Jessa

The street outside Bethany Jones’ house looked like the opening scene of a horror movie about bad teenage decisions.

Cars everywhere.

Music loud enough to vibrate through the pavement.

People screaming — some excited, some definitely terrified.

Fog machine smoke drifting unnaturally across the yard like someone tried to summon ghosts.

Mariah parked a block away, eyebrows raised. “Well. If the cops don’t show up tonight, they’re slacking.”

My stomach ...