“That’s not a bad thing—not being the hook-up type,” she says, ignoring me. “And neither is being the girl who likes the hook-up. What makes any of it wrong is when you pretend to be something you’re not. That’s when the heartache starts.”

Violet drinks from her lemonade like she didn’t just say something profound. None of my friends have ever said anything so blatant in regards to sex. Usually if they do, it’s associated with gossip. Until now, hooking up has never been used as a proverb for how to live life.

I immediately love, hate and envy Violet. Bet the guys she’s kissed didn’t fumble around her body like they were putting together a Lego set without instructions. “You know Oz and Chevy?” Back to safe conversations.

“We were raised together. I used to think it was a conspiracy. That maybe the old ladies scheduled their ovulation dates to create the quintessential quintet. I have a feeling they were disappointed that I was a girl.”

Okay, several things going on there. “Old ladies?”

Violet grins and the hardness fades. In its place is a very soft, very teenage girl. Her blue eyes laugh before she does and what I enjoy about the laugh is it’s not so much at me as with me.

“Telling off Oz and you don’t know what an old lady is? Please never leave Snowflake. Stay here and be the only sane person besides me. Even better idea, take me with you. Florida has more sane people, right?”

I laugh, loudly. So loud that all three guys glance over at us.

“Ignore them.” She waves them off like they’re flies. “Did you know that we were supposed to be best friends?”

I force a swallow so I don’t choke.

“Our moms were close. Hung out a lot...and I can see from the look on your face that I might as well be speaking Chinese.”

I clear my throat and try to figure out the exact expression that gave me away. Whatever it was, I need to master it if I’m going to decipher this puzzle. “My mom doesn’t talk about Kentucky. It’s a sore spot for her.”

“Figures. I’m going to erase Snowflake from my memory after I leave this rat-infested doorway to hell.”

“Do you know much about my mom?” And me?

The breeze lifts part of her red hair. “Nope. I hope you don’t take offense at this, but no one talks about either of you. It’s a taboo subject.”

“Oh.” We both drink from our lemonade and I search for something to ease the awkward silence. “You didn’t say what old ladies were.”

“Wives or serious girlfriends of club members. It’s this special designation that means you belong to a guy and no one can mess with you without serious consequences.”

“Belong?” I don’t care for the sound of that.

“Some other clubs call the women their property.”

“Property?” I’ve turned into a parrot.

“The Terror don’t take it that far. Oz’s mom, Izzy? If she ever heard Oz’s dad calling her property, she’d tear his privates off and hand his balls to him. It’s still a boys’ club, though. Don’t fool yourself into thinking anything different.”

She slides her thumb against the condensation of the glass creating a path. My chest aches for her. Being the sole girl surrounded by a boys’ club. It must be lonely. “Who’s part of the quintet?”

“It was supposed to be you, me, Chevy, Oz and Razor. Razor was born first and the rest of us popped out within a year. Have you met Razor yet?”

I think the answer is yes, but I shake my head no.

“Good. If you see him, run in the other direction. The wires in that boy’s head are messed up beyond repair.” She pauses then angles herself toward me. “Look, I don’t know how long you’re here for and I know you don’t know me very well, but I’m around if you want to talk or text or anything. This place is crazy and it’s not for everyone. God knows it’s not for me.”

Her forehead furrows and, in that moment, I like Violet. She’s real and she’s honest and there aren’t many people in life who are that way. I yank out the burner phone Eli bought me and hand it to her. After a quick sultry pout pic of herself, Violet types in her number.

“It’s not easy to fit into Snowflake to begin with,” she continues, adding another picture then another number. “It’s harder when you have the title of Reign of Terror offspring to struggle out from underneath.”

Her blue eyes meet mine and when she offers me the phone my heart folds in on itself. I can’t imagine growing up around this house, next to a clubhouse full of bras, with a matriarch who’s okay with jumping out of coffins. I’ve always been grateful for the life I’ve had, understanding that any choice at any time could have made my life completely different from what I know now, but the weight of that knowledge just got heavier.

I rest my hand over Violet’s. “I puked when Olivia rose like a zombie out of a casket.”

She flashes this brilliant smile. “Oh, Lord, lying in a casket. That sounds like something she would do. So do you know how long you’re here?”

For as long as I want. “No.”

“If you want out, let me know. There’s some awesome field parties. Like real parties, not the crazy-ass things that go on around here.”

“Okay.” At home, I’ve attended a few parties. Nothing raging with heavy drugs or the ones that cops bust. The type where the parents stay upstairs while we watch a movie or play games. Then when it gets late, the lights will turn down and the couples will find dark corners to make out. That would be where I had my first kiss.