“Of course he gets you,” Alex said from the backseat. “You’re both poor little orphans.”
“I’m not an orphan,” Makani grumped.
“I still can’t believe you have to introduce him to your grandma,” Darby said. “How did he react when you told him?”
“I didn’t.” Makani tried to ignore the squirming in her gut as she scanned the parking lot for Ollie. A trail of students was heading toward the corner by the road, where a memorial for Haley—flowers and cards and playbills and candles—had appeared overnight in front of the school’s sign. In black changeable letters, its marquee read: WE LOVE YOU, HALEY. YOUR STAR STILL BURNS BRIGHT. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay first,” she said. “You know, in person.”
“It’s every grandmother’s dream.” Alex raised her palms into sarcastic jazz hands. “A social outcast who screws her granddaughter, ignores her for months, and then illegally obtains her phone number!”
Makani winced. “You know it’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that,” Alex said.
“It is creepy how he got your number,” Darby said.
“You don’t think it’s romantic?” Makani asked.
“No,” Darby and Alex replied together.
“He should have asked you for it,” Darby continued. “You would have given it to him.”
“Well, I’m just glad I didn’t wake up my grandma. You’re right that she wouldn’t have liked discovering me on the phone with a guy in the middle of the night.” Makani paused, detecting the ideal opportunity for a subject change. “Although, a part of me wishes I actually had woken her up. I think she’s sleepwalking again.”
“Oh, man.” Alex arched her back in a catlike stretch and yawned. “What’d your g-ma do this time? Use the hair dryer as a toaster?”
Darby laughed at the word g-ma. Alex gave him a wink in the rearview mirror.
“It was the kitchen cabinets again, all of them,” Makani said. “I found them wide-open this morning. That’s two days in a row and the fourth time this month. She needs to go to a sleep clinic, but I don’t know how to convince her.”
“Ever wonder what she’s looking for at night?” Darby asked.
“A book on self-defense for her granddaughter,” Alex said.
A loud rap on the window behind Darby made him shriek. They jumped in their seats. When they realized who it was, Darby and Alex goggled at Makani.
Makani’s skin flushed with heat. “Let him in, let him in.”
The locks weren’t automatic, so Alex leaned over to open the door. Ollie popped in beside her with a blast of cold morning air.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Three sets of eyes blinked at him. Somehow, Makani had already forgotten that his hair was pink. She’d been picturing him last night in bed as a blond.
He glanced between Darby and Alex with visible nervousness. “I thought . . . Makani would have told you?”
“She did,” Darby said, though he still sounded baffled.
Alex smiled like a witch in a fairy tale. “We know everything.”
The undertone of Ollie’s skin began to match his hair as Makani continued to gape. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
The pink bloomed until his entire head became a single color. It was the rare moment in which she could read his expression with complete certainty: Ollie wanted to rewind this video until he was out of the car and safely back on the other side of the lot. His hand crept toward the door handle. “You said you wanted . . . to hang out.”
“I did.” Makani shook her head before changing it to an emphatic nod. “I did.”
She felt her friends staring at them with wide, soap-opera eyes as she emerged from the stupor of confusion. For the first time, Makani realized that Ollie’s appearance and demeanor weren’t merely acts of rebellion. They were armor for his shyness. It must have been so difficult for him to have approached her—without the protective barrier of his phone and in the company of her friends, no less.
Makani infused her next words with as much kindness as possible. “You just caught us off guard. That’s all.” And then she flashed him her fullest, most high-wattage smile. A long time ago, she’d been known for it. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” Darby said. Because he was good like that.
“Next time,” Alex said sharply, “bring doughnuts.”
Ollie risked a glance at her.
“I like the ones with chocolate frosting,” she said.
Ollie settled back into the version of himself that he shared with the rest of the world. His eyebrows rose slightly, and his voice flattened. “Who doesn’t?”
“Makani likes maple. Darby likes plain glazed.”
Ollie jokingly booed his response, which made Alex kick the back of Makani’s and Darby’s seats. “See? I’ve always told you, you’re crazy.”
It was an olive branch, of sorts, and Makani was able to breathe again. Until Alex refocused her attention.
“So, Buscemi,” Alex said. “What’s the inside scoop?”
Ollie’s eyebrows rose a little further.
“Steve Buscemi played Mr. Pink in Reservoir Dogs.”
“I’m familiar with it,” he said. “But the character wasn’t named after his hair color.”
Alex didn’t care. “What’s the scoop, Buscemi?”
He seemed wary by her vagueness. “About . . .”
“Haley.”
He shifted. Almost imperceptibly. “Why would you ask me about her?”
Alex punched his shoulder, and Ollie grimaced, unused to her intense style of questioning. “Your brother is a cop,” she said. “So, what are the police saying about her case?”
Darby sighed. “Ignore her. She has no tact.”
Ollie rubbed the offended shoulder. “Chris doesn’t discuss his work with me.”
“But he does give you the very personal and private phone number of our dear friend Makani Young?”
“Alex,” Makani warned. Sometimes it was difficult to be Alex’s dear friend.
Alex scooted closer to Ollie, ignoring his physical discomfort. The knees of her ripped fishnets pressed against his thighs. “Just tell us this. Was your brother at the scene?”
Ollie forced his body into a wider position, which forced Alex back to her side. “Actually.” His voice remained measured. “It should have been the sheriff’s jurisdiction, because it happened out of city limits. But her dad’s a hunting buddy of Chief Pilger, so he contacted him directly. The whole department was called out an hour later.”
Makani imagined dozens of uniformed officers storming the cornfields. “The whole department?”
“The whole department is five people,” Ollie said.
“Is it true about her throat?” Alex asked. “Three slashes in a smiley face?”
Makani fought the urge to scold her again.
“Worse,” Ollie said. “Five deep cuts. The eyes of the smiley were Xs.”
Darby shuddered. “Like . . . dead cartoon eyes?”
Ollie nodded once. “The killer probably took a lot of pleasure in the act. Her vocal cords were slashed. The police think it might have been intentional.”
Miniscule hairs rose on the back of Makani’s neck. Dead cartoon eyes.