Fox and I hustled to meet them.
“I’m tutoring someone at school,” I said.“I forgot.”
Bobby’s eyes narrowed.
“And we both have weak ankles,” Fox announced.
I tried not to cover my face.
“You have weak ankles,” Indira said in a tone that wasn’t quite a question.
Bobby was looking at me so intently that I glanced over my shoulder.“What exactly do you think we’re doing?”
I said, “Uh.”
Fox shrugged.
“Picking up garbage?”I said.“No!Volunteering at a shelter.Wait, we’re helping repair a trail.”
Bobby looked at Indira.
Indira looked at Bobby.And she smiled.
He held the door for her.
“Wait,” I said again.
Bobby arched his eyebrows.
“Uh, whatarewe doing?”
“We,” Bobby said as he stepped outside, “are volunteering at a charity bake-off.You know—cookies, cakes, pies.And the volunteers are welcome to sample as much as they want.”
And he shut the door.
3
It was one of those beautiful May evenings on the coast that had been so rare this year: clear skies, cool without being cold, only a hint of a breeze.Summer was technically almost here, and although the coast didn’t really warm up until July (and even then it depended on your definition of warm), pretty soon tourists would flood Hastings Rock again.Along with the rest of the Last Picks, I was taking advantage of the lull before the storm to walk around the scenic downtown in relative peace and quiet.
Everything looked perfect: the medley of shops and galleries clean and freshly painted, their landscaping touched up to welcome the summer crowds.Lights glowed in windows.A few of the more daring restaurant owners had already set out their patio seating along with fire pits and heaters.As my friends and I followed the sidewalk, the sounds of laughter and the clink of glassware filtered out to us.At the intersection ahead of us, one of the galleries stood with its doors open, and people spilled out into the night.
“Somebody’s having a party,” I said.
“Pippi,” Millie said.“It’s a BOOK LAUNCH party.And the theme is ANIMALS WHO ARE FRIENDS!”She grabbed Keme’s arm.“Can we go?”
“Uh, no,” I said.“We can’t.”
Sometimes, Keme’s eyes could be very dark and very intense.
Very murder-y.
(I’m a writer.)
“Why not?”Millie asked.
“Because—”
“Is it because you don’t like Pippi?”
