Today Tonight Tomorrow(75)

“I am so sorry,” I say again. “About everything with Neil, and for abandoning you.”

“You can’t erase all our history in just a few months,” Mara says. “But if you really want to make it up to me, you could share a few of your Howl photos.”

“Not a chance.”

“And I’m not going to tell you ‘good riddance’ because we had one fight.” Kirby smiles sadly. “All I wish is that it would have happened earlier. The four of us could have hung out, double-dated.”

There’s that pang of regret again, the one that makes me wish the past few years had been different. I can imagine it: late nights in Capitol Hill, taking up an entire booth at Hot Cakes, Mara taking ridiculous photos. I have to press a hand to my chest, as though the regret is a physical pain.

“I don’t know what it’s going to look like, if anything happens with us.” It’s bizarre to acknowledge it as a possibility. Something might happen with us. “But I know I want you both to be part of it. Well, not all of it.”

“I want all the McNasty details,” Kirby says, batting her lashes.

I roll my eyes. “How do you tell the person you’ve spent four years trying to destroy that you have a crush on them?”

“I would guess there’s a book about that,” Mara says. “And that you’ve probably read it.”

“Make sure he knows that you’re serious and genuine. No sarcasm,” Kirby says. “You’re an overachiever. I have full confidence you can overachieve the shit out of this.”

“I’ll try.” I’m so overwhelmed with emotion in this moment—for this entire night and for them. Then I get an idea. “Hey—could we take a picture? It’s been a while.”

Mara’s already reaching for her phone. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And I don’t care that my eyes are puffy and my makeup’s faded and my dress is, well, you know. Mara stretches out her practiced selfie arm, and we lean our heads together, and without even looking, I already know it’s perfectly imperfect.

In the distance, a whistle blows, and then there’s Logan’s voice over the intercom: “Wolf Pack! You have three minutes until your safe-zone time expires. Everyone please proceed to the exit in an orderly fashion.”

“Okay.” I get to my feet, renewed and reenergized. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to tell him.”

I’m still feeling a bit like a newborn giraffe learning how to walk, but after I hug my friends, I’m more solid. Grounded.

“Can you be proud of someone who’s the same age as you? Because I’m proud of you,” Mara says, and that makes tears back up behind my eyes for an entirely different reason.

When I spot Neil, my stomach stages a revolt. If possible, he looks even cuter than before. All I want is to wrap my arms around him again, for him to tug me close, the way we hugged after Bernadette’s. I want to go back to that bench and climb into his lap. I want to kiss him like I’ve never kissed anyone else. I want him to lose himself in me the way I’ve never been able to imagine—or maybe it’s that I can’t imagine it happening with anyone except me.

Hi. I might like you. Do you want to eat another cinnamon roll with me?

So you know how I hate you? Turns out, I don’t!

You. Me. Back seat of my Honda Accord. Now.

“You ready?” he asks.

I’m so stuck in my thoughts that what comes out is “Huh?” which makes him raise an eyebrow at me. I shake myself out of it. “Yes. Let’s grab the view clue at the place you insist is the best view in Seattle, then see if we can figure out who this mysterious Mr. Cooper is.”

Logan blows another whistle, which means we have five minutes to get as far away from this place as possible before we can start making kills again. Someone opens the door, and Neil and I run for it, racing toward my car in the murky darkness.

We zigzag through the streets, ensuring no one who has our names can follow us. It’s gotten a lot colder, and I jam my hands into the hoodie pockets. I should give it back, I know I should, but I like it too much.

We’re almost to my car when my fingertips close around a small slip of paper in the pocket.

I skid to a stop and pull it out, my heart plummeting as I read and reread the name written on it. No. No, no, no. With my thumb, I trace the ink of the letters, trying to get them to make sense.

Rowan Roth.





12:05 a.m.


NEIL HAS MY name.

Neil has my name.

Neil hasn’t killed anyone, which means he’s had my name since the beginning of the game.

“Rowan?” he’s saying. Not “Artoo.” Because we’re not friends. We’re not whatever we almost became on that bench. “I keep wondering if Cooper was involved in the founding of Seattle somehow, or something else in Seattle history, maybe. I found this article about Frank B. Cooper, this guy who oversaw the building of new schools in Seattle neighborhoods. Could it be leading us to the first school in Seattle, or is that too circuitous? What do you think?”

My heart is pounding and oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I cannot think about Frank B. Cooper or Seattle schools right now. I rock back and forth on my heels, tugging at the straps of my backpack, my face on fire.