The work on the house was almost finished. The floors and walls were in, and most of the kitchen appliances. There was only detail work left: wires protruded where lighting fixtures would go, and an empty space in the cabinetry, like a missing tooth, waited for the refrigerator. Expecting to start work again on Monday, the contractors had left some of their tools behind—drills, floodlights, a sander.

Will and his brother Trip passed the line of cars along the road and pulled down the driveway, the gravel crunching under the tires of Will’s pickup truck.

“I might head home early,” Will told Trip as they got out. He hadn’t been planning on coming at all. He had track practice early the next morning and AP exams coming up in two weeks.

“I got you,” Trip said, pushing back the hair that hung over his eyes and giving Will his signature lazy smile. “We’ll just have a few drinks and then head home.”

“Sure,” Will said, rolling his eyes. His brother wasn’t exactly known for taking it easy on Friday nights. Or on any other night that offered itself up for a good time.

The girls sitting by the river stood and walked up to the house, carefully drying their feet in the grass before stepping inside. They’d been best friends since elementary school: June Jeffries, Maddie Martin, and Rosie Mendoza. All three wore short shorts and tank tops and had long hair hanging down their backs.

June had always been the ringleader of the group; even she thought of herself without irony as the queen bee. She was tall, with black hair and lips that seemed to be permanently pursed. Her confidence had carried over into her academics: she made straight A’s, led half the clubs at school, and was headed to the honors college at Penn State in the fall. Maddie was pale and delicate, a blonde with translucent skin and faded blue eyes. She was quieter than her friends, constantly drawing in her notebook and occasionally showing her work at the art collective in town. And Rosie had a quick smile, a cascade of sun-streaked brown hair, and big eyes with thick black lashes. She tended to follow June around, when she wasn’t working at her father’s restaurant, and she’d be joining her at Penn State in the fall. They were all pretty, regularly and effortlessly devastating the boys at school with their long limbs and clear skin, no need to try too hard.

Rosie began mixing drinks, dumping out half a jug of cranberry juice and topping it back up with vodka. She tightened the lid, shook it, and started pouring into plastic cups. Trip walked up behind her and squeezed her waist, causing her to squeal.