by Niki Burnham
She jumps and claps her hands. “Once you and Josh have a plan, let me know. If I come up with something first, I’ll text you. Okay?”
“Sure.” The more joy she exudes, the more I feel like a jackass.
The halls are nearly empty now. We start walking again, this time with purpose since our AP Calculus teacher likes to make an example out of late arrivals. His preferred method is to send you up to the board to make you work the previous night’s homework challenge question in front of everyone. Worse, he leaves it up for the next class with your name written above it.
“So, if Peyton didn’t tell you all of that, what is it that you wanted to tell me?” Molly’s voice is light and airy, filled with expectation. A smile plays across her face as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Was it something about sharing chemistry?”
“No!” Crap, that came out strong. “I mean, it’s nothing important.”
If she only knew.
• • •
“Not that I’d ever complain, because your dastardly deed benefits me in a multitude of ways, but—”
“I’m not dastardly, and you’re going to complain no matter what.” I slide a quick look at Josh, careful to keep my focus on the empty street.
“After all your Molly Cannon whining, I can’t believe you agreed to this.”
Josh spreads his feet wide so he can flick a dime-sized beige spider off the toe of his shoe. We’re crouched between the rhododendrons alongside the Blanchard & Sons Funeral Home three blocks from the senior parking lot. On the plus side, no one’s around—Molly swore no one’s died in Eastwood during the last week—so we don’t have to worry about a hearse showing up to make a delivery or mourners tromping down the back stairs for a smoke and then demanding to know what we’re doing lurking in the bushes. On the downside, since we just finished a sweaty soccer practice and had to slink on our stomachs to maneuver between the gaps in the rhododendron branches, Josh and I both have mulch stuck to our knees, shins, and shirts. We’re itchy and filthy, it’s all I can do not to sneeze, and the spiders are driving me insane. But if this works, it’ll be worth it.
The hiding in the rhododendrons at a funeral home part of it, at least. I’m not so sure about the Molly part.
“I can’t believe I agreed to this, either,” I say on an exhale. “So let’s not talk about it.”
“You know it’s only going to make things worse with Molly.”
Josh, never one to take a hint, apparently doesn’t take requests, either. “I’ll handle it.”
I’ve thought of little else since AP Calculus. I’d hoped soccer practice would clear my brain so I could figure a way out of the hole I’ve now dug for myself, but as Josh and I were walking from the locker room to the field at the start of practice, Molly texted to let me know she switched shifts with someone else at Cumby’s and arranged to meet Drew this afternoon behind her grandparents’ funeral home. She even timed it so Josh and I would be done with soccer but Joe Delano would still be at football, allowing us to stage our ambush in safety.
I spent the next hour-plus wondering whether it was lucky or unlucky that Josh kept our squirt guns stowed in the trunk of his car, ready to go. Or that he’d read Molly’s text at the same time I had—in his typical phone-stealing fashion—and texted back it’s on before I could think of a way out.
“You’re going for my fake girlfriend idea, aren’t you? Planning to let it slip that you’re with Peyton?” He doesn’t try to hide the self-satisfaction in his tone as he checks the water level in his gun for the third time since we arrived, then rests it against one knee. “Let the rumor mill inform Molly you’re not interested in her and you won’t have to. No embarrassment for anyone. I told you it was a brilliant plan. Now that you’ve convinced Molly to help us get Drew, you’re really going to need it.”
“For your information, Molly approached me, not the other way around. She claimed she told Peyton earlier this week that she wanted to help us, and Peyton was supposed to pass along the message.”
“No way!” Josh’s voice is incredulous as he stomps another spider. “I’m gonna kill my sister. She didn’t say a word.”
“Don’t do that. My guess is that Peyton either didn’t have time to tell you or didn’t think Molly was serious. This is Molly Cannon we’re talking about. You know, the girl who’d rescue those spiders from you, given the chance. If you were Peyton, would you have believed her?”
Josh lets out a long belch. “You’re denying me a reason to kill my sister? What kind of friend are you?”
“One who’s trying to tell you what happened.” If he only knew. “Anyway, when Molly figured out that Peyton hadn’t given us the message, she cornered me on the way to class.”
The stoplight down the street changes and a dark green coupe makes a left onto the street where we’re hiding. I gesture with my squirt gun to alert Josh. As the car rolls our way, I add, “Just so you know, I’m not doing the fake girlfriend thing. No way, no how. I’ll find a better way to deal. Now shut up, in case this is Molly. Looks like her car.”
Josh huffs out a sarcastic, “Right. Whatever you say.”
When I glare at him, he says, “You offered my sister your AP Chemistry notes. Why would you do that if you weren’t bribing her to help you with Molly?”
The car slows before turning into the narrow parking lot alongside the funeral home. Molly’s behind the wheel. She parks at the far end of the lot, which will force Drew—assuming he shows—to park between her car and where we’re hiding in the bushes.
“Maybe I did it because I’m nice,” I hiss. “It had nothing to do with Molly.”
