The Switchgrass Crown

By Amanda Innes

*** The BookFest - 2023 Award Winner ***

The first time I saw him, I mistook him for something unnatural...

Seventeen-year-old Lucas Rowland is spending the summer with his family at the exclusive Lake Avalon, and things are getting... weird. His wealthy peers welcome him and his younger sister Fay with seemingly open arms, and by the time Lucas discovers why, Fay is already fully enmeshed in both high—and questionable—society. But does she need saving? Or is it all a harmless game? Lucas must decide whether to play along or put a stop to it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Innes
• Release date: Sep 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215154106

Amanda Innes

Amanda Innes has been a production assistant on film sets, a dogsbody for community theaters, a performer of Shakespeare, an instructor for summer camps, and worked for major publishing houses before turning her attention to her own writing. She grew up in Texas, went to graduate school in Massachusetts, and now lives in Northern California.

Book preview

one

The first time I saw him, I mistook him for something unnatural. It was that place, I think; it made magic feel possible. My family had only arrived that afternoon, but already I was feeling the effects.

He sat beside the lake, which seemed normal enough; it was a summer lakeside community, after all. But rather than lounging in a chair on a lawn behind one of the many mansions, he sat on a log in the tall, neglected grass. And instead of wearing the uniform of the young and wealthy—clothes suitable for tennis, say, or boating—he sported slightly loose jeans and a plain black t-shirt. His hair was dark, and wavy in a way that looked prone to become messy, his eyes something between brown and green, and his skin what I think is described as olive. He had full, bow-shaped lips that made him appear to be pouting. Maybe he was.

In retrospect, describing it, there doesn’t seem to be anything particularly ethereal about him. But in that moment, it felt like magic the way stars or fireflies appearing out of nowhere to spark the darkness can feel magical.

I did two things at the sight of him. First, I glanced back at my sister and put a hand out to stop her progress. Then I scanned the houses beyond the stretch of overgrowth, trying to discern which one he might belong to. If I could place him, he might become ordinary and natural to the environment rather than seeming like a wayward elf.

He heard us coming and looked over. Blinked as placidly as livestock. His shoulders moved in a way that suggested a sigh, which for some reason irritated me. So instead of introducing myself or asking his name, I said, What are you doing here?

He tilted his head just slightly and blinked again. Then he said, Nothing really, and went back to pulling a long blade of grass into increasingly thin strips.

I should have known Fay wouldn’t wait long. What is it, Luke? she asked as she moved forward for a look.

"More like who is it," I told her.

Name’s Emory, he said. His long, nimble fingers seemed to be flying, and suddenly he held up a bracelet of braided grass. For yon fair maiden. He held it out without bothering to stand or come closer.

Fay stepped towards him. I put out a hand again, but she swatted it aside. Oh, please, Luke, really. She said it the way she’d heard our mother say it a million times and proceeded to approach the stranger. He slipped the bracelet over her hand with the kind of smile that mixed contemplation and regret. At the time, I only thought he was sorry we’d disturbed him. That we’d stumbled upon his private spot and he was disappointed to have it found out.

I’m Fay, my sister said, and this is—

Luke, said Emory. So I heard.

Lucas, I clarified.

But we call him Luke, said Fay with a scornful glance back at me. Another thing she’d learned from Mom.

I wouldn’t want to call him anything he doesn’t want to be called. Emory yanked up another strand of grass, and his gaze shifted to me. It hit me as cleanly as an arrow might. Don’t suppose you want a bracelet?

No thanks, I said.

You seem more the type for a laurel wreath. His hands moved faster than seemed possible. What sports do you play?

This, at least, was familiar ground. Football, swim, track… Only sprints, though. What about you?

I swim, but not competitively. And I play a little tennis. All at once, and in one fluid motion, he was on his feet and moving toward me, a much larger circle of braided grass in his hands. He set it on my head with all the seriousness of a coronation. And for some reason, I let him.

Prince Lucas, he announced, welcome to Avalon.

two

You seem more like a theatre student than an athlete, laughed Fay.

Emory smiled and turned back to her. I’ve been known to tread the boards.

What about arts and crafts? I asked, feeling for my homemade diadem.

Not so much, said Emory, except when bored.

Then why are you sitting out here? Fay asked. There’s tons to do.

He shrugged. The days start to feel the same after a while. I can only play so much tennis, or do so much swimming, or even go out on the boat so many times before it gets dull.

Stop! But Fay was laughing again. I didn’t trust the light in her eyes; I’d seen it too often before. You’ll ruin it for us.

As this is your first year, said Emory, offering Fay his arm, please allow me to give you the grand tour.

Fay accepted all too quickly, slipping her arm through his, and I had to stop her with, It’s almost dinnertime.

She scowled at me, but she didn’t dare show her nasty side to a fresh crush. Still, I knew I would be fully subjected to her wrath as soon as we got home.

