“It’s been a while,” I say as I duck through the window onto the roof. I try to keep my voice flat, but my enthusiasm breaks through, lighting it up. “I was starting to think you were bored with me.”
“No way, man. I’ve just been busy plotting nefarious plots. Secret nefarious plots, so don’t try to get me to tell you about them. Judy would rip my balls off. But I’m sorry about vanishing on you like that. I actually missed our drives together, even if I was too stressed to organize one.”
I jump down and land on the ground with an oomph. Dyl lands beside me. As he straightens up I cross the front yard and clamber into the passenger seat. Once inside, I lean back and watch him make his way around to the driver’s seat.
“I have a question,” he asks as he sits down. “Are you hairless everywhere? At the carnival you looked like a waxing salon ad.” He slams the door shut and turns on the engine. “It must’ve hurt.”
“No more than having your eye color changed.”
“But doesn’t it grow back?”
“I think they removed the follicles, so no, it doesn’t. Juliet likes it, and that’s the important thing.”
“That’s a shame. You’d look good with chest hair.”
He’s staring at me, and I look away to keep my attention away from his lips, which are curved into a smirk.
“Are we going somewhere?” I ask. My mouth is dry, so it comes out kind of raspy. “Or are we driving for the heck of it?”
He chuckles as we pull into the street. “Heck? Jesus, Caden, I think you’re becoming Nicer every time we speak. What happened to the boy I should be afraid of?”
“You think my manners make me less scary?”
“I never thought you were scary.” But he’s grinning, so it sounds more like a compliment than an insult. “Not even once.”
I lean my head back and look up at the stars.
He winked at me. At the pool, he winked at me, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I want to ask him why he did it, but he’s not bringing it up and I’m never going to. Not now, not ever. That would be like admitting that that second mattered to me, and for some reason the thought of him knowing that makes me feel all shaky.
“And to answer your first question,” he says, “I’m here for two reasons. The first is beside you.”
I look down at the seat beside me. On it, sliding around, is an iPod. It’s attached to the car by a black cable.
“Press Play.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not the Smiths or Sufjan Stevens, is it?”
He laughs. “No way, man, they’re Nice bands. If I was being a Bad right now, we’d listen to Black Sabbath. Or Metallica. So just shut up and press Play.”
I tap the screen. It displays a black-and-white photo, the cover art for a song called “Midnight Show” by the Killers. The song starts with synths, then the guitars kick in.
“I found the only way to make driving better. It’s angsty rock music. Judy loaded it all onto my computer for Love Interest reasons, but it turns out I genuinely love some of it. I bet you’ll like it too, so I’ll shut up now and let you listen.”
I keep looking up at the stars as they zoom by, becoming lines of silver against the navy sky. The song is beautiful, a slightly aggressive voice singing catchy poetry backed by electric guitars. The singer sounds as frustrated as I feel sometimes.
The song ends and I open my eyes.
Dyl glances at me. “Did you like it?”
I loved it, but I can’t help but think that it’s not as good as Nicki Minaj. Nothing is. There are lots of reasons why I can’t ever say that to him, so I stay silent.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Do you have a favorite band, Caden?”
I desperately search my brain for a band he’ll think is cool.
“Oh no,” says Dyl. “You’re good, but I can always tell when you know an answer but change it. Your forehead goes all crinkly for a second. Tell me the truth, man. I won’t judge.”
“Fine,” I say. “Nicki Minaj is my favorite. She’s not a band, but she’s my favorite musician, and I figure that’s what you were asking. I know she wears silly costumes and stuff sometimes, but she’s a fantastic wordsmith, maybe the best one ever, and listening to her makes me feel like I can do anything.”
Here it comes, he’s going to judge me because she’s too girly, or because she’s a rapper, or because …
“Huh,” he says. “Good choice. I love her ‘Monster’ verse. Do you know that one? The one with Kanye?”
“I do!” I say. “It’s a great song. One of my favorites, actually.”
“Well, we’ll have to go for another drive and listen to it. You might think she’s the best wordsmith ever, but my vote for that award would go to Brandon Flowers. So do you want to finish his album? I bet you’ll like it.”
I nod, and we listen to the entire album. During the closing notes of the final song, Dyl pulls the car off the road. Up ahead is a dark, creepy forest and a small wooden shed.
I cross my arms. “Are you serious? You brought me to a murder shed?”
“It’s not a murder shed, Nice guy, it’s a cool shed in the middle of nowhere that I found when I was driving and I thought it was awesome. And, like every awesome thing I find, I wanted to show it to you. Because we are both living with limited time, and life should be lived while we have the chance.” He tosses me something. It’s a silver flashlight. He’s holding one exactly like it. He flicks it on, and a long beam of golden light erupts from the end. “We’re exploring.”
I turn back and look at the shed. “There’s either a murderer or a dead body in that thing.”
He grins. “Possibly both.”
I grip the flashlight tight as we leave the safety of the car and head toward the shed. As we walk, my thoughts drift to Kaylee. Surely she would’ve said something by now if she was listening in? She’s usually only connected when she knows a big conversation with Juliet is coming up, but then again she has popped in randomly a few times, so I probably should check.
Hey, Kaylee, are you there?
Nothing.
“What are you doing?” asks Dyl. “You spaced for a second.”
“I was just checking if Kaylee is listening.”
“And?”
“We’re alone. If we aren’t, she’s not saying anything.”
“Oh, cool.”
The ground is soft and squishy, and every step sends a small wave of grayish mud up the edges of my Chucks. In front of the shed is a small overgrown veggie garden and a chopping block. Embedded deep in the block is a rusty ax.
Dyl steps up the first step. The wood creaks under his weight. He freezes, his entire body tense. The only sound is the rustle of the wind through the trees and the occasional high-pitched chirp of crickets. He places his palm flat on the dark wood and pushes. The door swings open, letting out a low screech. The light of the moon illuminates only a small stretch of the shack, and I can see half of a wooden dining table.