Trouble is a Friend of Mine

‘Do you mind?’ I said.

Digby sipped the soda water. ‘Tastes like sweaty bubbles.’

The two of them ate off my duvet, trying different combinations. Peas and cookie, cookie dipped in soda water, peas in the water, peas with cookies while gargling soda water, and finally, the winner: a mouthful of peas chewed with candied ginger, washed down with soda water. Watching them picnicking on my bed reminded me of a Discovery Channel show where chimpanzees broke into the cameraman’s supplies and ate his lunch.

‘You guys going to the winter dance?’ I said.

‘Dances? We don’t need no stinking dances,’ Digby said. ‘Besides, what’s a big-city gal like yourself going to a small-town shindig for?’

‘You’re not going?’ Henry said.

‘Not unless I’m guaranteed an actual pig-blood prom queen sideshow,’ Digby said. ‘Are you going? What am I talking about? Of course you are. No way Sloane’s passing up the chance to sashay … especially when her parents are paying for the party.’

‘They are?’ I said.

‘After the homecoming dance got canceled, the Blooms volunteered to arrange a winter formal for the juniors and seniors of the two schools in its place,’ Henry said.

‘Who’re you going with, Princeton?’ Digby said.

‘I thought I’d just go and see what’s up,’ I said.

‘What, alone?’ Henry said.

‘That’s a bold statement. Sure you want to make it?’ Digby said.

‘The poster said it was a chance to meet people from Chester, so I thought maybe I’d meet people there,’ I said.

Chester B. Arthur was the school on the other side of River Heights. Our schools held joint dances from time to time, supposedly to help us to socialize, but from what I could tell, what the dances really did was make rivalries personal.

‘You believe everything you read on posters, Princeton?’ Digby said.

‘Seriously, Zoe, River Heights is like Noah’s Ark. People come in pairs,’ Henry said.

‘Or what?’ I said.

‘Dunno … spend the dance alone?’ Henry said.

‘What’s the difference between being alone at home and being alone at the dance?’ Of course there was a huge difference. I just didn’t want to admit it to these guys. ‘Anyway, it’s, like, two months from now, so who knows.’

‘It’s six weeks from now and Sloane has her dress already. Girls, am I right? Whatcha going to do?’ Henry said, looking straight at me, like we played on the same team.

‘Nothing. I don’t have to do anything. Because I am a girl.’ It felt dumb saying it, but seriously, it didn’t look like that fact registered with either Digby or Henry even when I did say it. To make sure, I added, ‘Who likes boys.’

An awkward second passed, then Digby pulled something out of his pocket.

‘Look at this for me, guys,’ Digby said.

‘Guess we’re done talking about the dance,’ I said.

He passed us a picture of a blond girl whose face looked like it was carved from wax. The bottom caption explained: ‘This photo was produced by Computer Age Progression by the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.’

‘I think this girl’ – Digby handed me a printout of the photo he took of the girl in the mansion’s window – ‘is Holly Marie Taylor. Went missing four years ago in Ithaca.’

‘How can you tell? This window shot’s basically just blond hair,’ I said.

‘Her bone structure’s right,’ Digby said.

‘Bone structure? This could be a fuzzy Sasquatch photo, bro,’ Henry said.

‘Can I see those selfies you take, Princeton?’ Digby asked.

I found them on my computer. Digby zoomed in on the girls cleaning outside the mansion in the background.

‘I smell their chemicals all the time, but when they’re out there cleaning, my eyes actually burn,’ I said.

‘No one complains?’ Digby said.

‘Mom tried, but Zillah gave her a “next to godliness” lecture.’

‘That woman’s name is Zillah?’ Digby said.

‘You didn’t ask me to come here just to show me this, did you?’ Henry said.

‘No, we’re here to watch the Dumpsters burn,’ Digby said. ‘The show’s starting in a few minutes.’

‘How do you know that?’ I said. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re lighting the fire yourself.’

‘Mrs Preston was watching Magnum P.I. at the time,’ Digby said. ‘No way she pays ten extra bucks for a rerun channel, and Magnum P.I. only reruns once a week on basic. On Thursdays. Now-ish. So, if I’m right about Mrs Preston’s cheapness, and the fact that these fires aren’t random, we should be getting something in …’

A bicycle creaked down the street and turned into the alley below my window.

‘D’you hear that?’ Digby said.

‘That bike?’ Henry said.