MAYA’S POV
By the next morning, the lake house was loud again. Zoey had invited some of her friends overs.
Hair straighteners sizzling.
Music bumping.
Everyone yelling over everyone else. My makeup bag was open on the floor, the lip gloss caps rolling under the couch, and someone had already knocked over the vodka bottle we weren’t supposed to touch.
“You’re not wearing that,” Zoey snorted from the bed, pointing at my dress like I had offended her.
“Why? It’s literally fine,” I said, smoothing the hem over my thighs. “It’s not like your dad’s going to be staring at my ass.”
Silence.
And then the laughter exploded.
“Oh my God,” Kayla, Zoey’s friend, choked out, practically falling off the bean bag. “Don’t say that!”
Zoey was laughing too, tossing a pillow at my face. “Shut up,
