The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried(23)

“Hey, Zora. What’s going on?”

I’ve known Zora on and off since middle school, and we were both in theater together with July. She’s the kind of person who drifts through different groups but never sticks with one for long. Basically the M&Ms of school acquaintances; neither particularly exciting nor objectionable.

“Dino?” Zora’s breathing heavily and her olive cheeks are speckled pink. “Where’d you come from?”

“Taco Bell,” I say, so that I don’t have to explain why I’d walked from Walmart. “What’re you doing to my car?”

Zora adjusts her glasses and squints. “Your car?”

“My mom’s, officially,” I say. “But she hates driving, so I use it more than she does.”

“Then why was July Cooper driving it?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Not cool. You know July’s dead. It hasn’t even been a week.”

“I’m serious!” Zora’s voice rises into its upper range. “She was at 7-Eleven and I caught her reflection in the door’s glass and I was like, ‘Hey! That looks like July Cooper.’?” Her glasses fog up and she pulls them off and cleans them with the hem of her blouse. “So then I followed her down Military and stopped at a light and it was her! She made a U-turn and I caught up to her here.”

I have so many questions. Not that I can ask the person who may have the answers seeing as I have no idea what’s going on or if she’s even in the car.

July’s the actress, not me, but I do my best to look skeptical. “Nothing you said is even remotely possible.” I hold up my hand and cut Zora off before she can jump in. “First of all, this is my car. I drove it here so I could enjoy a burrito. I parked it here, where it’s been the entire time. Second, July Cooper is dead. Want to guess how I know? Because her body is in the freezer in the mortuary less than fifty feet from my house.”

Zora rests her hands on her hips. “I know what I saw.”

Motion behind Zora catches my attention, and I glance up to see a Palm Shores police officer exiting Taco Bell and walking toward his cruiser. Zora sees me looking and turns.

“Good,” Zora says. “He’ll settle this.” She waves the officer down. “Excuse me! Officer, sir?”

The cop stops, looks, sighs heavily, and then trudges toward us. He’s wearing the look of a man who just finished a bunch of tacos and wants only to find a quiet place to park his cruiser and take a quick nap. Instead, he gets us. His name tag reads RODRIGUEZ.

“Problem?”

Before Zora can take control of the situation, I leap to answer. “Sorry, sir. I came out of the restaurant and this girl was pounding on my window, and I want to go home but she won’t let me leave.”

“That’s not true!” Zora says, her voice reaching dangerously high.

Office Rodriguez barely hides the eye roll. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Tell him how you claim you chased this car, which has been in the lot for at least an hour, down Military and that the driver was a girl who died last week.”

“It was!” Zora says. “Her name’s July Cooper, and she was driving!”

“Are you sure this girl is actually dead?”

I nod. “Look, Officer, I don’t know why Zora’s doing this—she goes to my school, but I don’t know her well—but the girl she’s talking about? She was my best friend and her funeral is tomorrow and none of this is funny. I just want to go home.”

Officer Rodriguez looks from me to Zora. “Wait here a minute.” He motions at Zora and leads her off to the side.

“I hope this was worth it,” I whisper. If July heard me, she doesn’t reply.

Zora talking emphatically, pointing at the car, and Rodriguez keeps calmly telling her to slow down. My phone buzzes and I pull it out. Another text from Rafi. A few. I read the chain but the officer returns before I finish.

“You can go,” he says. “My condolences about your friend.”

A flood of relief rushes through me at those words. I was terrified he was going to call my parents and they were going to show up and everyone was going to find July in the car, and then I’d have to explain why, and my life as I know it would be over forever seeing as, dead or alive, July’s still a corpse.

I turn to open the door but—duh!—it’s locked.

“Problem?” Officer Rodriguez asks.

“Forgot to unlock it,” I say loudly, hoping July gets the message. I reach into my pocket where my keys would normally be and pretend to press the unlock fob. The locks click and the lights flash and I could kiss July if I didn’t also want to shove her out of a speeding car into the middle of the interstate.

“Drive safely,” the officer says, and heads toward Zora.

July’s hand pokes up from between the seats and shoves the keys at me. As quickly as I can, I start the car and leave. July stays hidden, and I don’t speak. When I’m sure we’re far enough from Taco Bell, I turn down a side road, stop in front of Belvedere Park, and get out of the car, slamming the door behind me.

I’m sitting on the wood fence when July approaches.

“Thanks—” she starts, but I cut her off.