Yesterday was Katrin’s turn. On the street where Mr. Bowman died, in the corner that’s turned into a makeshift memorial with flowers and stuffed animals, someone added an oversized print of Katrin’s class picture with the eyes gouged out and an RIP date of October 5—next weekend’s homecoming dance. When Peter found out about it, he got as close to losing his shit as I’ve ever seen him. He wanted homecoming canceled, and Katrin barely talked him out of calling Principal Slate. This morning, we got a homeroom announcement reminding us to report anything suspicious to a teacher. But so far, homecoming is still on.
Mia grabs a black studded sweatshirt from the back of her desk chair. “You didn’t hear anything from Declan about it? I figured the reporter must have tried to reach him, too.”
“No.” Declan finally answered my texts over the weekend to tell me he was back in New Hampshire. Other than that, we haven’t spoken since we met in Bukowski’s Tavern. I still don’t know what he was doing here, or where he was staying.
“Daisy’s been holed up in her room ever since the call came in,” Mia says, yanking the sweatshirt over her head. The fabric muffles her voice as she adds, “Not that there’s anything unusual about that.”
“You still want to go to Bartley’s for dinner?” I ask. Dr. and Mr. Kwon both work late on Thursdays, and Peter and my mother have date night, so Mia and I are heading for Echo Ridge’s only restaurant. “I have Mom’s car so we don’t have to walk.”
“Yeah, definitely. I need to get out of this house. Also, I invited the twins, so they’re expecting us. I told them five, though. We can hang out and have coffee till then.” She stuffs her keys into her pocket and heads for the door, hesitating as she reaches the hallway. “I’m just gonna check …” She backtracks a few steps to a closed door across from her bedroom, and raps on the frame. “Daisy?” No answer, so Mia knocks harder. “Daze?”
“What?” comes a quiet voice.
“Me and Malcolm are getting dinner at Bartley’s. Do you want to come?”
“No thanks. I have a headache.”
“You might feel better after you have some food.”
Daisy’s tone hardens. “I said no, Mia. I’m in for the night.”
Mia’s lip quivers a little before she scowls. “Fine,” she mutters, turning away. “I don’t know why I bother. Let the parents worry about her.” She stalks down the stairs like she can’t wait to get out of the house. Mia and I both think the other has it better, homewise: I like how the Kwons’ place is bright and modern, and her parents talk to us like we actually have a clue what’s going on in the world; she likes the fact that Peter and my mother barely pay attention to anything I do. The Kwons always wanted Mia to be more like Daisy—sweet, studious, and popular. The kind of person who can be counted on to say and do all the right things. Until, all of a sudden, she didn’t.
“What do your parents think?” I ask Mia as we step outside and into the driveway.
Mia kicks a stray rock. “Who knows. In front of me they just say, Oh, your sister was working too hard, she needed a break. But they’re having all these tense conversations in their room with the door closed.”
We get into my mother’s car and buckle in. “Tense how?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Mia admits. “I try to listen, but I can’t catch anything except tone.”
I back out of the Kwons’ driveway and into the road, but haven’t gone far when my phone vibrates in my pocket. “Hang on,” I say, pulling off to the side. “I want to make sure that’s not Declan.” I shift the car into park and extract my phone, grimacing when I see the name. “Never mind. It’s Katrin.”
“What does she want?”
I frown at the screen. “She says she has a favor to ask.”
Mia grabs my arm in mock horror, eyes popping. “Don’t answer, Mal. Whatever it is, you don’t want any part of it.”
I haven’t replied, but Katrin’s still typing. Gray dots linger for so long that I wonder if she put her phone down and forgot to finish the message. Then it finally appears. Brooke just broke up with Kyle. I don’t know why, but homecoming’s next weekend and she needs a date. I was thinking you could ask her. She seems to like you. Probably just as a friend but whatever. You weren’t going to go anyway, were you? Hang on, I’ll send her number.
I show the message to Mia, who snorts. “Christ, the entitlement of that girl!” She mimics Katrin’s clipped, breezy tone. “You weren’t going to go anyway, were you?”
Another text appears from Katrin, with contact information for Brooke, and I save it automatically. Then I shrug and put my phone away. “Well, she has a point. I wasn’t.” Mia chews her lip without responding, and I raise my brows at her. “What—were you?”
“Maybe. If they still have it,” she says, and glares when I start to laugh. “Don’t give me attitude, Mal. I can go to a dance if I want to.”
“I know you can. I’m just surprised at the ‘want to’ part. You have the least school spirit of anyone I’ve ever met. I thought that was, like, a badge of honor with you.”
Mia makes a face. “Ugh, I don’t know. One of Daisy’s old friends called to say that a bunch of them are going to be chaperones for the dance, and asked if she wanted to go too. I think she was considering it, which would be the first thing she’s done besides hide in her bedroom since she came home, but then she said, Well, Mia’s not even going. So I said, Yeah I am, and now I guess I have to, and you can wipe that stupid smirk off your face anytime.”
I swallow my grin. “You’re a good sister, you know that?”
“Whatever.” She picks at the peeling black polish on her thumbnail. “Anyway, I was thinking about asking that hot girl who works at Café Luna. If she says no, Ezra is my friend backup.”
I frown. “Ezra is your friend backup? You’ve known him for two weeks!”
“We’ve bonded. We like all the same music. And you have no idea how nice it is to finally have a queer friend at school.”
I can’t fault her for that, I guess. Mia’s taken shit for years from guys like Kyle and Theo who think bisexual equals threesome. “You should just go with Ezra, then,” I say. “Forget the Café Luna girl. She’s pretentious.”
Mia tilts her head, considering. “Maybe. And you should go with Ellery.” She shoots me a shrewd look. “You like her, don’t you?”
“Of course I like her,” I say, aiming for a casual tone. I fail.
“Oh my God,” Mia snorts. “We’re not in fourth grade, Mal. Don’t make me ask if you like like her.” She props her boots against my glove compartment. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for. I think she likes you, too.” A lock of hair falls into her eye, and she peers into the rearview mirror to readjust the clip holding it back. Then she goes rigid, twisting in her seat to look out the back window. “What the hell?”