By ten that night Maggie and Harper were pulling up to Mike Flaherty’s house in the back of an Uber.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Maggie watched as the group on the front porch cleared a path for two boys carrying a keg of beer up the steps and through the large front doors. Flaherty’s dad owned a chain of car dealerships, and the place was a sprawling McMansion. The Uber driver honked at some kids who were blocking the half-circle driveway.
“Relax,” Harper said. “It’s gonna be fun. And you look amazing.”
Maggie tugged up her top. She’d borrowed it from Harper, and it showed way too much cleavage. She’d also made the mistake of letting Harper do her makeup. And she’d nixed her glasses for contacts. They felt like grains of sand under her eyelids every time she blinked.
Inside, Maggie’s stomach churned at the scene: a throng of kids bouncing to the beat of pounding dance music, the smell of beer, sweat, and weed.
“Where are his parents?” Maggie asked. It was her first ever high school party. She hadn’t expected it to be so, well, cliché.
Harper shrugged. She led Maggie through the great room, which was now a dance floor filled with kids twerking and grinding. There was even a cheesy DJ bobbing behind a sound system.
They wound through the crowd to the dining room, a formal number with a chandelier, and the site of an epic beer pong game on the long table. Mike Flaherty was at the head of the table wearing no shirt, and some type of headband tied around his forehead. Muscles rippling, Mike stood on tiptoes and took a shot like a basketball player at the free-throw line. The small white ball flew in the air, bounced, hit the lip of a red cup but missed, prompting a so close groan from the crowd.
“You need to relax,” Harper said out of the side of her mouth, sensing Maggie’s stiffness. “I’m going to get us drinks,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait,” Maggie called, but Harper was already weaving through the horde. Maggie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying not to look nervous. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to have fun, or was a prude. And Harper was wrong: she’d had a drink before, and even made out with Reeves Anderson after the science fair. But for her entire high school career, she’d been living with the aftermath of a party just like this one.
She felt a pit in her stomach about lying to her father. But she hadn’t really lied, had she? She’d said she was staying the night at Harper’s, which was true. Dad didn’t ask about their plans. And she couldn’t spend her life avoiding parties, right? She was headed to college soon. Matt told her that he went to parties all the time at NYU, though she couldn’t imagine Matt’s uptight girlfriend going to a gathering like this one.
The crowd roared again at a ball plopping into the cup, and Maggie thought about the cell phone video—the anonymous tip she’d received from that night. The last hours before Charlotte’s murder. The six seconds of video had the decadent feel of this party—as if something could veer out of control at any moment, which made tonight both scary and exciting.
She’d spent many nights thinking about the infamous house party seven years ago. What had happened? Had Danny and Charlotte really gotten into an argument? Why did they separate when the cops busted up the party? And why couldn’t Danny remember anything? Maggie hadn’t been allowed to attend Danny’s trial, she was only ten years old at the time, but she’d since read all the transcripts.
PROSECUTOR:
You attended a party?
DEFENDANT:
Yes.
PROSECUTOR:
At Kyle Brawn’s house?
DEFENDANT:
Yeah.
PROSECUTOR:
What time did you leave?
DEFENDANT:
I don’t remember. I drank too much. I blacked out.
PROSECUTOR:
You ran out when the police arrived?
DEFENDANT:
I don’t remember, but I must have.
PROSECUTOR:
You fought with Charlotte at the party.
DEFENDANT:
No.
PROSECUTOR:
She told you she was pregnant and you had a fight.
DEFENDANT:
No!
PROSECUTOR:
If you don’t remember anything, how do you know that?
Someone touched her shoulder, and Maggie turned around, thinking Harper had returned. But it was him.
“Hey,” Eric said. “You made it.” He’d obviously been at the party awhile. His eyes were glassy, speech slurred.
She smiled, not sure what to say.
“Come with me,” he said, dragging her by the hand.