9️⃣

ORM

I could throttle her.

The audacity to accuse me of overlooking important details just last night, and then she waltzes right through a door without paying attention to the rock that was very obviously keeping it propped open.

She was just like this at camp, too. Glaring at me when I talked too much, but failing to contribute anything of value to the conversation herself. Rolling her eyes while I made friends, yet never bothering to do anything other than cling to the fringes of her group of cabin-mates. She obviously despised everything about me, yet never seemed to be able to demonstrate how I might improve on her wordless critiques.

"Trapped?" she echoes. "Seriously?"

I scoff. "Yes, I know how much you hate being in dark, enclosed spaces with me. Looks like you did it to yourself yet again."

The words slip out of me before I can reel them back in—slippery, vicious, and way too indicative of how hurt I still am. Instantly, I feel like a pathetic idiot. What happened between us on that last night of camp occurred over a decade ago. I haven't thought about it in ages, but apparently seeing Ling again has reopened old wounds.

I expect her to roll her eyes at my response or to laugh sarcastically.

Instead, she stares at me blankly for a long moment. It's hard to tell by the glow of our respective phone flashlights, but she seems vaguely... confused. As if she doesn't understand my statement.

As if she can't even remember what I'm referring to.

White-hot embarrassment roars through me. I want to melt into the cement floor and never speak again. Of course she doesn't remember. Who on earth is ridiculous enough to cling to one random sour memory from their teenage years as if it's the worst thing that's ever happened?

It's definitely not the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

But still. Even just thinking back on it... I have to suppress a shudder.

Ling clears her throat and takes a subtle step away from me.

"Surely, we can shove the door open if we put enough pressure on it," she says.

Evidently, she's decided to pretend that I never said anything at all. Fine. Whatever. It's probably for the best.

"Nope," I tell her. "Trust me. It can only be opened from the outside. Uncle Joe's been meaning to fix it for years. Never got around to it, though, since everyone is used to keeping it open with that big rock when they come down here."

She shakes her head at my snarky tone.

"And there's no other way out?"

"There's another set of stairs that leads up to the kitchen, but that's locked from the other side, too."

"Why?" she snaps.

I raise my eyebrows. She purses her lips and looks away.

"Aunt May is here with her four children, all under the age of eight. They're way too curious for their own good, so we have to close off certain areas of the house for their safety."

"I know what childproofing is."

"You literally asked a question, so I gave an answer."

"Whatever."

"I can probably pick the lock, though," I offer. "I'll need you to shine the light while I do it."

"Can't you just text someone to come and open the door?"

I narrow my eyes. Stupidly, I didn't even think of that, but the last thing I'm going to do is admit that out loud. So, instead of saying anything at all, I unlock my phone and quickly puzzle over who to text for help.

Definitely not my dad, because Gigi will filet him if he leaves the grill unmanned. Uncle Joe barely knows how to use his phone, so he won't be any help. Aunt Carol would make a huge deal out of it, and within minutes, everyone at the party would know that I got stuck in the basement with Ling, and I really don't want to be associated with her any more than I already am.

Elijah and Josie are off the table. They're too busy being the beautiful centerpiece of this otherwise flawless event. And, after the way Josie was pestering me about Ling earlier, there's no way I'm going to give her a reason to think there's anything going on between us.

"Is something wrong?" Ling prompts in an impatient tone. "You're just staring at your phone."

I glare up at her. "So eager to get back to the party? I know how much you love socializing."

It's probably the meanest thing I've said to her, at least since we were teenagers, but Ling merely scoffs and looks around as if an escape hatch is going to magically appear in the basement wall.

I decide to text Mabel for help. She can be discreet, and she's already been darting back and forth between the kitchen and the backyard like a hummingbird helping her mother. Gigi isn't even the official caterer of this barbecue—she just insisted on handling the dessert menu and being "backup support."

"Isn't there a light down here?" Ling grumbles.

"There is, but the switch is up by the kitchen door. On the other side."

She sighs, a sound so heavy it seems to echo in the dim basement. "Alright. Well, can you at least point me in the direction of the charcoal?"

I gesture toward the stairs leading back to the now-locked door. "You walked right past it."

"Oh." Without another word, she turns and walks away from me.

