We make our way down the sidewalk toward Mrs. Latham’s neighborhood. Luca and Kimber walk in front, hands linked and whispering.
“Why did you leave like that?” Eva asks. We walk side by side, but I keep my eyes on Kimber’s ass. That is, until I realize I’m accidentally staring at Kimber’s ass, then I shift my gaze to Luca’s curly head.
“Leave like what?”
“You pretty much bit your mom’s head off for making lasagna, and then you stormed out.”
I keep walking, keep staring at Luca’s hair, which now has Kimber’s hand twined into it. I have no idea how to answer Eva. To answer her is to explain. And to explain is to become a kind of sad story you see on Lifetime movies.
“What were you doing there?” I ask instead.
“I ran into your mom at the store, like she said. And then . . .” Her voice fades and I dare a glance. She blinks into the night air and stuffs her hands into her pocket. “I was having a shitty day, okay? And we started talking, and your mom . . . I don’t know. She seemed like—?”
“Like she’d do anything to make you feel better?”
Eva swings her eyes to mine. “Yeah.”
I nod. I get that. I live that every single day. New York City itineraries to soothe the sting of a new move and an asshole ex-boyfriend, promises of beautiful necklaces, early-morning cuddles that make me forget she ever disappeared on me for those few days back when I was thirteen.
“And I was sort of hoping to see you,” Eva says, her voice as quiet and full as the night around us.
All thoughts of Eva and Mom fizzle from my thoughts. Now there’s only Eva. Maybe even Eva and Grace.
“Okay, what’s our plan of attack?” Luca asks, yanking my attention toward him. Mrs. Latham’s house comes up on our right, all the windows dark and shuttered. I breathe deeply and look around, gauging the rest of the neighborhood, but all is quiet and sleepy.
“I say we partner off,” Eva says, her voice now steady and sure. “And then, you know, just position them and go. I mean, right? No other way to do it, really.”
“Sounds good,” Luca says, taking Kimber’s hand and crossing the street, his shoulders all hunched over like he’s in some spy movie.
“Guess that leaves you and me,” Eva says.
“I guess it does.” I hear the flirting lilt to my voice and, honestly, I sort of love it.
“Meet back at LuMac’s?” Luca asks when I join him and Kimber behind a juniper bush at the edge of the sidewalk.
I nod as Eva comes up behind me. “Wow,” she whispers, peeking around the bush at Mrs. Latham’s yard. “Looks like a bunch of Lord of the Rings characters got together for a luau.”
Luca snorts a laugh. Then he squares his shoulders, his eyes meeting mine for a splinter of a second before they dart away. “This luau’s about to get kinky. Ready?”
Kimber starts giggling, and he presses their joined hands to her mouth playfully, which only makes her giggle harder.
“Set?” he goes on, biting back his own laugh.
Eva slips her hand into mine. I don’t hold hands a lot, not even with people I’m dating. I hated that twining, enclosed feel, like Jay or whoever was trying to wrangle me into submission. So when Eva’s fingers glide in between mine, I mean to pull back. Really, I do, but there’s this little zing that slides up my arm and then down into my stomach. It’d be rude to just wrench my hand away. Not only rude, but also directly in contrast to what I actually want.
Kimber’s eyes flick down to our joined hands, her brow furrowed, before she links her arm with Luca’s and looks back toward the lawn. I feel myself flush hot. Instinct kicks in and this time I do try to pull away, but Eva’s hand tightens on mine. I heave a deep breath, almost glad she’s making me stay put.
“Go!” Luca whisper-yells before I can think any more about the fingers linked with mine or what Kimber thinks about it or what it means.
The four of us bolt into the yard. I run straight for three gnomes under a ceramic palm tree that seem like easy targets. Eva’s hand is still in mine, her long legs slowing to keep pace with my five-foot-four frame. When we hit the gnomes’ pine straw bed, we separate, and she aims for some limboing gnomes nearby. The house is still dark, the only light a faint, orangey glow from the streetlights. My heart pounds as I take one gnome who is for real bending over with a pink shovel in his hands like he’s digging in the sand, and position him in front of another gnome who appears to be snuggling with a pineapple. I snort a half-terrified, half-hysterical laugh under my breath.
Suddenly, a loud, splintering sound echoes through the silence, as though two gnomes collided and the outcome was gory. Luca curses and the house lights up like a million suns. Floodlights pour gold through every part of the yard. I’m so surprised—?not to mention temporarily blinded—?that I lurch backwards, tripping over my own feet and sprawling on the dewy grass.
“Luca Michaelson!” a voice yells from the front door. “I know that’s you! You better get your scrawny butt off my property before I call nine-one-one!”
“I am not scrawny,” Luca mutters from behind a bush somewhere to my left, his tone ridiculously calm and even.
“Abort!” I call, rolling myself onto my stomach. I stand up and look for Eva. She’s near an oak tree, frozen in place with a gnome in a pink bikini clutched in her hands. When we lock eyes, she sticks the gnome on the back of another one already seemingly sucking face with a red-bearded gnome and runs toward me, our hands joining again like it’s a habit.
A door slams and a growling noise starts up and increases in volume behind us.
“Oh, god!” Kimber says, tripping to my side, a twig tangled in her long ponytail. “I knew this was a bad idea. I can’t believe she let Sugar out!”
“I can’t believe she named him Sugar,” Luca says as we all run. “That thing is like Cujo—?goes straight for the nads.”
“Maybe you should sacrifice yourself,” I say, “since you’re the only one with actual nads.”
“Unlikely.”
“Unlikely that you have nads?” I ask. Luca reaches across Kimber and tries to noogie me, which is damn near impossible, considering we’re running.
“Just move, idiots,” Eva says, shoving Luca’s arm away.
We hit the pavement and bolt down the dark street. Glancing behind me, I see the outline of a huge dog barreling toward us, its paws scraping the asphalt as it snarls its way closer and closer.
“Uh, guys . . .” Kimber says, nearly whimpering.
I imagine my mother identifying my torn-to-shreds body in the morgue tomorrow morning. Maybe she’d make me a necklace then, lacing it around my cold, dead throat for burial.