Also by Maren Stoffels

Escape Room

Fright Night

Dedication

For Vimmer, the most beautiful twist in my story

Epigraph

The truth and my lies now

are falling like the rain,

so let the river run

—Eminem

Reservation

It’s almost here.

The date I’ll never forget.

It’s the day they murdered her.

And it’ll be the day

I murder one of them.

Fender

She’s not here.

But what was I expecting? That she’d be waiting for me, here at the harbor? Just because she wrote to me doesn’t mean everything will be the same as it was before.

The letter has been burning inside my pocket all the way here. It was suddenly there on the mat this afternoon, with my name on it, in her handwriting.

I stared at it for a few seconds because I couldn’t believe it was real. But in a few minutes I’ll finally know what it is that she wants to tell me. I really want to read the letter here. In our special place.

I run the last few yards along the jetty.

“Hey! Good evening!”

Startled, I look around. A man is waving at me from a nearby yacht.

I wave back. If she were here now, she’d come up with a name for him. She often made up characters based on complete strangers she saw. She’d think of a name, a profession, and a home life. I always thought she might become a writer when she was older.

The man sails out of the harbor and I’m alone again. I rest my hand on the hard edge of the boat. It’s upside down, propped up on poles, and the space beneath it makes the perfect hiding place. I come here every Friday, even if it’s raining or stormy.

When I’m here, I can pretend, just for a while, that everything is still the same.

I crawl under the boat and take the letter from the inside pocket of my denim jacket. The envelope is a striking gold color. I hold it to my lips and breathe in deeply, hoping to pick up some of her scent.

I recognized her messy handwriting immediately. It’s just as chaotic as her.

The stamp is postmarked with the name of the town where she lives now. I don’t know her exact address. She doesn’t want to be found—certainly not by me.

I think about my friends. If Kate and Lucas knew where I was now, they’d probably freak. They think I practice with the band every Friday evening. They have no idea that the band broke up ages ago. I left last summer, because I couldn’t play anymore. I kept forgetting my solos when we were playing gigs, and my fingers wouldn’t stop shaking.

I only ever use the guitar in my bedroom as something to throw my clothes over now.