I stare after her retreating form for a few seconds before muttering a curse under my breath and heading in the opposite direction toward the kitchen stairs, still clutching the increasingly melty bag of ice. Thanks to her, it'll be half water by the time I get it to the party.

As I stomp up the stairs, my phone buzzes with a reply from Mabel:

No prob. Need a few min tho. Mom's in full Chefzilla Mode. Something about peaches.

I groan aloud and type back: I'm about to go full Maidzilla Mode if I don't get out of here in the next thirty seconds.

Her reply is immediate: Sorry, hun. Chefzilla is way scarier than Maidzilla.

I resist the overwhelming urge to chuck my phone into the darkness and instead stomp up the last few stairs, finally plopping myself onto the top step, leaning back against the locked door. The ice bag rests against my hip, condensation soaking into the fabric of my jumpsuit.

A moment later, Ling's tall shadow appears at the bottom of the stairs.

"It's going to be a minute," I call down to her. "Might as well sit and wait."

She grunts in acknowledgment and starts climbing toward me. The wooden stairs groan under her weight as she ascends, each creak louder than the last.

I didn't mean for her to actually sit with me, but it's not like I can tell her to stop halfway up. That would just make things more awkward.

She hesitates about four steps below me, glancing at the dusty wood before finally setting the charcoal bag down with a heavy thud. After another second of indecision, she sits.

It's quiet. The kind of silence that isn't peaceful but charged, like static in the air before a storm. Somewhere above us, faint voices filter through the floorboards—laughter, music, the unmistakable clink of glasses.

We sit there for a minute or two, the faint light from our phones casting dim halos around us, before Ling clears her throat. The sound cuts through the stillness like a knife.

"What you said earlier," she starts, her voice careful, deliberate, "about dark, enclosed spaces—"

"Forget it," I cut in, far too quickly.

"No, I... I mean, it was a long time ago, and—"

"Exactly. So you can forget that I brought it up in the first place."

She shifts slightly, and I think she's looking at me, though I can't really tell in the dim light.

"Can't you let me finish a single sentence, Orm?"

I freeze. My name on her lips—soft, frustrated, sharp—makes my stomach flip in a way I can't quite explain. Maybe it's just the tension of being trapped here with her. Maybe it's the years of unresolved silence between us. Or maybe it's the way her voice carries a mix of hurt and something else I can't pinpoint.

"Go on, then," I say, my voice quieter this time.

Ling takes a deep breath. "What happened that night at camp... it wasn't like I didn't—I mean, we didn't..." She stops, sighs, and then tries again. "It's been a long time since I've thought about it, and I guess I didn't realize that you were so offended that—"

"I'm not so offended," I start, but then I catch myself interrupting her again and clamp my mouth shut.

She lets the silence settle again before continuing, her voice softer now. "My point is... it didn't occur to me that what I did might have hurt your feelings."

"It's fine," I grumble. Unfortunately, I sound more like a petulant child than an unbothered adult.

"Fine or not, my point is that it wasn't personal."

I drop my head back against the door. Please, Mabel. Save me...

"Whatever, Ling. It was twelve years ago. It's not a big deal."

Never mind that, at the time, it really was a big deal to me. The hugest deal, actually. Which is, admittedly, really annoying and impossible to understand even after all this time.

It's not as if I liked Ling. I didn't have feelings for her, not in any way that would make what happened so much worse than it should have been.

"Okay, then," she says, punctuating the words with a loud sigh. "No big deal. Fine."

"Fine."

At that exact moment, the doorknob rattles right over my head. Without warning, the door is yanked open. I tumble backward onto the kitchen tiles at the same time that Ling shoots to her feet.

For a handful of seconds, everything seems frozen. I'm partially sprawled on the floor. Ling is staring down at me, towering from her position on the lower step, her mouth slightly agape.

Mabel's eyes are on her, rather than me. Her lips curve into a frown so fleeting that I'm not sure I'm seeing correctly, but then her expression grows neutral once more when she glances down at me.

"You okay?" she asks.

"M'fine," I mumble.

I sit upright and reach for the bag of ice, but I'm blocked by an outstretched hand. Ling's hand. I stare down at her palm for a long moment before realizing that she's offering to help me up. For a heartbeat, I consider ignoring the gesture—done purely out of politeness because we currently have an audience—but I'm not confident I can rise to my feet gracefully without assistance in this current position.

