The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(51)

“What do you think?” I asked.

He turned, and I did another spin.

Enzo laughed. “Not bad.”

“Do you think the first owner had a good prom? I bet she did. She probably had a ton of friends, and they all chewed bubble gum and twirled their hair while talking about if they’d go all the way with their dates.”

“I wonder where she is now.”

“Maybe she married her high school sweetheart.”

“And got divorced ten years later when she realized her husband wasn’t a star athlete anymore.”

“I can always count on you to look on the bright side,” I said dryly.

He laughed. “Come on, can’t you see it? They’ve got, like, five kids, and he’s working a dead-end job and spends every night at the bar.”

“That does seem to be most people’s fate around here,” I agreed. “Except they wouldn’t get divorced. They’d stay together and make each other miserable forever.”

“And you call me a pessimist?” he said, grinning.

“Go to homecoming with me,” I blurted out.

“What?” Enzo looked baffled by the sudden change in conversation. I was a little surprised myself.

“Please?” I said before I could think about it too much. “I want to wear this dress somewhere. And it would be fun to go together.”

Granted, the last party we’d attended hadn’t been a roaring success. But I’d stay away from alcohol, and it wasn’t like I could get in another fight with Emily—we weren’t even speaking to each other.

“Hawthorn, I didn’t even go to my own homecoming dance.”

“Exactly. That’s why you should make up for it now.”

“I’ll be the same age as the chaperones.”

“Who cares?” I said. “It’ll be totally ridiculous. You can wear a suit with a Hawaiian shirt or something, and everyone will probably laugh at us, but it won’t matter. Please? I really want to go.”

Enzo smiled a little, and I knew I’d won.

“When is homecoming?”

“Next weekend, which I know is super soon, but it’s not like we really need to do anything to prepare. It won’t be a real date or anything.”

“All right. Let’s do it.”

I laughed and twirled around again. For once, I wasn’t going to be the only person in the school who didn’t go to a dance. Even if I was just going with Enzo and wouldn’t really have anyone else to talk to and would just be annoyed by the bad music, I was still going.

I paid seven dollars for the dress, which was cheap considering it was getting me to the homecoming dance. Enzo bought a fifty-cent book that had a neatly scripted haiku on the inside cover. Then we went werewolf hunting again.

? ? ?

The pavement ended a few miles back, but the dirt road was well maintained enough for my little Rabbit to drive down it. I was slightly nervous, because my car was still making chugging noises like a steam engine, but that sort of made the whole experience more adventurous. The road was narrow, and tree branches touched overhead. We were deeper in the woods than we normally went and much deeper than the search parties had looked those first few days, since Lizzie was on foot. But Lizzie had nothing but time. She could be anywhere.

Enzo was in the passenger seat, frowning at a map like it was a book written in a foreign language.

“What happens if a car comes from the other direction?” I asked. “There’s not enough space for them to pass.”

“I don’t think many people drive out here.”

“Then why is there a road and not a trail?”

Enzo shrugged.

But that was OK too. I wasn’t really worried, just making conversation. How could I be worried on a perfect fall day when I had nothing to do but wander through the woods with my friend and think about mysteries and dances? I rolled down my window and let the cool afternoon air hit my face.

A few minutes later, the road split. I stopped the car and looked at Enzo.

“It’s not on the map. At least, I don’t think it is.” He spread the map on the dashboard and pointed out where he thought we were. We both leaned in to get a closer look, and I could feel the soft sleeve of his leather jacket brushing against my arm.

“Look at how the road is kind of squiggly,” I said, tracing our path on the map. “I think that’s the right fork.”

“I think so too.”

I shivered with excitement. “I wonder why the left road isn’t marked.”

“Probably because it’s not a real road anymore. Look at it.”

I followed Enzo’s gaze. The right fork continued on in pretty much the same condition as it had been. The left side was more overgrown. Grass grew around the wheel ruts, and bushes lined the sides of the path. The woods were trying to take back the road.

“I think we should go left,” I said.

“I don’t know if your car can make it.”

“That’s OK. I don’t care if the sides get scratched up.”

“It’s not that,” Enzo said. “Look at how uneven the ground is. We don’t have a lot of clearance in this thing. It’s a Volkswagen, not a Jeep.”

“No adventure ever started with someone turning back because they weren’t in the ideal vehicle.”