"I can't remember. I can't remember. I can't remember."

Sloane couldn't stop herself from responding.

I can't forget. I can't forget. I can't forget.

Ice cream. She needed ice cream. Something cold, creamy, and distracting. Ben and Jerry's was a ten-minute walk from her house. It would be good to get out, stretch her legs, and maybe even find a new broken record for her brain.

Sloane slipped into her flip-flops, left a note for Helene, and trotted down her narrow driveway onto the sidewalk. The enormous oak trees that lined her street created a shady canopy for her as she meandered toward the ice cream shop. Sprinklers sprayed her legs as she went, the drops of water sparking in the sun. It felt good to be outside, alone for once. She hadn't realized how much she needed this.

"Sloane?" Someone gasped for breath behind her. "Is that you?"

A red-faced, sweaty Jude Yang ran to catch up. If there was anything she didn't need right now, it was Jude Yang. He was wearing a Yale T-shirt with the arms cut off revealing sinewy biceps. Every time Sloane saw him, he was decked out in head-to-toe Yale gear. He was only a freshman. He must have bought every single article of clothing they were selling at the d.a.m.n school bookstore.

"Oh, hey." Sloane lowered her head, turned, and kept walking, praying that he'd get the hint. She knew she shouldn't hate him. Jude had been valedictorian last year, was an exceptional musician, a star lacrosse player, ridiculously good-looking, and nice. His father worked at the hospital with her parents. He was all they ever talked about. He was everything Sloane wasn't, everything everyone wanted her to be. And she hated him for it.

"I just don't see why you don't give him a chance," Willa had once said to Sloane as they lay on the deck of Sloane's parents' boat. "You'd make the perfect couple, and he's always staring at you. Everyone sees it." She'd hoisted herself up on an elbow then, peering over her sungla.s.ses, waiting for Sloane's reaction.

Sloane could have listed a million reasons why she shouldn't give Jude Yang a chance but didn't bother. When Willa got an idea in her head, it was impossible to change it. Willa waited a few more seconds, and when it was clear Sloane wasn't going to respond, she flopped back onto her towel.

"No one's perfect." Willa had practically whispered the words.

Sloane had never been sure exactly who she'd been talking about that day, but the memory had a tendency to pop back up when Jude was around.

"Hey, wait up." Jude trotted next to her.

Sloane angled her body toward the street and kept walking, pretending to be engrossed with her phone.

"I just wanted to say I'm so sorry about ... about what happened," he offered awkwardly. "I know you two were super tight."

"Oh, um, yeah. It ... sucks." Tears welled in Sloane's eyes, and she wasn't sure if she was about to cry for Willa or because she sounded so stupid. She had no words and she hated being forced to find some. The last thing she needed was Jude moving in for an awkward hug or something. Her f.a.n.n.y pack felt as if it were squeezing the air out of her body. She grabbed at the strap, hoping to loosen it, but hit the buckle instead and the bag went flying out from under her shirt. It struck the pavement with a sickening crunch.

s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t.

Ninja 101 must have been a required course at Yale because Jude was on the ground grabbing the bag before Sloane could even breathe.

"That didn't sound good." He handed her the bag carefully.

Sloane's hand shook as she pulled the zipper. The watches were broken, they had to be. She was so screwed. So, so, so screwed. She gingerly removed one. Her fingers trembled harder. Sure enough, the gla.s.s on the face was cracked.

"Dammit." She swore under her breath, tears p.r.i.c.king her eyes again.

"Oh man, I'm so sorry. Those look important." Jude's voice was so earnest, so kind. Sloane had the sudden urge to knee him in the b.a.l.l.s. None of this would have happened if he hadn't stopped her. G.o.dd.a.m.ned Jude Yang was ruining her freaking life.

"They're like antiques or something, right?" Jude lifted one of the heavy gold watches and ran his finger over the face. If Sloane hadn't been so miserable she would have swatted his hand away. "Cartier. These things have to be worth a fortune. Hey, at least this one isn't broken." He shot her a rea.s.suring smile. "Gla.s.s half full, right?"

Sloane could think of a number of places for Jude to stuff his gla.s.s.

But then Jude flipped the watch and lines appeared on his forehead. He brought the back closer to his face and narrowed his eyes. "Huh. I'm surprised there's no inscription on the back. My dad's is engraved with the year and product line and stuff."

Uh-oh. Doubt made her breath catch. What if they had stolen the wrong watches? Why did she always feel like she was one step behind? But more than that, why did it feel like it was everyone's goal in life to make her look like a jacka.s.s? Including Jude.

He noticed her disappointment. "Oh ... I'm sure these are just too rare. They probably didn't start engraving the back until the eighties or something."

"Yeah ... right." She took the watch from Jude and tucked it back into the bag in an effort to excuse herself.

"Hey, I know a guy who could fix the other one for you. It's not too far. I could walk you."

"No." The word slipped out before Sloane could stop herself. "I mean, thanks, but you should finish your run. I think I know the place you're talking about. I'll be fine."

"It's right up on Cedar. If you tell him you know me, he'll give you a deal. Yale man."

