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"You think this is a fucking game?" I say out loud, and then feel a sudden chill, as if someone has blown air down my back That’s almost exactly what Unknown said in response tojoke?

I stand up, kickingout of place, anything thatJust the usual clothing and garbage, the same tornado-style chaos Dara leaves behind everywhere There are four new cardboard boxes piled in the corner--I guess Mom finally asked her to pick up her shit--but they’re empty I kick one of them and have a short-lived burst of satisfaction when it sails across the roo it

I take a deep breath and, standing in the corner, look again at her rooe of the rooether and seeing if so clicks There’s a plastic bag at the foot of her bed I’ is a rando iron, a travel-size bottle of hair spray, a sparkly thong I remove with my pinkie, not sure whether it’s clean or dirty Four business cards, all of them for random businesses like house painters or actuaries I flip the to find soe

The last card is for a bar, Beaht off the 101, a half mile south of FanLand, and only a mile or so up the coast from where Dara and I had our accident

I flip the card over, and right then the whole world sharpens and condenses, funnels down to a naain, I get that little twinge, like a hidden part ofupI know that nuo

U better keep ur mouth shut or else!!!

Weirdly, I don’t even feel afraid I don’t feelat all

It’s not even eleven, and the drive to Beamer’s will take me less than twenty minutes

Plenty of ti lot at Bea to see another clue, an in of Dara’s connection to this place But Beamer’s looks like any one of the dozens of bars that clutter East Norwalk, only lonelier: this close to Orphan’s Beach, where the currents are vicious and deadly, visitors are fewer and so are businesses Still, the parking lot is full of cars

Flyers in the darkened s advertise Ladies’ Nights and drinks with names like Fuzzy Nipple and a VIP party uncreatively nalass doors, which is ridiculous considering there’s no one waiting to get in, and the single patron who lingers in the parking lot, s dirty jeans and a sleeveless Budweiser shirt

I watch Budweiser stub his cigarette out in a bucket presuh his nose, dragon-style I’et out of the car and follow hihly the shape and size of a humpbacked whale, intercept Budweiser on his way in Budweiser holds up his hand, probably showing him a sta ID But of course I do For aaround, angling the car back in the direction of hoo to hell

But there’s a stubborn part of ive in so quickly Besides, Dara doesn’t have a fake, at least as far as I know She always bragged she didn’t need one and could flirt her way into any bar

If she can do it, I can do it, too

I flip down thenow the plain scoop-neck tank top and shorts I changed into before leaving the house again, and the fact that I decided to skip anything but a little ChapStick and so

I twist around and reach into the backseat Like Dara’s room, the upholstery is covered in a thick layer of accu to find a sequined tank top, soloss, and even a cracked three-pack of dark eye shadow I s to remember what Dara always said the few tied frouely uncomfortable, like she had slipped o darker in the crease

I slick on soer-co lot is empty of people, swap out tank tops Dara’s sequined tank top hangs so low that a bit of my bra--black, thankfully, and not the printed yellow one I usually ith a coffee stain directly over my left nipple--peeks out froet aDara’s ht possible

I take a deep breath, grab ed out ofladiator sandals even have a teensy bit of a heel

The bouncer ly rising out of the dark lass panes like an underwater creature surfacing A rush of sound accohing, the chatter of dozens of drunk people

"ID," he says, sounding bored His eyes are at half-mast, low-lidded, like a lizard’s