The woman beside him pipes up. “It’s time to clean up our precious beach town and keep it safe for our children. No more out of control parties, illegal alcohol sales, and lethal drugs distributed on our watch. Every seedy establishment, every tattoo shop and hole-in-the-wall bar will be cleaned up or shut down.”

“What!” My mouth barks before I can stop myself. All eyes in the room are on me as my breathing picks up and my heart hammers in my chest. “Tattoo shops are not the problem! Rich kids with no consequences, entitled jerks who think they take what they want—or who they want—that’s the problem.” I try to step forward, but I feel myself being dragged from the room. My dad’s scowl fills my vision as we pass the doorway until we’re in the next room.

“What is wrong with you?” he barks.

“The problem on Wickett isn’t the tattoo shops and bars! Those are honest businesses that don’t deserve to be shut down by some rich assholes with a grudge.”

“Watch your mouth, young lady! This is a benefit for a young man.”

“That young man tried to rape me!” I shout, not caring who hears me, which is likely everyone in the party since the door is only barely closed, and it’s still silent on the other side.

“Sierra!” my mother gasps, her eyes wide and her face pale as she stares at me. For a moment, my heart stops, realizing that she may have finally realized the severity of this situation.

“You can’t just go around making accusations like that,” she whispers. It feels like I’ve been slapped.

“Accusations?” I mumble, tears pooling in my eyes. “He wasn’t a victim of addiction. He was an asshole, and he attacked me. He was high and drunk—”

“Exactly,” my dad interrupts me.

“And where were you?” my mother adds. “You put yourself in those situations, Sierra. What do you expect is going to happen?”

I can’t speak. I can hardly breathe. It feels as if I’m dreaming this. They can’t be serious. The next words that come out of my mouth are the thoughts that are running through my head, meant for myself. I don’t care about convincing my parents anymore. “Logan saved me. He was at that party, and he didn’t touch me. Not then. Not without my consent.”

“Who’s Logan?” my father booms, as if that’s what he really needs to worry about.

“He has far more integrity than Tyler could ever have. And he doesn’t deserve what these people will do to him.”

“Is that the boy you’ve been seen with? Logan, the drug dealer?” Her face is in mine now, whisper-shouting through gritted teeth. But my mind can’t get over the fact that she just said his name. It sounded so wrong on her lips.

“What about Hale?” my father adds, but I can’t possibly react to that name at the moment. I let out a huff and turn away.

“I don’t belong here,” I whisper. The door to the next room, full of those superficial people with their fake concern and empty gestures, is cracked just enough to hear every word. So I push the heavy wood so that it flies open when I shout, “I don’t want to belong here! If anyone here cared about Wickett at all, they’d leave!”