Playlist for the Dead(50)

“Looks like you need a Kleenex,” she said.

“More like a Wet-Nap.”

But we both couldn’t stop smiling.

“You two shopping, or just blocking the aisle?” I heard the manager say.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Astrid said. She grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the ITC, toward the Sweet Spot, a candy store just off the food court. It sold just about every kind of sugary thing you could imagine—there was a whole aisle of weird-colored M&M’s, a row consisting solely of gummy candies, and a section devoted to chocolates from all over the world. Astrid made a beeline for the penny candy.

“This stuff is my favorite,” she said. “When I was little, my dad used to drive us to the fanciest part of town for Halloween, because they had the best stuff. This one house always gave out whole bags of old-school candy—saltwater taffy, candy necklaces, caramel bull’s-eyes. I think they owned a restaurant or something.”

“That was smart. We always stayed local. All Milky Ways and Almond Joys, and I hate coconut. Mom used to steal all my Reese’s peanut butter cups—she called it rent.”

We both bought our bags of candy and then sat down in the food court. “So there’s something I have to ask you,” I said.

“Sounds serious,” she said, but I could tell she didn’t really think so.

“Athena,” I said. “The password. How did you know about that?”

The screen fell again, but I was determined to get past it.

“I really need to know,” I said. “I’m going a little crazy here. I still feel like what happened to Hayden is my fault, but then there’s all this other stuff with Jason and Trevor, and I just don’t know what to do.”

“You never finished telling me why you think it’s your fault,” she said.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“So are you.”

We stared at each other, almost as if daring the other one to talk first.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll tell you the rest, if you promise to tell me about Athena.”

“Fine,” she said, and stuck a peppermint stick in her mouth without looking at me.


So Hayden and I had finally gone to a party, at his urging, no less, and here we were, lying on the ground, being laughed at. It was like living in a nightmare. I grabbed Hayden’s arm and tried to pull him upright. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

For some reason he resisted me, pulling his arm back but not getting up himself.

“Come on!” I said, and reached for him again.

This time he snatched his arm back. “Don’t touch me,” he said, but he did get up.

“What is going on with you? Are you okay?” I asked, trying to ignore the laughter around me, trying to pretend people weren’t still looking at us.

“No, I’m not okay,” he said. There was a ring of open space around us, but the path to the front door was packed with people. Hayden shoved his way through as the laughter died down; I followed him outside. The air had grown sharp and cold.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I said. “I don’t understand. What just happened?”

“Nothing.” He started walking quickly, almost as if he wanted to get away from me, though we were both going back to his house.

I walked faster, to catch up with him. I had the advantage because my legs were so much longer; he’d never be able to ditch me. “You can’t say that was nothing. Why did we come here?”

“Why did we come here?” he repeated. “Why? For a public shaming, that’s why.”

I was starting to get angry. It was one thing for him not to tell me why before, but I’d been just as embarrassed as he was. He owed me. I’d just gone to a party I hadn’t wanted to go to, gotten mocked by people I hated, realizing nothing was ever going to change. And maybe that wasn’t Hayden’s fault, but right now it felt like it was. “You know, all you want to do most of the time is sit around and play Mage Warfare, and these days not even with me, and then you drag me to this party and we’re not even there for an hour before we’re both like five seconds away from getting our asses kicked by your stupid brother and his stupid friends. Who weren’t even supposed to be there. And you still don’t think it’s worth telling me why the fuck we were even here in the first place?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said.

“Try me.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. Not now.”

“I don’t get it. You’re my best friend. My only friend. I tell you everything, and you don’t seem to trust me at all.”

“It’s not about trust!” he said, and I could tell he was getting angry too. “Maybe it’s that once in a while I’d like something that’s just mine. Not ours to share. Just something that’s all about me. Why is that so hard to understand?”

It wasn’t—I got it, really. In some ways that’s what I wanted, too. “I just don’t see why you can’t have something that’s yours but tell me about it anyway.”

“I would have,” he said. “But now it’s gone.”

“Would you stop it with the cryptic bullshit and just tell me already?” I yelled as we crossed the street.