The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried(24)

“Do you know how that felt?” I ask. “I just gaslighted Zora Hood. The best-case scenario is that the cop lets her go home and Zora spends the next ten years in therapy trying to convince herself that she didn’t actually see you at 7-Eleven!”

“I know but—”

“Worst case is that he humiliates Zora by calling her parents and making them pick her up. Either way, I lied to her and a cop in order to convince Zora that the truth isn’t true, all to save your ass!” My lip is quivering, and my whole body is shaking.

July clenches her fists and squares her shoulders. “So what? She deserves it.”

“No one deserves that.” My face twists in disgust. I know she doesn’t have a heart, but I didn’t know she was heartless.

“Then take me back,” she says. “Or give me the keys and let me go alone. I’ll admit to the officer that Zora was telling the truth about seeing me. That I died and returned and stole your car so that I could go to 7-Eleven.”

The way she’s standing, I believe she’s serious. And I’m almost willing to let her. This situation is so out of my control, but letting July go wouldn’t make anything better. It’d only drag me and my family into it.

“You’re not going.”

July grabs for the keys, but I pull them out of her reach. “Give ’em here!”

“Stop it!”

But she doesn’t. She reaches past me to get them and I lean away to keep them from her, but I lose my balance and topple backward. July slips and falls on top of me, and not even that stops her. She wrestles for the keys, and I go to grab her hand, but something comes off between my fingers.

“What the hell was that?” I scramble for my phone and turn on the flashlight.

“Oh, fuck!” July’s holding up her right hand, and her thumb is all muscle and sinew. And cradled in my hand is the skin, slipped off like a glove.

“Gross!” I toss the skin at her and crab walk backward.

July picks up the skin and tries to slide it on, but it looks loose and wrinkled. She keeps trying, but when it’s clear it’s not going to stay on, her entire body deflates. Well, not really. It’s actually likely that she’s already filling with gases that are going to have to escape sometime, and I’m hoping it’s not while we’re together.

I climb over the fence and pop the car trunk. I dig around in my mom’s roadside apocalypse kit, which is a lot like a regular emergency kit except that it also contains powdered coffee, a couple of MREs, and a few other things one might need if their car broke down at the end of the world.

July’s still sitting in the grass when I return. “Here,” I say, and toss her a tiny tube of superglue, and then sit across from her. “Spread it on your thumb and then slide the skin back on.”

I watch while July struggles to position it straight. The ragged edges where it tore look horrible, but she smears some glue there too. I have no idea how I’m going to explain that to my parents when they prepare July’s body for the funeral.

“What did you mean before when you said Zora deserved it? I thought you were friends.”

The more July fiddles with her thumb, the worse it looks, but it’s no use telling her that. “We are. She’s my understudy.”

“So?”

“Did you see her hair?” July asks. “That was Tracy hair. Which means she’s already stepped into my role. Mine. Do you know how long I’ve been dying to play Tracy Turnblad?”

“Since forever,” I say, which is true. Hairspray is July’s favorite musical, but she could never get Mrs. Larsen to stage it at our school, so she auditioned for the summer program at Truman High, which is open to all students, when she learned they were putting it on, which I know thanks to Benji.

“Exactly! And now Zora’s going to ruin it with her annoying voice and her skinny, waifish ass.”

“Crapping on someone for being thin isn’t any better than crapping on them for being chubby.”

July lets out a frustrated sigh. “I know, I know.”

“Then stop doing it.”

July doesn’t respond, but I said what I needed to. I doubt it will make her stop, but hopefully it’ll make her think before the next time she calls me a skeleton. Besides, her anger at Zora makes sense now.

“You gonna get your phone?” July asks.

I didn’t even notice it buzzing, but I mute it. “It’s only Rafi. Again.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants me to come over. He’s having an issue with one of our friends and he wants me there to help him.”

July’s face perks up. “Then let’s go.”

“We’ve been through this. Your skin is literally falling off. Don’t you think it’s time we talked about what to do with you?”

“I’m a person, Dino. I decide what to do with me.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No one cares what you meant.” July holds out her thumb, though it’s tough to see it in the dark. “This doesn’t prove I’m dead. It could have happened to anyone.”

“Anyone dead,” I mumble.

“What’re you scared of? I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

My phone vibrates, and I know what it says without needing to look at it. Rafi is almost as persistent as July when he wants to be. “Fine,” I say. “But we’re only staying for a few minutes.”