Undead Girl Gang(52)

The music isn’t loud enough to drown out all my fears, so I try to dance them out instead. I throw my shoulders into figure eights. Toss tangles into my hair. Flick my hips like I’m trying to catch a flint. And Xander keeps up.

Trust that I know too much about Alexander Greenway. I know which great uncle he was named after and that he prefers crimson to primary red and that he eats an unhealthy amount of Lucky Charms because he does, on some level, believe that they are lucky. I know that the color of his eyes is the same color that I think shivers would be if you could see them. The best Christmas present he ever got was tickets to a Giants game in San Francisco, but he got super carsick on the drive there. I know that he is one of the only people on the planet who likes Jar Jar Binks and that he’s afraid of being upside down on roller coasters.

But I had absolutely no idea that this boy could dance.

And yet.

This is no awkward middle school shuffle he’s doing. He moves like he knows his body, which is enough to make the sweat on my forehead start to slide down the backs of my ears. He puts his hands on my hips, letting my rhythm direct his. I set my hand on the back of his neck because I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to hold him this way. It’s wonderful. His skin is feverishly hot and dewy, and I can even feel a zit under the wool of his sweater.

Back acne isn’t a turn-on or anything, but it humanizes him in a way that I really need right now.

We dance hard and fast for two more songs—a song about a jitterbug and “Uptown Funk,” because only monsters walk away from “Uptown Funk”—before I need to take a breather and a cold shower. We move away from the makeshift grass dance floor, stepping onto the sidewalk that winds through Aldridge Park. Without discussion, we follow the path into the orange haze of the park and sit on a cold metal bench.

“This was nice,” Xander says. He wets his lips and smiles over at me. “Thank you for letting me have fun.”

“Thanks for coming with me.” I reach for the rose quartz. My thumb rubs one of the edges on the stone. “I’ve been kind of in hiding since Riley died.”

“I noticed,” he says. He blows out a sigh. Sweat makes his hair shine as he rakes his nails through it. I recognize this as his “thinking unpleasant thoughts” motion. Like he assumes that being upset will muss his hair. “I’d hate it if we stopped being friends because Riley’s gone. I’ve always really liked hanging out with you, but I never wanted my sister to think I was trying to get between you two. Do you know how hard it was for her to make friends before you came to Cross Creek?”

I nod, too aware of my pulse and the drops of sweat collecting behind my ears. “Riley always said that no one would come play at your house. That you couldn’t have birthday parties at home.”

He draws his lower lip between his teeth and swings his head, looking away from me. “It wasn’t just birthday parties. It was every day. Riley had zero friends before you moved here. No one wanted to be anywhere near her. She couldn’t even take ballet lessons with the other kids in her kindergarten class because the parents were scared she’d tell them about corpses and give them nightmares. Kids tortured her.”

“Dayton,” I blurt, and then shrink back when he frowns. “She said Dayton started it.”

“Dayton wasn’t the only one. It was everyone. My parents put her in activities she could do by herself. Piano, Bible study. Things that she wouldn’t need friends for. But they didn’t care if she liked those things. They didn’t care that she was so obviously lonely. And she was always so sad. Why couldn’t they see what they were doing to her?” He squeezes his eyes closed, his whole face pinched in so much pain.

“They couldn’t have known,” I say, because the Greenways isolating Riley didn’t make Caleb Treadwell target her. They messed up in a lot of ways, but they aren’t the reason she died. “They wouldn’t have hurt her on purpose. Your parents are good people. You know that.”

He lifts his face to mine. Both sets of his eyelashes are wet. The splashes of red veins in his eyes makes his irises look like blue moonlight. “After this week, I don’t know anything anymore.”

I know magic is real, I think as I examine the sad lines of his face. And maybe heaven, too. I know I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was eleven years old.

We both know your sister would never have hurt herself, and I am going to punish the asshole who took her from us.

“That’s okay,” I say. Our knees bump together as I close the space between us. “You don’t have to know anything right now. We’ll just not know anything together. That’s less shitty, right? We’ll do the witch thing and be present.”

His mouth flinches a smile. The movement shakes a tear out of his eye. “And grateful.”

“Grateful as fuck,” I agree. “Most people never had a Riley to begin with. Or friends like June and Dayton.”

He huffs a laugh. “You never liked them.”

My thumb rubs over the rubber band on my wrist as I think of Dayton making June, Riley, and me laugh until we cried in the Nesseths’ backyard just a couple of hours ago. “Maybe I just never had the chance.”

“I’ve missed you,” he says softly. “I understand if you have to disappear again, but . . . I don’t know. Don’t? Please. After everything . . . I can’t lose you, too.”