Emory released her arm but took her hand in that old-fashioned way, bowing to kiss the back of it, though I saw his lips never came in contact. More like the air kisses of the French. Another time, Lady Fay.

She laughed again. "Yes, Sir Emory, I do hope to see you soon." And because he wasn’t looking, she flashed another glare in my direction.

We’re in the big, red-brick one back through there, I told him, pointing back the way we’d come. The house itself wasn’t visible from where we stood, given the trees and wild grass that divided it from the others around the lake; ours was the only one that lacked direct access to the water. The privacy had been one of the draws for our parents—that and perhaps the slightly lower rental price. Which one is yours?

Emory pointed at a large house at the far end of the lake. It was made of grey stone and had a turret or tower or something at one corner.

The one that looks like a castle? Fay asked.

That’s the one. But rather than proud, or even happy, about it, he sounded tired. The original Avalon mansion.

You’re… from the family? I asked. I tried to remember if I had seen any photos of the Avalons but came up blank.

He smiled, and this time it was shrewd. Not what you expected, eh?

No! I said, not wanting to offend him. I mean, I didn’t expect anything. I hadn’t really thought about it.

Really? It seems to me everyone who owns or rents a house here over the summers thinks about it quite a lot. But I shouldn’t keep you. If you do decide you would like a tour, feel free to drop by.

Here? I asked, and Fay elbowed me in the side.

Emory looked at me as if I were the strange one. It’s true I might be here, he allowed. "You can always check here first, but I live there, so…"

Right, I said, of course. I don’t—

Fay elbowed me again. We had a long day of travel, she explained.

Emory smiled. I’m sure. He glanced at the sky, which was steadily turning darker shades of blue. Best get home before it’s too dark to see the way. I couldn’t tell if the advice was directed at us or himself.

Fay grabbed my arm and yanked me towards home. "Nice meeting you, Sir Emory!"

In my memory, he waved, but if I’m honest with myself, he was already starting to blend into the growing dark.

I waited until we were masked by the trees to pull out my cell phone. I almost hated to do it; the unnatural light of the screen stole something from the nature around us. But I needed to look up the Avalons.

Leonard Avalon descended from old money that had never stopped adding to that original wealth. The castle-like manor at the far end of the lake named for them had been built in 1878, and for twenty years it had been the only house on the lake, until Gerald Avalon finally agreed to sell parcels of waterfront property to a few of his friends. Lake Avalon, and the town that grew around it, had developed into the summer getaway for the ultra chic—and it still was, though many of the mansions had since become rentals rather than family estates. We were staying in not only a rental but one built in the 1990s, making it too new to be impressive. With its red brick and comparatively plain façade, it looked like a country cousin trying to fit in with the high-society snobs.

That much I had already known: the Avalons were an old family and the current patriarch made money from investing in…

Broadway, I breathed when I found it. Makes perfect sense. It seemed Emory’s penchant for theatrics was rooted in his family tree.

Fay looked over at the screen. But also medical devices, she pointed out. And he funds museums. Does it say anything about Emory?

I scrolled the bio and skimmed the sidebar that listed Leonard Avalon’s family. He was on his second wife, and though the site showed one son, it did not give a name, nor was there a photo.

Maybe Mr. Avalon prefers to keep his personal life private, suggested Fay.

I could think of other reasons not to divulge the information, foremost being that Emory Avalon was seen as an embarrassment to the family. He was a bit odd, don’t you think? Emory, I mean. I asked.

He was charming, said Fay. Hearts and stars already glowed in her eyes. The problem these days is that charm is so rare it’s mistaken for eccentricity.

You read that somewhere, I said as we broke through the trees. The back of our rental house was even more bland and dispiriting than the front. Oh, it was plenty grand, but it lacked any sort of character. Not the kind of house ghosts would choose to linger in given all the other available options.

What makes you say that? Fay asked.

Come on, ‘fess up. There’s no way you thought of it on your own.

Fay slapped my arm before running ahead of me across the lawn. I’m going to tell Dad you tried to toss me in the lake!

I quickly pocketed my phone and chased after her, the crickets falling silent in our wake.

three

By the time I got inside, Fay had already begun gushing. We met Emory Avalon! she announced to our mother, who was preoccupied with following something in a recipe book.

You went to the store? I asked.

Mm, was all Mom said, which either meant yes or that she acknowledged that people were talking to her but she wasn’t listening to anything actually being said. Both could have been true.

Mom, Fay said in that serious tone that was meant to get undivided attention. Emory. Avalon.

Avalon, Mom echoed. "Like, Avalon Avalon?"

Yes!

Can you get me the paprika?

Fay threw her head back and gave a growl of frustration. Careful, Mom, I said, leaning against the breakfast bar at what I hoped was a safe distance from her attempt at cooking, or she’ll start howling like a wolf or something.

