Someone calls my name. Turning toward the video store, I see Aidan and Chase standing outside. Noah glances toward the sound, then gives me a small nod and starts to walk away as the boys head toward us.
I spend most of my days trying not to accidentally touch people, but without thinking, I reach out and grab Noah’s sleeve, forcing him to pause and turn back. “I’m sorry about Riley,” I blurt out, knowing he must have heard those words a hundred times, but needing him to hear them from me, too. Not because they’re the words you’re supposed to say—the words everyone says—but because I really, really mean them. Despite everything that happened between Riley and me, I really do mean them. “I hope they find him.”
Noah’s shoulders stiffen. When he speaks, there’s a sharp edge to his voice. “I don’t.”
This time when he turns to walk away, I don’t try to stop him. I’m too stunned.
I’m still staring after him when Aidan and Chase reach me.
Six
THE IDEA OF PHYSICALLY RENTING MOVIES SEEMS ARCHAIC. I’m sure the video store must have been here the last time I was in town—it seems like the kind of place that’s been in the same spot forever—but I don’t remember it. Given how big I am on vintage stuff, you’d think I’d be in heaven as I wander the aisles, but my idea of paradise still includes streaming.
Not that I’m paying all that much attention to my surroundings; my run-in with Noah has me so thrown that I’m not sure I can pay much attention to anything.
“They just keep a handful of cult movies that haven’t been released on DVD or online,” says Aidan as he plucks a bulky VHS case from my hand. “The university has a surprisingly active—and discerning—film club.” He sets the video back on the shelf and studies my face for a moment. “Are you all right?”
“Sure,” I say quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because whatever Noah Fraser said, it seemed to shake you.”
“No shaking,” I lie. “Nothing bad was said.” Just past the VHS section, on the far wall, is a doorway with a red curtain. “What’s through there?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“Used to be dirty movies,” says Chase, wandering over, “but the family who bought the store a few years ago is really uptight, so now it’s just a staff room.”
“Shut up,” says Joey.
“What?” Chase spreads his hands, holding them palms out. “You complain about your family being uptight all the time.”
“One of the perks of being friends with Joey,” says Aidan, “is unlimited free rentals.”
His words are still hanging in the air when the curtain swishes, and a small, dark figure emerges.
The clothes are different—a short, black dress that looks like something Wednesday Addams would wear—and the pigtails are in braids with strands of red ribbon woven through, but the girl from the movie theater is unmistakable.
“Dammit, Joey. Tell your girlfriend to stay out of the staff room.”
I glance at the woman behind the counter. I didn’t notice it when I came in, but she bears a distinct resemblance to Joey. Enough that they have to be siblings.
“I dropped something and it rolled under the curtain.” The girl—Skylar—holds up a container of lip gloss as proof before tossing it into a voluminous black bag. “You know, you really should think about getting another kind of coffee machine. Those little gourmet pods you like? Totally bad for the environment. And if you’re going to switch, maybe think about fair-trade coffee. Be a responsible consumer. You know?”
The woman’s scowl deepens, but Skylar just cruises past her, shooting me a curious glance before launching herself forward and throwing her arms around Joey. The movement is so exuberant that when he puts his arms around her, I’m not sure if it’s to return the hug or to keep them both from tumbling to the floor.
“This,” says Aidan, “is the only girl without enough sense to realize she can do better than Joey.”
“We’ve met.” Skylar manages to twist in Joey’s arms without breaking the embrace, though she knocks his glasses askew in the process. “I caught her tearing down some of the posters around the theater. She’s totally my hero.”
Given that I was ripping them down in broad daylight, in plain sight, “catching” might not be the most accurate characterization, but I have the odd, slightly inexplicable suspicion that correcting her would feel like kicking a puppy. A weird, gothy puppy who hangs out in curtained-off rooms in video stores and crusades for globally responsible coffee consumption, but a puppy nonetheless.
“Cat is staying at Montgomery House,” supplies Chase. “Aidan invited her to movie night.”
A cartoon-wide grin spreads across Skylar’s face. “Finally! Another girl in the Monster Squad.” She detaches herself from Joey and makes a grab for me. For a nerve-wracking second, I think she’s going for my hand, but then she latches on to the corner of my shirt. “We’ll get snacks,” she says, tugging me toward the door. “You guys get a movie—NOT Carrie.
“They always lose it over the stupid locker-room scene,” she confesses, continuing to pull me forward. “Boys are so basic.”
Part of me wants to stay with Aidan, but the way he keeps looking at me makes me think he knows I’m lying about being okay. Going with Skylar provides a temporary escape from more questions.
She doesn’t let go until we’re outside and have reached the drugstore. My broken bracelet is still on the sidewalk; the lone rescued bead feels heavy in my pocket. I glance around for Noah, but he’s long gone.
“Monster Squad?” I ask, struggling to get my bearings as I follow this tiny hurricane inside.
“Joey found this old movie from the eighties. A bunch of kids team up to hunt monsters. Frankenstein and Dracula and stuff. They call themselves the ‘Monster Squad.’ Turns out the movie itself is filled with the kind of jokes that make me think eighties nostalgia might be overrated. Still, I like the name. I figured we could adopt it and rehabilitate it. It’s better than what everyone at school calls us. Our little group, I mean.” She talks the way she moves: sentences that are small, quick steps, each split into three when one would do.
“What do they call you?” I ask, unable to keep from thinking of all of the things I’ve been called recently back in New York.
“Nothing good,” says Skylar. She grabs two wire shopping baskets, hands one to me, and then steers us toward the snack aisle. “Well, they don’t really give Chase and Aidan a hard time,” she amends. “Mostly Joey and me. But I still like the name.” She tosses a bag of chips into each basket and then holds up two packages of licorice—one red, one black. “What flavor do you like?”
The question takes me aback. For a while, eating in front of Lacey had felt . . . complicated. Eat too much and I would get slightly worried looks and hints that I was loved just the way I am but that I’d better not get any bigger because there are limits to how large someone’s heart can stretch. Eat too little and it would be just as bad. It didn’t used to be that way—at least I don’t think so. In my darker moments, I wondered if Lacey had some new ideal weight for me. Fat enough that I wasn’t a threat, not so fat that I drew the wrong kind of attention. A magic number where I faded into the background just enough while still being sufficiently present to be her best friend.