CHAPTER THREE Alice October 31 8:50 p.m. "Why shouldn''t I hate her? She did the worst thing to me that anyone can do to anyone else." --Agatha Christie, The Mirror Crack''d from Side to Side WHEN IRIS SHOWED UP in my room, I recognized her imme­diately, and, I hate to admit, I felt kind of bad that I had never bothered to learn her name. I mean, sure, if I spent my time learning the names of all the people at school, I wouldn''t have time to do much of anything else, but . I guess I could have made a little more of an effort. She wasn''t as bad as I was expecting. Her hair was kind of cool-- she had that messy bedhead thing going on that most people can''t pull off, but she makes work.

And weirdly, her out­fit wasn''t actually out of style--she had the right parts--the flannel, the Chucks, but like was missing that extra thing to tie it all together. I could help her, maybe. I appreciated that she didn''t rub her smartness in my face, unlike so many of the other smart kids at Castle Cove. I know I''m not stupid; it''s just that school has never interested me much. Now, with her gone, it''s quiet in my room. Too quiet. All I can think about is the fact that it''s Halloween night, and all my old friends are at the annual party at Levy Castle while I''m sit­ting here alone. I''m sure Brooke is there, glammed out and wandering the halls of the Castle with Steve, reminding him that her family used to own it and her grandmother used to live there back in the day.

Their heads bent together, laughing, holding hands, like they don''t have a care in the world. Like the only reason that they even know each other isn''t because of me. Like I don''t even exist. That image plays in my head, over and over. I grab my iPad and turn on something mindless on Netflix, but even that doesn''t help shut my brain up. All I can think about is that party and Steve and Brooke and what happened this summer and how unfair it all is. I can''t take it anymore. They''re all there, having fun, while I sit here alone.

I deserve to be there as much as any of them. Brooke stole my boyfriend, and somehow I''m the bad guy? I jump out of bed, throw my closet door open, and pull on clothes. Once dressed, I sneak downstairs. Brenda''s in her room, so I manage to get outside and to my car--another guilt gift from my parents--without fielding any questions. In the distance, the surf slams into the cliffs below our house, the fall wind roll­ing the waves angrily. I''d say that there''s something in the air tonight, something creepy, but I''m not the type of person to believe in that sort of thing. I turn up my music as high as it''ll go, drowning out anymore racing thoughts, and take off down the driveway out to Highway 1. The road is busy tonight.

It wraps along the cliffs, between the ocean and the hills, and there are only a few houses to the west of the highway. Downtown Castle Cove is on the east side of things, cut into the bottom of the hills. I pass Park''s driveway; her house is on the cliff side of the street like mine but surrounded by high gates. Her dad is an international businessman, whatever that means, and is super paranoid about everything. Kennedy and Donovan live a few minutes in the other direction from where I''m heading; their houses are up in the neighborhoods in the hills on the east side of the highway. If I kept driving, I''d hit the town center, where the high school is and all the restaurants where Top Chef losers come to set up shop. The winners open their places down the coast in LA, obviously. But, before I hit downtown, I reach my destination--the Castle.

It''s on the west side of the road, set on ten acres, the big­gest parcel of land on the cliff side of the highway. It was built by Brooke''s great-grandfather about eighty years ago as a residence for their family. It sits on the ocean side of Highway 1, with a veranda that has a gigantic outdoor pool and sweeping views of the Pacific Ocean. The public is only allowed in certain rooms of the Cas­tle, but because of the various parties over the years I''ve seen it all--and it''s literally insane. Like, tall, stained-glass windows, an ornate indoor pool with mermaid fountains that spit water, and more bedrooms than I can count. Back in the day, Brooke''s great-grandfather used to hold court there, throwing these elaborate weekend-long parties and inviting all the entertainment industry people up from LA. Tons of movie stars used to hang out there, and at least one of them died under mysterious circumstances. It''s been here since before Castle Cove was even really a town, and all the property on the cliff side of the road used to belong to it--according to what I''ve heard from Kennedy, at one point it had like one hundred acres, all to itself.

