Dylan laughed, relaxing a little more as Ramona settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“Dolly, huh?” Dylan asked.
Ramona froze, just for a second. “Sorry. It just popped into my head. I guess from when you mentioned it earlier.”
“No, it’s a good name.”
Dylan glanced out the window as April finally fit herself in the car, a memory sliding into her brain.
Hello, Dolly…well, hello, Dolly…
She smiled at her reflection in the window, remembering the beach and fireworks, her first kiss with a girl in a cherry-print shirt. She wondered where that girl was now, where she lived, if she’d ever visited Clover Lake again.
“It worked though,” Ramona said, pulling her out of her thoughts. She backed out of the driveway, all three passengers in the back seat still fussing about the tight quarters caused by the alien.
“What did?” Dylan asked.
“Your costume. My dad didn’t recognize you at all.”
“No? Does he know who I am? You know, normally?”
Ramona smiled. “Oh yeah. He loves Evenflow. Still listens to them at least once a week.”
Dylan laughed, spread her hands over her skirt, and then felt the short ends of her blond bob.
“Well, hello, Dolly,” she said softly, then settled back in her seat as Clover Lake’s downtown swished by in a blur of golden summer evening light.
Chapter
Ten
Hello, Dolly.
Dylan had said,Well, hello, Dolly.
Like she remembered.
Or remembered something, at least.
Ramona had nearly crashed the car into the Thompsons’ trash and recycling bins—which they left on the street pretty much all week long despite garbage day being on Monday—when Dylan had said it.
When they’d arrived at Lakeland Lanes, the entire place had quieted upon their entrance—five people wearing wacky costumes in June certainly drew some stares and laughs, but no one seemed to recognize Dylan Monroe was among them. People said hi to Ramona and April and the girls, waved at Dylan politely, but she slipped into Clover Lake as a normal person, just like she wanted.
And she was having a blast.
And she was annoyingly good at bowling.
And she was laughing and slurping on a blue slushy and eating nachos and smiling, and she was clearly,clearlynot affected by the wholeHello, Dollything one damn bit.
Which was fine.
It wasfine.
Still, as Ramona sent another bowling ball into the gutter, she couldn’t get the confounded song out of her head, nor could she shake this annoyed-hurt-angry feeling.
Maybe she just needed more nachos.
“You’re terrible at this,” April said. “Have you always been terrible at this?”