He skewers me with a look of doubt. “You sure you’re not interested in Molly, then?”
“Positive.”
Josh starts to argue, but I hold a finger to my lips. Now that Molly’s here, it’s game on. I scan the sidewalk and street for Drew in case he’s on foot, then point to another set of bushes closer to Molly’s car. I raise an eyebrow. Josh nods, then ducks out of our hiding place to set up in the new location.
The rustling of branches as Josh departs kicks up a cloud of mulch dust, making me sneeze so hard my nostrils sting. I shake it off. It’s better to be miserable this one afternoon than be miserable all of next summer while mowing the neighbors’ lawns.
At the same time, Molly gets out of her car and strolls to the back, carefree as can be. She’s wearing a pair of surprisingly cute denim shorts, a ruffly pink top, and sneakers in a lighter shade of pink than her shirt. Her hair is back in a ponytail, but you can tell she didn’t just whip it up with a rubber band. She probably spent the entire time Josh and I were sprinting up and down the soccer field primping at her house.
It’s not her usual look; she’s either gone all-out to ensure Drew would linger or to impress me. I hope it’s for Drew.
She pulls her cell phone out of her pocket and sits on the coupe’s rear bumper, then begins tapping away at the screen as if she hangs out in the funeral home parking lot texting friends all the time. She doesn’t even look up as Josh races across the blacktop with a monster squirt gun, then crawls headfirst into the space between the bushes and the parking lot fence.
Within seconds of watching Josh yank his feet into the greenery and giving him a thumbs up to let him know he’s obscured from view, I spot a familiar car making a left at the stoplight. I shift so that my back is anchored against the white clapboard siding of the funeral home, ensuring I won’t lose my balance and reveal my hiding spot, then wait.
A few seconds later Drew pulls in alongside Molly. I raise my squirt gun, positioning it between the large, thick leaves of the rhododendron so that Drew’s car door is dead center in my sights. Across the lot, I see the very tip of Josh’s gun protrude from the bushes, aimed and ready.
Drew doesn’t move. Neither does Molly.
After a full thirty seconds she looks up from her phone to see why Drew hasn’t gotten out of his car. He waves her over, pointing to the passen
ger door. She waves for him to come to her instead, flashing him an inviting smile as if she’s being gracious by urging him outside.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest and shakes his head no.
I lower my gun. He knows. He has to.
Molly, to her credit, frowns at him with a look of mixed confusion and hurt, then mouths, “What’s wrong?” She’s a far better actress than I’d have guessed.
Drew’s smile never leaves his face. He pushes a button to lower the passenger window a few inches and leans over to speak to Molly. From across the lot, I can hear him call out, “No way, honey.”
“What? You don’t want to talk?” Molly’s butt comes off her car bumper and her jaw drops as she says this. She couldn’t look more stunned if Drew’d smacked her across the face. “Then why in the world did you come here?”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t talk, but—”
“I’ve waited six months, trying to give you space.” Panic creeps into her voice. “All I wanted today is a little closure, to know why you did what you did. I even arranged it so we’d be away from the school, away from our houses or anywhere people might see us so we could avoid any more gossip. And all you have to say is…is…no way, honey?”
I think she’s actually crying. Holy cow. I reposition my gun, aiming for the driver’s door. She is good.
Molly’s breath catches, the way it does when you’re a little kid and you’re about to have a serious, lengthy, all-out cry. Then she puts her hand over her mouth.
Drew stares at her as if he’s witnessing a horrific car accident.
Then Molly hiccups. The tip of Josh’s gun dips slightly, aimed at Drew’s tires rather than at Drew himself.
I press my back more firmly into the clapboards, holding my breath as I wait. Man…I hope she’s that good.
Because now I’m thinking this is all for real, and not an act at all.
Chapter Eight | Connor
If this is real, I don’t want to witness it, even if it means another summer spent mowing lawns for evil people.
“Geez, Molly.” Drew’s head tips back in exasperation. His hands go to his temples for a moment, then he reaches down and punches the button to close the passenger window.
I swallow hard, steadying my gun. If he drives away, I can live with it.
Molly wipes her eyes with the heel of one hand, holding her other palm toward Drew to signal that she’s done with him. She shakes her head, then takes a few ragged steps toward the front of her car.
“Wait, Mol,” Drew calls out as he cracks his door. Slowly, he turns in his seat, putting one foot on the blacktop, then the other. “Come here. Let’s talk.”
“You don’t want to talk, and I’m sure not going to force you. Not after all this time. What would be the point?” Molly hiccups again, but doesn’t move from the side of her car. “I’m a big girl. I’ll find another way to get closure on everything that happened between us. Don’t..don’t worry about it, ‘kay? Let’s pretend we never came here.”
I wait, my focus locked on Drew’s feet, my heart thrumming in my chest as if I’m the one about to be shot. Across the lot, Josh’s gun is level again. As tempting as it is, taking a shot with Drew’s body partially blocked by his door would be risky, and we won’t get a second chance.