I assume there’s paprika here somewhere, Mom said. If they have cookbooks lying around, I can’t imagine they don’t at least stock spices. Check that cabinet over there. She gestured vaguely toward a corner of the kitchen.

Fay went, but not quietly; she stomped just enough to make her feelings clear without getting in trouble for it.

Was he cute? Mom asked as Fay began opening and closing cupboards.

Fay answered, Yes! at the same time I said, A little weird.

Rich people can afford to be weird, said Mom.

We’re not, I said, and for the first time since we’d come in, Mom looked up from the mess she was making. She lifted her eyebrows.

Oh? Then what’s that on your head? she asked.

I reached up and removed the braided grass coronet. "Fine, I’m not, I amended as I set the crown on the bowl of decorative wax fruit displayed on the bar. And neither is Dad."

Neither is Dad what? Dad asked as he strolled in. He looked strange to me in his chino shorts and polo shirt; I was used to him coming and going in a suit. He stayed busy enough that vacations were rare, and certainly two whole months away was a first. I had an inkling my forthcoming senior year, graduation, and departure from the family home had Mom and Dad suddenly scrambling to make memories.

Instead of answering Dad’s question, Fay jumped in with her news. We met Emory Avalon!

She got the looked-for result from our father. Leonard Avalon’s son?

Do you know him? Fay asked.

"I know of him, Dad said. He turned to me. He’s about your age, I think?"

I shrugged. Seemed so.

Not a bad connection to make, said Dad. He eyed Fay. But don’t make a nuisance of yourself, hm?

Dad! This time Fay really did sound like a howling wolf.

Do you know anything about him? I asked. Besides his age? He mentioned some sports, but that he only plays them casually.

Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunities for that. Dad studied whatever Mom had compiled in a large mixing bowl, his expression dubious. Turning back to me, he added, Probably just as well not to get into a competitive relationship there. Keep it friendly.

You don’t work with Leonard Avalon, though, I said. It’s not like my being friends with his son could do you any favors.

"I don’t work with him now, but one never knows. And being friends with him might do you favors one day."

Why does this say brown sugar? Mom pondered aloud. Does that seem right to you?

Maybe we should go over to the club for dinner, Dad suggested.

The Avalon Clubhouse included a formal restaurant, a casual restaurant, and a café with a patio. One could also rent boats and fishing equipment for the lake and buy things like sunscreen, bottled water, and generic beach towels. Not quite a gift shop—there were no Lake Avalon t-shirts or ball caps, as that would have been tacky—but more of a handy stop for necessities if you didn’t want to make the trek into town.

Later, we would discover more: the tennis courts and swimming pool (though most of the houses had their own), the communal fire pit, and the first aid station.

That night we went to the casual restaurant. Fay fiddled with her phone while we waited for our salads and burgers. I glanced at Dad a few times, expecting him to order Fay to put her phone away, but he didn’t. The possibility of a new social connection apparently superseded our usual rules.

Finally, with a snort of irritation, Fay slapped her phone onto the table. "He’s not on any social media. Not even a picture. Not even friends tagging him in pictures or posts. Nothing! How is it even possible?"

My first, and admittedly uncharitable, thought was that Emory Avalon probably did not have any friends. My second, more reasonable thought was that there were surely many people keen to be his friend, or at least a solid acquaintance. Not because he was interesting or cool but because he was an Avalon.

Just because people want to be his friend doesn’t mean he lets them. I didn’t realize I’d said it aloud until my entire family swiveled in my direction. He has every reason to be cagey is all, I explained. True friends must be hard to come by in his position.

God, I hope he doesn’t have a girlfriend, said Fay, picking up her phone again.

Many powerful and famous people stay away from social media, Dad said. It’s too risky. One bad decision… He shook his head.

He could at least have a PR person manage it for him, Fay grumbled. You can’t be an influencer if you’re not out there.

"Maybe not in your world, said Dad, but he’s smart if he’s thinking ahead and avoiding it now so it won’t be a problem later. Shows discipline. These days, everyone wants instant gratification. No one wants to—"

To our relief, the food arrived and cut Dad’s lecture short. As the server set the plates in front of each of us, Dad said to Fay, Put your phone away.

four

Let’s hop in the golf cart and go around the lake, Fay said the next morning.

I looked up from the Kennedy biography I was reading and saw she’d done her hair and makeup and was wearing a white sundress dotted with deep red cherries. You want to go over to his house, I said, and since you can’t drive…

I’m pretty sure they let fifteen-year-olds drive golf carts.

First off, you won’t be fifteen for two more weeks. Secondly, you don’t know how to drive a cart any more than you do a car.

She started to toss her head then stopped short to keep her manufactured curls tidy. These aren’t even real roads. No one is going to care.

