Chapter 3: The Theater of Cruelty

The day of our eighteenth birthday dawned bright, cloudless, and brutally, unforgivingly hot.

Our sprawling backyard had been transformed into a teenage bacchanalia—a kaleidoscope of splashing turquoise water, tanned skin, inflatable flamingos, and the overwhelming scent of coconut tanning oil mixed with sharp chlorine.

The heavy, rhythmic thump of bass from the DJ’s massive speakers vibrated up through the soles of my feet. There were nearly two hundred teenagers swarming the patio, a sea of designer swimwear, red solo cups, and superficial laughter.

In the absolute center of it all, standing on the raised edge of the infinity pool, Chloe looked like a teenage goddess.

She wore her neon-pink string bikini, her flawless golden skin glistening in the sun. She laughed loudly, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder as a group of boys handed her bright, fruity mocktails. She was holding court, basking in the intoxicating glow of total popularity.