Legend has it that Brooke''s great-grandmother used to have a zoo on the property, with llamas and tigers and everything. Developers bought up most of that land over the years and built huge houses like mine and Park''s. I guess it brought in a bunch of money to the town--made Castle Cove more of a liv­able place rather than just a tourist destination. More recently, they''ve turned their attention to revamping the Yacht Club. Ken­nedy''s dad has something to do with it, I think, which I only know because a few months ago she spent, like, a solid week moaning about how her dad had canceled their summer vacation to Barce­lona because he had to stay in town to help with the deal. I pull off the highway into the lot for the Castle and stop beside Park''s car, a green Porsche Cayenne that her parents bought her for no reason other than she exists and they love her. As I slip out of my car, I hear them: loud voices in the distance, a scream of laughter. Brooke''s laughter.

It scrapes through my skin, down into my heart, and for a moment I actually consider getting back into the car and driving away. Maybe driving away like I did three months ago. That night, last summer, after I''d just gotten back from Egypt and Brooke came over and said what she said to me about her and Steve . it was like my heart stopped beating. Like my brain short-circuited. All I could think about was Agatha Chris­tie, what she did after she figured out her husband was cheating on her. How she straight up disappeared for eleven days, and half the population of England was convinced he''d murdered her. Like, how badass is that? It''s not that I wanted Steve to, you know, get arrested or anything, but at the same time, I didn''t mind the thought of people searching for me.

Wondering about me. Thinking about me. So, I got into my car and started to drive. I left my phone at home along with this vase I''d accidentally knocked over in the foyer on my way out . which sort of made everyone think I''d been kidnapped, and Steve had to go into the station for ques­tions, and the town organized this whole search party to look for me. Anyway, when I got back five days later, everyone was pretty freaking mad. Mad enough that my parents had to negotiate with the city, and everyone agreed that house arrest was the ap­propriate punishment for what I''d done. Another peal of laughter punctures the night air.

We started having this party at the Castle three years ago, when we were freshmen, courtesy of Brooke''s connections. The first year it was mostly just people from our school, but word got out and now kids from neighboring towns drive in for it, too. Kennedy''s dad, who''s a music agent down in LA, gets one of his clients to play. Everyone ships in the most elaborate costumes possible. It''s become a whole thing. As I round the corner to the front of the Castle where we always set up, I hear music but don''t see a DJ. Which means Kennedy''s dad didn''t come through with one of his clients. Park must have had a fit.

There have to be at least two hundred people here, spread out everywhere, laughing, talking, crying. Everyone having a grand old time without me. Across the lawn a bit, on a wide stone terrace behind the back entrance to the Castle, a bar is set up, manned by a bar­tender wearing a penguin costume. I catch sight of Cole Field­ing hanging in front of it, talking to Kennedy, who''s still dressed as a bloody cheerleader. Her blond hair is tied up on her head in a messy top knot that I''m sure took her over an hour to perfect, and she has one manicured hand placed on Cole''s arm. Even Cole is here? That had to be Kennedy''s doing. She''s wanted to get with him for years. I wonder if Brooke was okay with it.

On the lawn overlooking the sea, someone--probably Ken­nedy''s house manager--has set up a big bonfire and surrounded it with floor pillows and faux fur blankets and other glamping paraphernalia. I spot Park and Donovan and Steve right away. They''re sprawled across a giant pillow. Brooke is basically lying on top of Steve, and Park is, as usual, sitting awkwardly close to the two of them. She has no sense of personal boundaries. Both of them are still wearing their bloody cheerleader outfits, too, and Steve just has a green mask perched on top of his thick, brown hair. He''s never really been into dressing up, which an­noyed me to no end when we were dating. My heart starts thumping in my chest as I take it all in.

And of course Kennedy chooses this moment to spot me. "Oh my god. Ew," she says loudly. The music basically screec.