Then go without me. I opened my book again.

I heard her take a deep breath and braced myself for whining and pleading, but she aimed lower. Dad would love it if we made friends with the Avalons. But if you’d rather read, I’ll do my best to represent the family. And she clopped across the hardwood in her clunky sandals.

I slapped my book shut and stood. Fine. The whole point is to get some sun while we’re here anyway. I glanced at her. Though you might want to wear a hat.

Why?

You get freckles.

I do not!

I shrugged to make it clear it made no difference to me. Fay had inherited our mother’s paler skin, whereas Dad and I toasted nicely in the sun.

I can’t wear a hat, Fay half wailed. It’ll flatten my hair.

I shrugged again. Sunscreen?

My makeup!

At least put it on your arms and shoulders.

She groaned but clomped away to find the spray while I went for my shoes and sunglasses. By the time she returned, smelling like the seashore, I had found the cart keys and was ready to go.

Each house on Lake Avalon has a numbered golf cart for getting around. Though there is a proper road around the lake—each house has a driveway, of course, and the clubhouse has parking as well—a number of areas prohibit cars. This keeps the environment peaceful in general by cutting down on traffic. But the houses are not only large, they are widely spaced. Walking between them wouldn’t be very efficient, but no one wants to drive to and from, either. The golf carts are a happy medium—quick, relatively quiet, and unobtrusive.

I’d gotten my license just before my seventeenth birthday. Late by some standards, but I hadn’t been motivated to learn. Actually, the prospect of driving had terrified me, so I’d put it off as long as possible, until Mom and Dad insisted because they needed me to be able to take Fay places sometimes. I looked forward to the day Fay would take herself places and leave me in peace.

But that day had yet to come, so it was down to me to drive her around. I don’t think we’re supposed to drive on the main road, I told her. So where should we go? Down by the lake?

There’s a separate track for the carts. Fay pointed it out as we left the long drive. It was little more than a dirt trail some feet inside the perimeter of the paved road.

Are you sure? I asked.

I saw some carts on it yesterday when we got here.

There was no one out at that moment, so I had no choice but to take her word for it. As we set off, the tires kicked up dust. Careful! Fay shouted. It’ll get my dress dirty!

I stopped the cart and stared at her. Would you rather walk?

Just… go slow.

If I go any slower, walking really will be faster.

She sighed but didn’t argue, so I started off again. I did go slow, mostly to postpone the inevitable. I pointed out anything I thought might interest her, and anything that interested me, but soon enough we’d come to the far end of the lake.

Later, we would learn the castle-like structure was called Annwn. Made of gray stone and slate shingles, it looked older even than it was, though also well maintained. I had expected fences and gates, but the only boundary was marked by cultivated hedges. The drive lay open and inviting.

As I paused the cart at the end of the drive so that we could look at the house, Fay grabbed my arm and gave it a shake. Let’s go up! It’s early, he’s got to be home.

We’re not, I pointed out.

But he practically said he’d be home.

He said he lives here. He didn’t say he’d sit around waiting for us to visit.

She frowned a little then. He seemed to be waiting, though, didn’t he? Last night?

Her words startled me; it wasn’t like Fay to notice things like that. She dealt in big pictures and strong emotions, while I was usually the observant one. To throw off my unease, I answered glibly, Well, maybe we spoiled a pending rendezvous. He could have been waiting for a girlfriend or something.

I expected a shrieking protest, but her frown only got deeper. A good spot for it, she said. I watched her force the cheer back into her features. Come on, let’s go ask him.

Reluctantly, I turned the cart up the drive.

five

Fay never had enough sense to be shy. Like a child, happy to greet everyone, she didn’t believe in acquaintances; she always assumed anyone she’d met even once was a friend. So although I was embarrassed to turn up unannounced, Fay had no such qualms. She hopped off the cart before we even came to a full stop and hurried to the door. I half considered driving off and leaving her to it but couldn’t bring myself to go quite that far. Not out of any protective feelings towards Fay, but because a seed of curiosity had been planted deep within me the previous night, and being at the house was as good as water and sunshine to that curiosity—a nourishment to it.

The drive ended in a sort of cul-de-sac in front of the house, though I noticed a detached garage off to the right, long and low. I guessed at least five cars could fit inside, possibly more. Then again, I considered some of the space might be for a boat or two. And perhaps their golf cart was in there. I was mulling over all the likely combinations of vehicles when Fay’s voice cut through my wandering thoughts: "Luke! Come on!"

Maybe I should park it over there? I gestured at the garage. Out of the way?

You’re just trying to hide, she said, grabbing my wrist and pulling, though she had to know she couldn’t move me unless I wanted to be moved. Fay was tougher than she looked, but I was still stronger.

I gave a little, sliding a few inches across the seat of the cart but not