Sloane squeezed her eyes shut, then forced them open. If he said the word "Yale" one more time, she would snap. "Awesome. Bye." This time Sloane didn't feel even the tiniest pin p.r.i.c.k of remorse when she left Jude Yang standing near the curb. Honestly, she was bolting for his own good.

By the time she made it to the jewelry store, Sloane's cheeks were moist with tears. At least the guy at the counter wasn't emblazoned in Yale. He was just a paunchy middle-aged nerd with a grey beard and gla.s.ses. She handed him the watch, desperate for him to say he could fix the complete mess she'd made of the situation. But when the jeweler's eyebrows pulled together in the exact same way that Jude's had as he ran his rough fingers over the back, all remaining hope whooshed out of her. She was defeated. Done. The War was over.

"I don't really see the point in doing anything here," the guy said.

"But it's an antique. It's rare and expensive," Sloane insisted.

"It's antique. Antique junk. It's a fake." The jeweler scrunched his face a little, knowing the truth hurt. "You still want me to fix it?"

What the h.e.l.l? Sloane couldn't speak past the lump in her throat. She shook her head instead and gathered the watches together, stuffing them back into the f.a.n.n.y pack.

The door jingled as Sloane pulled it open, a notification buzzing on her phone as it slammed behind her.

Another bid. This time only one came in. CCG1927. $30,000.

Fewer than six hours and twenty-three minutes until the auction closed.

It made her brain hurt. Did the Captain know the watches were fake? If he knew, why would he bid the thirty grand? And what about the boys? Would supposedly selling their watches for cash on eBay even be enough to get them cut off? The fact that Sloane didn't have any of the answers made her feel even more dumb than usual. It was like playing rock, paper, scissors. Sloane hated that game because she could never remember what was supposed to beat what so she always ended up playing rock. Rocks were hard. Rocks could smash. Rocks should always win. But the other girls must have figured out her strategy because they always played paper. She hated the feeling of one of their hands enveloping her fist. It wasn't fair. Paper was weak. Paper shouldn't beat anything. Not ever.

And now she couldn't shake the feeling that she had somehow messed up the rules of the game again. That she'd thrown rock only to have the Captain wrap his wrinkled hand over her fist. Money was made of paper, and money was power. In the rock, paper, scissors game they played at the Club, the Captain always won.

Chapter 22.

We did it!

Sloane sat at the ice cream counter, staring at the text. Clearly Madge had seen the $30,000 bid from the Captain. Madge thought they had this locked up, but Sloane knew better. She picked up the cracked watch she'd put on the sticky Formica next to her phone, willing the jagged lines to fuse back together. No dice. At least she was alone-except for the pimply kid behind the counter who had long since retired to the back to do whatever one does with a freezer full of ice cream and far too much time on his hands.

"Who the h.e.l.l pa.s.ses down a fake watch?" she whispered.

The bell attached to the door jangled in response.

"I thought that was you." Rose had managed to control that weird habit she had of making everything she said sound like a question. Her long brown hair curled and frizzed in a million different directions but there was no denying she was beautiful-especially today, wearing a strappy sundress instead of her usual cargo shorts.

"Celebrating with a double scoop?" Rose slid onto the stool next to her.

"Not even close."

"A triple then?"

"No, I mean I'm not celebrating." Sloane felt her cheeks flush. "I mean, I think I've messed everything up. Bad." She handed Rose the watch.

Rose held it up to the light and ran her finger over its cracked face. "They can fix this you know. I know it looks bad, but they'll replace the gla.s.s, and you won't even know it happened."

"It's not the crack." Sloane took it and slipped it back into her f.a.n.n.y pack.

"Then what?" There was an edge to Rose's voice. Her patience was wearing thin.

She swallowed. "They're fake." It wasn't the whole truth, the important truth. But it was something.

"What do you mean?" Rose's face darkened.

"I mean, they're fake. The watches. Not real."

"But ... why?" Rose shook her head.

Sloane suddenly had a vision of what she must have looked like at the jewelry store, like a woman who found out her engagement ring was made of paste or a guy who discovered his fiancee was really a dude. "I have no idea." She poked at her ice cream with a plastic spoon. "And it doesn't explain why the Captain would have bid thirty Gs on them this afternoon."

"Unless he didn't know they were fake." Rose sat up a little in her seat. "Maybe the boys already sold them."

"You think?" Sloane's mind was still turning over the idea in her head, letting it play over and over again until it started to make sense.

"We could always check the police files. I could have sworn I saw something in Trip's about a watch."

Rose stood. Sloane just sat there staring at her ice cream melting, wondering if the truth even mattered anymore. "We'll figure this out, right?" She so badly wanted Rose to tell her that they would fix this together. That they'd make this right for Willa. That there would be justice.

"Yes." Rose placed her hand on Sloane's shoulder. She sounded so confident. So sure. "Sloane, listen to me. We're in this together. Let me help you, okay?"