Drew stands. Looks around. Exhales. “Look Molly, what I did wasn’t cool. I know that. Nothing I’ve done in my life has made me feel worse than what I did to you last year.”
He steps out from the protection of the car door, closing it behind him.
The moment it slams shut, Josh and I fire.
Both shots hit Drew dead-on, mine nailing the center of Drew’s back, while Josh catches the side of Drew’s head, soaking him from his hair to his shoulder. He curls inward, spinning as if to protect Molly from whatever hit him. Then, sighting the water dripping from his body to the blacktop, he freezes.
“What the—?” Drew’s face instantly turns bright red as he slaps the water out of his hair and looks down at his shirt. He looks at Molly, temporarily unable to comprehend what just happened. When she covers her mouth with her hand, taking in the sight of his drenched clothes, he roars out a colorful curse and points at her.
“You planned this!”
“And you’re eliminated.” The words are matter of fact as she shrugs, her tears miraculously gone. “I didn’t lie when I said I wanted closure. Now I have it.”
“But this! This!”
“Set-ups like this, this are all part of the game and you know it. If I didn’t do it to you, someone else would have. If not this round, then next time.”
Drew starts yelling expletive after expletive, causing Molly’s eyes to widen. There might even be spit hanging from a corner of his mouth, but his head’s whipping around so much its hard to tell what’s water from the squirt gun and what’s a result of his anger.
Molly scurries around to the driver’s side of her car, slides in, and clicks the lock. As Drew’s rant gets more and more ridiculous, Molly starts laughing, even harder than Drew howled when I missed my shot at him and the Delanos started chasing me down the street.
I do not feel the least bit sorry for him.
“Oh, come on, Drew! You deserved it!” Molly shouts from inside her car. “You’re lucky that’s all you get considering how much I spent on my prom dress, let alone the rest of it. I never said a bad word about you to anyone—anyone—after what happened and I never will, despite the fact you broke my heart and embarrassed me in front of the whole school just so you could try and feel up Sofia Magaro. And you know why I kept my mouth shut? Because I’m nice. So consider us even and consider yourself lucky this wasn’t as public as it should have been. I mean, getting hit behind Blanchard’s? Hello! You couldn’t ask for a more dead spot in all of Eastwood!”
Even though her word choice is harsh, Molly’s tone is surprisingly light, especially compared to Drew’s ranting. For all the tears and carrying on of five minutes ago, it’s now obvious it was an act and she’s completely over Drew. This is—as she said—a simple act of closure, just not the closure she led Drew to believe she wanted.
Still, guilt eats at me with every word she utters. If she’s this over Drew, is it because she thinks a better relationship is on the horizon?
Drew makes an obscene gesture at her car, then turns and makes the same gesture in my direction, which Josh must find hysterical. The leaves on the bushes where he’s still hiding are shaking, and I don’t think it’s from the breeze.
I hope Drew doesn’t completely lose it and storm the rhododendrons.
“Oh…and Drew? Please don’t ever treat another girl the way you treated me,” Molly yells through the closed window as she starts her car. “I guarantee you she won’t take it as well as I did.”
She backs out of her parking space and drives off, leaving us with Drew. He stares at the bushes where I’m hiding until he pinpoints my form amongst the thick leaves and branches and locks eyes with me. He sneers, venom in his gaze, then breaks eye contact to scan the lot, unable to figure out where the second shot originated. Finally, he goes back to his car, his fists curling and uncurling, as if it’s taking everything in him to resist hauling me out for a fight.
As he climbs into the driver’s seat, he calls over his shoulder, “You got me, Strabinowski. Well played. But just so you know, I’m gonna do everything I can next week to help whoever gets the privilege of annihilating you. It’s gonna be glorious. And that goes double for you, Lindor, because I know you’re here somewhere! You think Molly wanted payback with me? Think of how much Grayson wants to obliterate you!”
He slams his car door, then guns the engine as if the sound alone might scare me into apologizing for shooting him.
Delusional moron. I’ll deal with his threats next week. With any luck, I’ll be targeted by someone he hates even more than he hates me and Josh—because he’s not exactly without enemies at school—and he won’t be able to bring himself to help them.
I retre
at behind the largest of the rhododendron branches to ensure I’m out of Drew’s line of sight while he exits the lot. As his car passes me, a flash of color in the passenger seat catches my attention.
A huge bouquet of cellophane-wrapped flowers is propped against the armrest. They’re not the cheap supermarket kind, either.
I snag a chunk of mulch, flinging it against the side of the funeral home in disbelief. Did he think Molly wanted to get back together?
I swipe a hand over my face, which is now dusty and drenched in sweat. Drew and Sofia Magaro didn’t last a day past Junior Prom. Not surprising, but now that I think about it, he hasn’t gone out with anyone else since.
Was it possible Drew really meant what he’d said to Molly?
Before I can process the implications, my cell phone hums. I slide it from my pocket, expecting to see a celebratory text from Molly, but when I see Peyton’s name on the display, I’m hit with an adrenaline rush stronger than when I pulled the trigger on Drew.
