Undead Girl Gang(45)
I unfold one of the receipts. On the back, in block letters, it says, Why did you take Dayton with you, you selfish bitch?
Well. Not all memorials have to be complimentary, right?
With one last check over my shoulder, I scoop up all the notes and stuff them into my backpack. We can sort through them later to see if anyone left anything that will jog June’s memory about the last couple of weeks of her life. I shake out her textbooks to make sure there’s nothing hidden inside and grab a solitary spiral notebook.
I try not to look too guilty when I slip into chemistry. Mr. Cavanagh doesn’t even pause writing on the whiteboard. He just says, “Tardy.”
“Sorry,” I say, probably not sounding sorry at all.
I collapse onto my stool next to Caleb, who tsks his tongue and shakes his head like he’s disappointed in my lack of dedication to punctuality. His sandy hair is rumpled in a way that says “just woke up” rather than “trying to look like I just woke up.” The delicate sterling silver chain of June’s necklace barely peeks out from under the jacket he’s wearing.
I remember Dayton wondering what Caleb could have taken off her corpse. If he’s wearing June’s necklace, it would stand to reason that he’s got less visible trophies on him, too. Maybe not Dayton’s shoe, but he could have something recognizably Riley’s.
His pencil lead snaps, and he turns his back to me, hunching over to rummage through his backpack. All I can see inside are various notebooks—color coordinated, labeled in black marker—and a zippered pencil pouch. No earrings or baggies full of toenails or anything super weird. Maybe his backpack isn’t close enough for his liking. The necklace is on his person. The other stuff could be in his pockets or something.
“Hey,” I whisper as he straightens with a freshly sharpened pencil. “Do you have any gum?”
“Mila.” He draws the uh sound out in avuncular disapproval. He bares his teeth at me. “You can’t have gum on campus. You trying to get me detention? Cavanagh doesn’t care who my stepmom is.”
“Nope,” I say, making my eyes wide and innocent, Dayton-style. It probably doesn’t work on me, since Dayton doesn’t wear three layers of eyeliner. Nothing says fuck off like eyeliner as dark and heavy as my soul. “Just hoping to freshen my breath is all.”
He relaxes a fraction and reaches into the pocket of his sweats. Before I have a chance to get grossed out, he’s pulled out a slim tin of mints. He holds them out to me. As his thumb flicks open the lid, I notice that, inside his sleeve, his forearm is mottled red and shredding. Like a snake shedding its skin.
I smile as I set the mint between my teeth. That which rots you marks you, motherfucker.
* * *
Maybe I’m imagining it, but my stomach heaves as I walk into the parking lot after school. I stop and look around at the people swarming off campus, the line of parent-driven cars parked in the loading zone. I hold my keys a little tighter and move a little more stiffly, listening too closely to the crunch of wheels on pavement.
There’s no reason for my magic sensor to go off at school. My stomach does have other things to do—like process the cafeteria food I ate earlier or tell me when I’m about to look stupid in front of large groups of people.
“Mila, are you okay?”
Aniyah Dorsey stops beside me, her face scrunched in the sunlight. She squints at me from behind her glasses.
“You look sick,” she says. “Do you have, like, food poisoning or something? Is that why you were late to third period today?”
“What? Are you spying on me?” I snap.
She cocks her head at me. “Jesus. I’m trying to be nice.”
“People aren’t nice to me,” I say, walking away from her. I want to get to my car. I want to find the bottle of Pepto floating at the bottom of my backpack. I want to know that this feeling isn’t magic.
“But you’re such a peach!” Aniyah calls sarcastically to my back.
I get in my car in a hurry, throwing my backpack at the passenger seat before I buckle up. I take a second before I turn the ignition to sigh at my own paranoia. It must be leftover guilt at breaking into June’s locker. Even with her permission, it is sort of a breach of trust with my peers. If anyone saw me do it—especially if that someone was Aniyah—I’d be stuck in meetings with Dr. Miller until the end of time, talking about why I don’t respect other people’s grieving.
There’s a blur of movement outside. My heart leaps into my throat and I scream as two black-clad figures press their hands against the passenger window.
The figures stop moving. Riley lifts the bill of her Giants hat and frowns at me.
“Really?” she says, her voice muffled through the glass. “We look normal right now.”
They do look normal in that they aren’t zombied out. They do not look normal in that every single person on campus thinks that they are currently buried across town.
Swallowing embarrassment and panic, I unlock the doors. Riley tosses my backpack off her seat, and it lands next to June.
“Did you get my cards?” she asks.
She doesn’t wait for me to say yes before she rips open the zipper and starts digging around inside.
“What the fuck are you guys doing?” I ask, twisting around in my seat and looking out the back window as people walk past us. “What if someone sees you? What if someone saw you before I got within a hundred steps of you?”