Someone tries to pull open the door to the restroom, then pounds on the metal when they realize that it’s locked. Maryam shoots out a hand and, faster than gasping, the light of her soft, suffuse magic etches mascara trails down Marcelina’s cheeks. Paulie and Roya wrap their arms around Marcelina, and Roya hisses “Cry!” as Iris unlocks the door.
“I just—can’t—believe—he—said—” Marcelina is choking and sobbing, and the twin streams of mascara on her cheeks cover for the fact that her eyes are dry.
“Do you mind?” Roya snaps at the sophomore standing in the doorway.
“Oh god, I’m sorry,” the girl says. “Is she okay?” Marcelina wails, and the girl holds up both hands like she can ward off the tears. “Never mind,” she says. “I’ll leave you guys alone. Um, I hope things get better soon?”
“And—then—he—said—” Marcelina puts a high wobble into her voice, and the girl closes the door fast. As soon as Iris has slid the lock home, Roya and Paulie straighten. Roya pats Marcelina’s cheeks with her fingers, and the mascara trails vanish.
“You’re amazing,” Maryam says.
Marcelina grins. “I know.”
Roya snaps her fingers. “Hey, you’re both amazing. But we gotta figure out this arm thing, like, now.” She’s being Iris-levels of bossy, but nobody so much as glares at her, because if Roya being abrupt is ever warranted, now’s the time.
“Can you get rid of it? Like, just grab the bag and throw it away?” Paulie asks, then shakes her head hard. “Never mind, that’s stupid.”
“Yeah, that’s a terrible idea,” Roya says. “If it goes missing, they’ll know for sure that someone is trying to cover something up. I don’t think that they are saying he was—” She stops short and looks at me with an apologetic grimace. “I don’t think they’re calling it murder yet. I’m pretty sure they’re trying to figure out what happened before they make an announcement. But they definitely know that it’s Josh’s arm.” Her mouth flattens into a grim line.
“We’ll have to wait and see,” Marcelina says. “Maybe it’ll be okay.”
“Maybe it’ll be okay,” I repeat. My lips feel numb.
“That search party,” Iris whispers. “We have to go. We have to.”
Marcelina whips around to stare at her with stark incredulity. “We can’t do that, are you crazy? It’ll look so suspicious.”
Roya shakes her head. “No. They’re canceling classes so that everyone can join. Everyone will be there. We have to go.”
“We can’t go,” Paulie says, her face white. “Are you kidding?”
Maryam clears her throat. “You have to go.” She looks around at everyone. “I mean, I’ll be there too, but you guys really have to go.”
It’s Iris and Roya and Maryam versus Paulie and Marcelina. Normally, Iris and Roya on the same side of an issue means that the whole group goes with whatever they say. They’re individually strong-willed enough that the two of them together feels indomitable. But this time, everyone looks at me. They’re waiting for me.
This is my mess. I have to choose.
I nod. “Yeah,” I whisper. “We gotta be there.” I don’t say that the reason we have to be there isn’t because of suspicion, isn’t because of who might be watching, isn’t to try to prevent more bits of Josh from turning up. It’s just because I can’t imagine sitting at home, alone, waiting for more bad news.
If this is going to go wrong, it might as well go wrong right away.
Roya bites her thumbnail and looks at me. “It’s settled. We’ll go.”
“Shit,” Marcelina hisses. “Okay. I’ll be there.” She turns to Maryam to coordinate a carpool, and the conversation shifts to logistics.
Roya is still watching me. She lets her voice drop to a lower, more intimate tone. What she says next is just for me. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
“Like what?” I ask. She rolls her eyes.
“Like turning yourself in. Anything could happen from here. We have to stick together.”
I close my eyes for a count of four. “I won’t turn myself in,” I say. Even though that’s exactly what I was thinking of doing. When I open my eyes, Roya is looking at me like she can see right through to the knot in my stomach.
The rest of the girls start filing out of the bathroom past us, but Roya still hasn’t moved. “Today, right?”
“Today?” I ask, trying not to stare at the curve of her collarbone.
“Yeah,” she says. “Today. Me and you. Arm-in-arm?” She smiles at me, a small pleased-with-her-own-cleverness smile. “Yes, no … ?”
I had almost forgotten. “Yeah, today,” I say, my heart pounding. Roya steps closer to me and her eyes flick to my mouth.
“It’s a date,” she says softly. Then she steps past me, and my heart is pounding, and she’s gone.
* * *
All day I’m waiting for someone to bring up the arm. Waiting to hear a whisper in the halls, or to see a cop in the cafeteria. But other than an announcement in fourth period about the search party, no one is talking about it. Lunch is awkward and stilted, and we spend half of it in silence, staring at each other’s untouched food. I pass by Josh’s decorated locker and see that someone has ripped off the duct-taped teddy bear, leaving behind a swath of adhesive gunk. A sticky note that says “we miss u john” has been stuck to the middle of the gray stripe where the duct tape used to be. I rip it down and crumple it in my fist and drop it into my locker. When I clear my locker out for the summer, I’m sure I’ll find it there, but right now I don’t care. I just don’t want to look at it.
When I get out of sixth period, I have a message from Roya waiting for me. Parking lot fourth row in. Gotta boogie.
I get into her car without letting the heat out properly. I start sweating immediately. Drastically, aggressively sweating. Torrential sweating. Roya’s got the windows down and she starts the AC blasting the second the car is turned on, but it’s still dire. She looks at me with an expression that says I’m melting, and I would laugh if I could breathe through the heat.
“Drive,” I finally manage to croak. She nods and peels out of the parking lot at Paulie-speed. Her hair whips back from her face in the breeze, and the shimmer of sweat along the curve of her throat makes me lose the ability to breathe for about a minute. I stare out the window until I can get all of my thoughts into a line. “Where are we going?” I ask as she turns onto the highway.
“I want to show you something,” she says. “Trust me?”
“Of course,” I answer. She turns up the radio. At first I think that she’s trying to show me something about the music, but then I realize that she just doesn’t want me asking any more questions. So we sing along with the songs we know, and I stick an arm out the window and let the air rushing past the car lift my hand, and Roya drives.
She drives for an hour before I try to ask again. “Roya? Where are we—”
“Please,” she says, her eyes still on the road. “We’re almost there.”