanted to go down in history as one of those timeless faces, like Sophia Loren or Ava Gardner.

Instead she got pregnant with me.

I’m not angry at her for abandoning me. She was sixteen years old—way younger than I am now. Younger than Vic, even. Just a kid.

I’m mad because she never came back. I have to hear about her from shitheads like Levi. I have to know she’s still here in Chicago. I have to wonder if she’s okay. And I have to wonder why she doesn’t ever call me anymore. Is she ashamed? Is it painful for her? Or does she just not care?

Levi is still smiling at me in that cruel way.

Why do men enjoy hurting women? Why does he feel good making me feel low?

“I have your money,” I say, handing him the wad of bills Schultz gave me.

“Good,” Levi says, passing it over to Sione. “I’m glad to see we’re not going to have a problem.”

Not right this second, anyway.

“You have any Ex left?” Levi asks.

“A little.”

“Let me see it.”

I take the baggy out of my pocket—the one Schultz told me to keep in case I needed it. There are about twelve pills inside.

“Good.” Levi nods again. “Take it.”

I stare at him.

“Take it where?” I say stupidly.

Levi sits up a little straighter, the smile falling off his face. His eyes are boring into mine. His pupils are tiny dark pinpricks in the expanse of his pale blue irises.

“Take one. Right now,” he says.

I try to swallow, my mouth dry.

“Why?” I say.

“Because I don’t fucking trust you.”

My heart is beating fast, but my breathing is slow. I’ve never taken a single drug in my life besides a few puffs of weed. Mostly because I was trying to be responsible. But also because this stuff really freaks me out. I don’t like not being in control of myself. Not to mention, I have no idea where Levi gets it. There could be rat poison in here, for all I know.

“I’m not into Molly,” I say weakly.

“I don’t give a FUCK what you like,” Levi hisses. “Take one right now, or you’ll fucking regret it.”

I cast a swift glance around at the group. Nobody’s looking at me. Nobody’s coming to my rescue. Patricia is in conversation with Ali. Beatrice is dancing with the other girls. The only person paying any attention to me at all is Sione, who stands a few feet away, silently keeping watch in case Levi needs him. He’s not going to be any help to me—he’d probably shove this whole baggy down my throat, if Levi gave the order.

“Okay . . .” I say hesitantly.

I take out one yellow pill. It’s hard and chalky, like an aspirin.

I put it on my tongue, washing it down with the dregs of my Heineken.

“Open your mouth,” Levi whispers.

I open my mouth and stick out my tongue, showing that I swallowed it.

Levi laughs, breaking the tension.