Her mood was in sharp contrast to the scene that had been prepared. She found her friends on a quilt of blankets and beach towels. Dakota had a real wicker picnic basket with white-and-green china plates and silverware strapped to the lid. There were cupcakes and tiny sandwiches—all, Scarlett was sure, made by Dakota herself. She had probably worked until four in the morning and then gotten here early to set up. Because that was the kind of person Dakota was. A true friend who spent her nights doing things for others, not wandering around sets looking at pictures and comparing herself to Hamlet. This was a smooth gear change from self-pity to guilt. Scarlett knew she should have gone to Dakota’s the night before to help, but when you’re obsessed, it takes up all your time.

Dakota had outfitted her tall, beanpoley frame in a little blue dress and pulled her dark hair up into two very strange little scrunches by her ears. She sometimes dressed a little bit like she was four years old, but she pulled it off about 80 percent of the time. Chloe and Josh were there as well. Chloe managed to be the kind of person you couldn’t resent, even when she wore short short-shorts that showed off her tanned and toned tennis legs or flashed lasered teeth or wrinkled her nose job. At heart, she was a math genius and a closet nerd. And Josh, Scarlett’s closest guy friend, was a goofy redheaded Brooklynite. His parents were both writers, and he was insanely well-read. He’d been in England all summer, supposedly studying literature. In reality, it sounded like he had been drinking beer and chasing every English girl who crossed his path. Josh was a little like that, but it was okay. The others would be coming soon—Mira, probably Hunter, maybe Tabitha. All of them happy, full of stories.

Yes, the summer was done, and everything was going back to normal. This was the part of normal that she was supposed to like, seeing all of her friends. But nothing felt right. She flopped down on one of the blankets and tried to make herself look carefree, but she landed on a stick and it dug into the meat of her thigh, causing her to start in pain. Slings and arrows. Always the slings and arrows.

“So,” Dakota said quietly. “The show. Is gone. Today, right? Gone?”

Clearly, Dakota was going to waste no time in getting to the point. Scarlett shaded her eyes and nodded, still trying to look like she didn’t have a care in the world, except for that leg wound.

“Good. So Eric’s officially out of your house, and now we can get him out of your life and out of your head. Starting right now.”

“I already started,” Scarlett said. “I erased some pictures of him off my phone this morning. I’m making a new start.”