Zachary stared at the candle in his hand. It had a paper ring to catch the wax drippings, and it looked like the type that his church brought out when they all sang “Silent Night” on Christmas Eve. Amber only took him to church on Christmas Eve and Easter. He preferred the Christmas service. The world seemed more at peace.
Katie Kurtzman stood before him, talking about . . . something. She’d given him the candle for the walk. He tried to concentrate, but he was high, and she was pretty. Katie was tall and graceful with long hair that shimmered and changed colors in the light. Right now, caught by the rays of the sun, it looked like copper. Pretty copper.
She was different from the rest of the smart kids. Those other assholes acted like he was invisible, which was why he treated them like shit. Zachary made people look at him. But Katie was nice to everyone, and everyone liked her back. It’s how she got to be student-council president. He’d tried to be rude to her once, and she’d called him on it. He respected that.
“Oh, no!” Katie dropped the cardboard box that held the candles. A man had spilled a blue slush on her arm.
Zachary sniffed the air for the signature Sonic drink flavor—Blue Coconut or Blue Raspberry. Indeterminable.
“Sorry!” The man was in his mid-twenties and wore tortoiseshell eyeglasses. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
Katie’s cheeks flushed as she wiped the ice from her blouse. “It’s okay.”
The man tried to help her brush it off, but his touch made her wince, and he immediately backed off, looking even more chagrined.
Raspberry. For some reason, that was the wrong flavor. Zachary inhaled deeply and widened his chest. And he was already a big guy. “What the fuck, Glasses? Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”
“I—I was looking for my cousin in the band, and—”
“Really,” Katie said. “It’s okay.”
“He should have to pay for your shirt,” Zachary said.
The man went for his wallet, but Katie stopped him. “There’s no need. These things happen.” When Zachary puffed up again, she added, “I’m fine, Zach.”
His father called him Zach. His real father. Zachary didn’t let anyone else call him that, but with her coppery hair and leggy tallness . . . yes.
Zachary was tall and broad and fat. His ex-stepfather used to tease him about his weight. The bastard had known what he was doing—he’d known those jokes hurt boys as much as girls. Zachary had tried to deflect them, but the snide comments had landed anyway. He was perfectly aware that his thoughts were both corrupted and misguided, but tall girls made him feel like the right size. They made him feel like less of a freak.
His chest deflated. He let her Zach slide. The man with the glasses scurried away into the crowd.
Katie sighed. “I should go.”
“Right. Gotta hand out the rest of those candles.” But when Zachary peered into her cardboard box, it was empty.
She smiled. “You were my last stop. I just need to get home. My mom’s leaving for work, and I have to watch my brother and sister.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“Nah.” She said it lightly, but she hugged the box against her chest. His question had made her uncomfortable. “I live nearby. I walked here.”
“How old are your brother and sister?” Zachary had to keep the conversation going, if only to prove he wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t a threat.
“They’re twins. Six. Do you have any siblings?”
“Nah,” he said, echoing her earlier nah.
Katie smiled again, but this time it was tinged with something else. Sadness, perhaps. At least it wasn’t pity. “Stay safe, okay? Find someone here to hang out with.”
As she walked away, he changed his mind. It had been pity.
“Fuck you,” he said. Louder than his normal voice.
Katie stopped. She looked over her shoulder and met his stare. “I don’t think you mean that.” And then she vanished in the crowd.
Maybe he’d been wrong about her.
Maybe he was just an asshole.
Zachary shoved the candle into his pocket. He leaned against the bridal shop and closed his eyes. His head swam. A drum began to beat, and his eyes popped back open, paranoid that he was about to see David—that David was about to attack Katie—when he caught a flash of camouflage in a window across the street.
“Oh, shit. Shit!” He glanced wildly around, but she was gone. He knew she was gone. He was really, really stoned. After all, he’d stolen Terry’s good shit. He closed his eyes again. Opened them. Stared hard at the grocery store’s dark windows.
Nothing. There was nothing there.
Caleb retraced his path to the dusty break room, but the plume wasn’t there. The stupid feathery pipe cleaner wasn’t anywhere. Had he missed it outside in his panic? Wherever it had fallen, it no longer mattered. The drum cadence had begun. The sharp rap of the snare reverberated off the thin walls of the empty store. The band was on the move.
As Caleb rushed into the back room, his face warmed with premature humiliation. Arriving late. Not properly dressed. Footage broadcast around the entire country, capturing my incompetence for all to see.
Stop it, he forced himself. This isn’t about you.
He hurried past the cardboard boxes and reached the exit.
And then, suddenly, it was exactly about him.
“Zachary! Zachary! Zachary!”
People were shouting his name, and an instant later—before he could figure out who or where or why—three figures bombarded him, buzzing with suppressed energy. His eyes widened before narrowing again, lazily. Suspiciously. Makani Young, Ollie Larsson, and . . . Darby. He just went by Darby now, he remembered. They were anxious and expecting something from him.
“What?” he said. Not politely.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Makani’s face was partially concealed by the hood of her hoodie. “You shouldn’t be standing by yourself.”
He couldn’t remember the new girl ever speaking to him before. When she’d transferred here last year, she’d seemed sullen and hurt, and her hips moved through the halls with a fuck-you energy that had intrigued him. He thought maybe she’d find her way to his group of friends, but she’d made Darby and Alex a trio instead.
Zachary pulled out his smokes and put a cigarette between his lips.
“Didn’t you talk to my brother?” Ollie asked.
“Your brother, the cop?”
“He’s the only brother I have.”
Zachary lit the cigarette. He took a long drag. “No.”
The three friends exchanged worried looks. “Chris said he spoke to you,” Ollie said. “He told me he called your house.”
“Maybe he called my house, but we sure as hell didn’t talk. He probably talked to Terry.”
Ollie frowned. “Who’s Terry?”
“My mom’s boyfriend.” The shittiness of this person was implied in his tone. “What’d you do to your hair?”
“Dyed it,” Ollie said with a straight face.
Ollie was good at that, at being expressionless. Zachary couldn’t hide his emotions if his life depended on it. “I know that. Why?”
“Literally nothing could matter less right now,” Makani said.
Ollie’s mouth twitched unexpectedly with a smile. Something she’d said.
“You two,” Zachary said, gesturing between them, “are fucking.”
Makani flinched. Ollie’s smile went cold.