We Fell Apart: A We Were Liars Novel(22)

“Most of them don’t have security systems,” says Tatum.

“Couldn’t you just fix up your pool?” I ask.

“Nah,” says Meer. “Too complicated.”

“How do you know which houses to go to?”

Tatum grins. “A girl I used to know works for a cleaning crew that a lot of these high-end places use. She gave me the passwords for a couple of their rental service accounts.”

“She was his girlfriend,” says Meer. “Last summer they used to go hook up in the pools like total porno heathens.”

“Shut up,” says Tatum softly, his ears turning red. “Anyway, this year I can still log in to a couple of them, so I just check their calendars.”

“So are you coming tonight or what?” says Meer to Tatum.

“I just think we should go somewhere else.” Tatum looks at the tops of his sneakers. “Anywhere else. On the whole Vineyard.”

“This is just a night adventure,” says Meer. “You don’t want to go on the night adventure, don’t go. But it’s not that different from the others.”

“It is different. You obviously know that.”

“Why?” asks Meer. His face is open and childlike.

“People died there last week,” says Tatum.





21


He goes anyway. The boys pull three Vespas from one corner of the garage. They offer me a spare helmet. They don’t want June to hear the motors, so we walk the scooters down the long driveway in the dark.

No one has a phone, but I’m still holding a flashlight, so I shine it in front of us.

We walk mostly in silence till we’re far from the castle. Glum trails us till about the halfway point, then turns tail.

Brock starts singing a nonsensical assortment of pop songs that are currently popular—“Call Me Maybe” mashed up with “Payphone.”

“Brock,” says Tatum.

“Shut up, you love me,” says Brock.

“I love you,” says Tatum. “But not your music taste.”

“Oh blerg. Matilda, did you know Tatum has a banjo band of roving troubadours?”

Tatum turns to me, flushing. “The music program at school had bands. I did this one where we played traditional songs and like, seventies folk rock.”

“There was a banjo!” yells Brock.

“I didn’t play it,” says Tatum. “But if I did, that would have been extremely cool, you judgmental butt.”

Meer puts his arm around me. “I play ukulele, but I think I could torture Brock more with banjo. Do you play anything?”

“I play nothing, but I sing like a rock god,” puts in Brock. “Nobody appreciates me.”

“I thought you didn’t need praise anymore,” says Meer.

“I’m trying not to need praise,” says Brock. “But I still really like it. Do you play an instrument, Matilda?”

“No, but I did choir at a bunch of different schools.”

“Did you sing banjo troubadour songs?” asks Brock, dodging the fake punch Tatum throws at him.

“No. It was like, Alicia Keys and ABBA.”

We’ve reached the bottom of the driveway. With no warning, mid-conversation, Meer and Brock throw on their helmets, turn on their headlights, and rev their motors. They take off to the left, down South Road.

They’re gone before I even fully realize what they’re doing. Their taillights quickly disappear over the hill.

Tatum gets on his scooter. It’s mint green. “Put your helmet on. Let’s go.” He says it like it’s burdensome.

I don’t want to get on his scooter. I don’t like him. But I’m not going to break my word to Meer. “Coming.” I buckle my helmet and climb on behind him. My arms circle his waist as Tatum flips on his headlight and pulls out onto the road.

It feels strange and intimate. The cables of his sweater brush my bare arms. The wind is cold on my skin.





22


Menemsha is a really small fishing village. All I can see is a gas station, two fish markets, and a marina with a parking lot near the docks. There are houses up the hill, and maybe some more shops farther down the road.

Down one dock a ways we find the motorboat that belongs to Kingsley and June. It’s large and shiny white, with a black hull and cushioned seats. The name on it reads Marsh-wiggle.

Meer steers us out of the harbor and into the open water. Looking back to the land, I can only see glimmers from houses not yet put to bed. The water around us is lit up by the boat’s lights.

Beyond that, the ocean spreads around us, infinite.

Brock and Meer talk to each other, up by the wheel. I can’t hear them over the roar of the motor. We head past the jetty and into the open sea.

I am so tiny in this enormous world. The water could swallow me easily. There’s no telling how deep it is.

I have left my old life behind, and it was already

a life

adrift.

I’m nowhere. I spiral into the infinite space around and below me, unable to grab on to anything, overwhelmed by the vastness of the sea and sky.

“You get motion sick?” Tatum in the back next to me, his long legs folded up to his chest for warmth.

“Not at all,” I lie.