Half an hour later, they were sitting side-by-side on Rose's bed, flipping through the details of Trip's escapades. Sloane was struck by the strangeness of it all. That not a mile from her house, Rose's stood, cramped and dingy, minutes away, worlds away. She hadn't even known Rose existed before the War, and now she depended on her the way she might have depended on Willa if she were still alive. The understanding made her dizzy.

"There's nothing here about a watch." Rose sighed and tossed the file onto the floor. "I know I saw something though."

Sloane grabbed a thick doc.u.ment from the bottom of the pile, and she forced herself to read the words on the cover: LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT. She needed to focus. "What's that doing in the police files?"

"Dunno. But I'm glad it's here. My dad saves all kinds of c.r.a.p from his investigations. He must have been holding onto it for reason." Rose paged through the ridiculously long doc.u.ment, and Sloane closed her eyes for a moment.

"Tell her I don't remember."

G.o.dd.a.m.n James again. The second she closed her eyes he was there. Taunting her.

"Wait, here's something." Rose's voice momentarily vanquished James from Sloane's brain. " 'To my Grandson Trip, who makes it impossible to forget. Because of this, you have already received your full inheritance from me. Including the Cartier watch handed down from my brother Victor. Don't bother selling it. It's fake. Gotcha.' "

"I had no idea they could use words like 'gotcha' in a legal doc.u.ment." Sloane couldn't keep the note of wonder out of her voice.

"I might have added that for color," Rose admitted with a laugh.

Sloane's mind raced. "So the Captain knew all along they were fakes. But why bid on them on eBay? Sloane still wasn't making the connection. It didn't quite make sense.

"I think the Captain just likes to mess with people ... because he can." Rose flopped backward on her double bed with its threadbare flowered duvet and matching ruffle pillows. It looked like the room of a fourth grader, not that Sloane would say that out loud. "Besides, it's not like he can really do anything about it now. He needs them to wear those watches so people don't realize the true extent of his a.s.shole tendencies."

"So, now what?"

"We wait," Rose said with authority. "We'll know right away if the Captain is on to them." Rose smiled to herself. "Once he finds out, James will be done. Over. Finished." She probably would have continued providing synonyms about ending someone for at least another ten minutes if Sloane hadn't jumped in.

"Do you ever wonder what really happened that night?" It was a dangerous question, but Sloane knew there was no one else she could ask.

The smile on Rose's face faded. "Every day." Her dark eyes burned into Sloane's.

"He doesn't remember." Sloane's voice was barely above a whisper. "He wanted me to tell you that he doesn't remember."

Rose's face went white, her eyes wide. Sloane found herself standing. Her knees wobbled. She wanted to bolt from this bedroom before she broke apart into pieces. Nothing made sense anymore. Not James or Rose or the watches or the Gregorys. And this time there was no one to help her cheat, no geek she could pay to tell her the truth and make her look smart. This time Sloane was on her own. The fresh tears in Rose's eyes confirmed it.

"I should go," Sloane said.

"Yes," Rose choked out. "You should."

Chapter 23.

First the repair. Then the packaging. Sloane had sent the watches as promised to the highest bidder, omitting a return address. An anonymous account had been created, the money transferred and withdrawn, only to be tucked back into the safety deposit box where it belonged. The score had been evened; what was lost to Mari was returned by the Captain. Over the past five days, Sloane had followed all the rules. Yet she felt emptier and more confused than ever. Maybe that's because the only thing left for the girls to do was watch the boys and wait for the other shoe to fall.

Rose offered a hand to Sloane as they climbed the jagged rocks lining the beach. "How do you even know he'll be here?" she whispered, swiping her hand across her forehead. "Doesn't he usually hang around the Club during the day?"

Sloane knew because ever since her collision with James at the driving range, she'd felt a pull she couldn't explain and kept ending up on the beach. And without fail she'd spot him there, punishing himself. Sometimes he sat for hours, staring at the great expanse of blue. Other days he'd run the rocky sh.o.r.eline only to return an hour later, his face dripping with sweat or tears; Sloane could never be sure which. She suspected both. It looked an awful lot like penance. The silence. The running. The drinking. On repeat. She promised herself that she'd report to Madge, explain her findings, and inquire if Trip's behavior mirrored James's. If they were both self-destructing maybe the girls should just sit back and enjoy the show. Maybe it would be safer that way.

Today James was stripped bare. Literally.

Sloane and Rose crouched low, peering from behind the rocks. He lay face up on the sand, no blanket beneath him, completely naked. The sun beat down on his body, sweat beaded on his chest. He was still.

"Should we ..." Rose's light brown skin had turned pink. "I mean, do you think he's okay?"

Sloane knew she should hate Rose for whatever history she had with James. After all, Willa was in love with him, too. It was her one big flaw, her one true weakness. Willa Ames-Rowan wasn't perfect, either. She'd always had a crush on him, and this year it had seemed more heightened, more acute somehow. But Sloane had to admit they made sense together. She couldn't say the same for Rose and James. They came from completely different worlds. Not exactly a solid foundation on which to build a relationship. Sloane knew a thing or two about faking and pa.s.sing. In the end, it destroyed you from the inside.