Avoiding Ling's gaze, I slip my hand into hers and allow her to haul me up into a standing position. She lifts with unexpected ease, showing off a strength I didn't realize she had. Not that she's not strong—she clearly is. There's an athleticism about her, a quiet sturdiness.

Not that I noticed or whatever.

"Mabel, this is Lingling Kwong," I force myself to say, desperate to pretend that everything is perfectly normal and okay. "Ling, this is Mabel Lee."

"Nice to—"

Mabel doesn't allow Ling to finish delivering her pleasantries. She simply gives her one of her sunny smiles and then nods to the bag of charcoal.

"You might want to hurry with that," she tells Ling.

Ling glances at me and, somehow, I know exactly what she wants to say. Clearly, you two girls are good friends because neither one of you seems capable of letting me finish a sentence.

For some reason, that makes me want to smile. And yet, the thought of smiling at Ling—of smiling at whatever wordless communication just occurred between us—makes me feel weird and vaguely itchy.

"Right," she mutters. She grabs the charcoal and heads through the kitchen toward the sliding glass doors.

Then, even though there are about a hundred people crawling around Uncle Joe and Aunt Carol's house, Mabel and I are suddenly alone in the kitchen.

I already know what she's going to say before she opens her mouth, but that doesn't stop me from cringing when she lets out a short laugh and goes, "Who was that?"

Snatching the ice from the floor, I stalk toward the door. "I already told you. Lingling Kwong. She's Elijah's friend. From college, I've been told."

"And why on earth were you hanging out with her in the basement?"

"I wasn't hanging out with her. We got stuck because she let the door fall shut."

"Ah."

"Yes, ah."

Mabel easily keeps pace with me as I march across the lawn to deposit the ice in the punch bowl.

"So, that's it?" she asks.

"What do you mean? Of course, that's it."

"You two don't know each other at all?"

I shoot her a glance. "Nope."

She snorts. "I don't believe you."

"That's your prerogative, Mabel."

"I'm just saying, she really seemed like she—"

"There you are!" crows Eric, practically appearing out of nowhere. "Got that ice, didn't you?"

Mabel snickers quietly. This time, it seems, she's not going to rescue me from being trapped in another conversation with the chattiest man alive. She floats away before I can think of a reason to keep her close.

"Yeah," I deadpan.

Eric furrows his brow. "Are you okay?"

"Totally."

"Well, that's good. Hey, by the way, you've got a bit of dirt on your sleeve, I think. Here, let me help."

Before I can insist on helping myself, Eric steps closer and carefully touches the frilly blue sleeve of my jumpsuit. It must have gotten dirty when I spilled out onto the kitchen floor. With a gentle touch, Eric brushes some stray dust and small bits of gravel out of the fluttery layers of my sleeve. He smells nice, at least. And he is handsome. That much is true.

It's just... I don't know. I guess whatever attraction I felt for him when I was sixteen is gone now. Or perhaps it was never really there in the first place. Those memories are hazy.

Unfortunately, the memories of what happened with Ling a mere week prior to meeting Eric are still crystal clear. It's like a curse.

While Eric chivalrously fusses over me, my gaze wanders over his shoulder.

As if my eyes are automatically drawn to her, they land on Ling hovering by the grill. She's made her charcoal delivery and, instead of retreating to the edges of the crowd like she always used to do at camp, she's right in the thick of it.

And she's looking directly at me.

Or rather, she's looking directly at Eric, who is still leaning suggestively close to me. It's hard to tell from the distance, but I swear Ling's mouth tightens with distaste. When she realizes that I'm staring right back at her, she yanks her gaze away and turns to say something to Aunt Carol. Carol laughs brightly and pats her on the shoulder affectionately.

Seriously?

"I think you've got it, Eric," I say, stepping away from him. "Thank you."

He grins. "No problem, Orm. By the way, you look especially beautiful today."

"Thanks. You look nice, too. I'm afraid I don't have much time to chat right now, though."

Eric's lips part, no doubt to offer a protest, but I give him an apologetic smile and step away swiftly. The crowd consumes me like the ocean and I let out a relieved sigh, floating among them like I'm swimming out to sea.

And yet, it's suddenly a lot more difficult to ignore Ling's presence nearby.