“We changed our minds. But we didn’t know you needed tickets ahead of time,” I add, giving Liz my most ingratiating smile.
Liz crosses her arms over her chest, ready to argue until Daisy puts a placating hand on her arm. “Oh, I’m sure it’s okay now that the dance is more than half over. Right, Liz?” No response, but Daisy presses on. “Principal Slate wouldn’t want to turn anyone away. Not on a night like this, when the school is trying to bring people together. And we need every penny we can get for the reward fund.” She flashes the kind of sweet, winning smile that probably got her elected to student council all four years at Echo Ridge High. Liz continues to glower, but with less certainty. I guess Daisy’s secret relationship with Declan is still under wraps, or Liz would probably be a lot less charitable.
“We’d really appreciate it,” I say. Malcolm, wisely, keeps his mouth shut.
Liz holds out her palm with an annoyed snort. “Fine. Five dollars. Each.”
Malcolm hands over a ten. We walk with Daisy into the gymnasium, which is packed with students and decorated with purple streamers and silver balloons. “Should we look for Mia and Ezra?” Malcolm asks, raising his voice to be heard over the thumping music. I nod and he turns toward the center of the room, but Daisy pulls at my arm before I can follow.
“Can I ask you something?” she shouts.
I hesitate as Malcolm disappears into the crowd without realizing I’m not behind him. “Um, okay,” I say.
Daisy puts her head close to mine so she doesn’t have to yell. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About Ryan Rodriguez and the bracelet?” I nod. We hadn’t gotten much chance to discuss that on Thursday, once Mia and Daisy’s parents came home and started hyperventilating over Mia’s head injury. She told them she tripped headfirst into the fireplace mantel. “It’s been worrying me. Why do you think he might have given it to Lacey? Do you know something?”
“No,” I admit. I don’t want to catalog all my vague suspicions to Daisy, especially after what she’d said that day: There’s this whole other layer when you’re one of the only minority families in town. Sometimes I forget how … not diverse Echo Ridge is. But when I look around at the crowded gym, I remember. And it feels less harmless to toss speculation around about someone whose last name is Rodriguez.
Besides, even though I crossed Daisy off my suspect list after getting to know her better, I still think Declan is sketchy. Malcolm might not talk to him much, but I’m sure Daisy does.
“It’s just because he knew her,” I say instead.
Daisy’s brow creases. “But … it’s not like they were friends.”
“He was so devastated when she died, though.”
She straightens up in surprise, her pretty eyes wide. “Says who?”
“My mother.” Daisy still looks confused, so I add, “She saw him at the funeral. When he got hysterical and had to be carried out?”
“Ryan Rodriguez did?” Daisy’s tone is incredulous, and she shakes her head decisively. “That didn’t happen.”
“Maybe you missed it?” I suggest.
“No. Our class was small, we were all on one side of the church. I would’ve noticed.” Daisy’s mouth curves in an indulgent smile. “Your mom was probably being dramatic. Hollywood, right?”
I pause. Daisy’s response is almost exactly what Nana said when I brought it up a couple of weeks ago. That didn’t happen. Then, I thought Nana was being dismissive. But that was before I’d fully experienced how odd Sadie can be when it comes to talking about Echo Ridge. “Yeah, I guess,” I say slowly.
I don’t think Daisy has any reason to lie about Lacey’s funeral. But does Sadie?
“Sorry, I separated you from your date, didn’t I?” Daisy says as we spy Malcolm emerging from a crowd in the middle of the room. “I better circulate and make myself useful. Have fun.” She waves and heads for the sidelines, pirouetting to avoid a couple of theater kids starting a dramatic waltz as the music slows down.
“What happened to you?” Malcolm asks when he reaches me. He looks more disheveled than he did when he left, like someone who found himself at the edge of a mosh pit but didn’t go all in: jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened, hair mussed.
“Sorry. Daisy wanted to ask me something. Did you find them?”
“No. I got intercepted by Viv.” His shoulders twitch in an irritated shudder. “She’s already lost Kyle and she’s not happy about it. And she’s mad at Theo because he brought a flask and Katrin’s half-drunk.”
My eyes wander across the gym until they spot a bright-red dress. “Speaking of,” I say, nodding toward the dance floor. Katrin and Theo are slow-dancing in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around his neck like she’s trying to keep from drowning. “There she is.”
Malcolm follows my gaze. “Yep. Doesn’t look much like a killer, does she?”
Something in me deflates. “You think I’m ridiculous, don’t you?”
“What? No,” Malcolm says quickly. “I just meant— Whatever might happen isn’t happening right this second, so … maybe we could dance?” He slides a finger beneath his tie and tugs to loosen it further. “Since we’re here and all.”
My stomach starts doing that fluttering thing again. “Well. We do need to blend,” I say, and accept the hand he holds out to me.
My arms circle his neck and his hands graze my waist. It’s the classic awkward slow-dance position, but after a couple of offbeat sways he pulls me closer and then, suddenly, we fit. I relax against him, my head on his chest. For a few minutes I just enjoy how solid he feels, and the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek.
Malcolm leans toward my ear. “Can I ask you something?” I lift my head, hoping he’s going to ask if he can kiss me again, and almost say yes preemptively before he adds, “Are you afraid of clowns?”
Huh. That was a letdown.
I lean back and stare into his eyes, which look steely gray instead of green beneath the dim lights. “Um. What?”
“Are you afraid of clowns?” he asks patiently, like it’s a perfectly normal conversation starter.
So I go with it. “No. I’ve never understood the whole clown phobia, to be honest.” I shake my head, and a stray curl heads straight for my lips and sticks to the gloss. Reminding me, once again, why I don’t wear makeup. Before I can figure out a graceful way to extricate it, Malcolm does it for me, tucking the curl behind my ear and letting his hand settle briefly on my neck before it returns to my waist.
A jolt of energy shoots down my spine. Oh. All right. Maybe lip gloss has its uses.