“Seriously, though,” said Marci. “If he likes you, he’ll like you no matter what your hair looks like.”
“People always say that,” said Brielle. “But it always sounds so one-sided to me. I’m not the only one in this relationship.”
“You’re the only one wearing your hair,” said Jessica.
“But there’s something to be said for accommodating someone you like,” said Brielle. “If it was a big deal, sure, I’d cut my hair off. But if I don’t really care either way, and he cares a lot, why not keep it long?”
“What kind of accommodations does he make for you?” asked Marci.
Brielle pursed her lips and didn’t answer. After a moment she looked at me. “What do you think, David? Guys like long hair, right?”
“I don’t like having to tuck it behind my ears all the time,” I said. It wasn’t what she meant, but I was only half paying attention, and unhelpful sarcasm was apparently my default mode. I looked up the street. Where was Corey? Was waiting for him at a specific time and place a trap? Would he try to hurt us so publicly?
“I mean on girls,” said Brielle. “Paul or no Paul, and I say this in all humility, this is man-catching hair.”
I looked at her and admitted to myself that she did indeed have incredible hair. It had looked good at the church meeting, but she’d obviously done something to it since; it was wavy and full and caught the setting sun perfectly. I imagined myself combing it, flat on an embalming table, over and over until it shone like gold—
“It’s not about bodies,” I said. “It’s about whoever’s inside of them.”
I looked at Marci. In Brooke’s body. She looked back, saying nothing, then turned to Brielle. “If only it were that easy, huh?”
“I don’t want a boyfriend ’til college,” said Jessica. “All the boys are idiots.”
Marci looked at me with a wicked grin. “Preach.”
“Boys aren’t that bad,” said Brielle.
“I don’t mean all the boys in the world,” said Jessica. “I mean all the boys here. They’re the same boys I’ve known since preschool. Braden Cole is the cutest boy in my grade, and he threw up on me on a kindergarten field trip.”
“If you don’t want boys who throw up on you, college is going to be a big surprise,” said Marci. I looked at her, wondering at the comment—she’d died as a sophomore in high school. But I supposed she had plenty of memories mixed in with her own, memories belonging to girls Nobody had killed when they were older. Had she torn through a university once, thinking that the perfect life she wanted might be there? I wondered how long that had lasted, and what kind of life, if any, might finally satisfy her. And I wondered how much of Nobody’s restlessness was still there, latent in Brooke’s fragmented mind.
“I love your highlights,” said Brielle, looking at Brooke’s blond hair again. “Are they natural?”
“They are!” said Marci cheerfully. “And I love them. It’s kind of fun being blond—”
She didn’t look at me, but I could tell from her sudden pause that she was frozen in shock at the accidental slipup. Marci had had dark black hair all her life.
“Did you dye it?” asked Jessica.
“I had it black for a while,” said Marci, touching Brooke’s hair with her fingertips. “This is great, but … I kind of miss the old hair.”
“You look great blond,” said Brielle. “It suits you.”
Corey came from behind the ice cream stand, stepping softly as if he was trying to sneak up on us, but I saw Boy Dog’s head move. I turned my own head just enough to see Corey from the corner of my eye.
“Welcome to the Kitten Caboodle,” I said, summoning all my will not to look at him directly—to allow him to sneak up behind me. I was, for a moment, terrified.
“We just call it Caboodle’s,” said Paul, walking behind Corey.
“Is that the owner’s last name?” asked Marci. Her eyes lit up. “Does that mean his first name is Kitten?”
“Don’t I wish,” said Paul.
“It’s just a cute name,” said Brielle. “I don’t think it means anything.”
“It’s a pun,” said Jessica.
“Obviously it’s a pun,” said Paul. “We mean beside that.”
“Five-oh,” said Corey, looking past us toward the street. We turned and saw a man walking toward us, swaggering slightly in the brown uniform of the state police.
“Crap,” said Brielle, muttering so softly I could barely hear her. “Officer Cuddles.”
“Good evening to you fine young ladies,” said the officer. “Are these boys bothering you?”
“No, Mr. Glassman,” said Brielle.