?
“Wow,” Lynn whispers, conspiring against me with the rest of my book club, and Fawn, who—FOR THE RECORD—hates people.
Graceful as a princess nearly about to be subjected to treason, I float in my expensive dress with my million and one dollar crown, doing my royal duty of passing out candy to peasant children. Benevolent, me. Kind, me. Easilystabbed in the back, sniff, me.
“He’shuge,” Beth hisses.
“He’shot,” Leeann states.
Fawn chuckles. “He hasso many tattoos.”
The women gasp, and the huddle gets more claustrophobic. Which—FOR THE RECORD—Fawn is supposed tohate. Clearly, her hatred of the present starlight monarchy outranks her hatred of people. I am, genuinely, shocked and appalled that she came with us tonight.
Since.
You know.
Shealsohates children.
Threatens to eat them, she does, whenever possible.
“Where are the tattoos?” Lynn asks, an old woman starved for scandal.
“I’ve seen them on his arms, but I bet they’re everywhere.” Fawn chuckles some more, evilly this time. “Why don’t we ask Princess Mira for more details? I betshe’sseen the grand number.”
I hand a full-size Snickers to a boy dressed in an inflatable dinosaur suit and let my poor lip tremble as I meet my former friend’s eyes. “Why do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you. Iloveyou. And a future where you are a pampered princess. Forever. No more cooking and cleaning. Spoiled princess wife life only.”
I bristle at the very notion. And then I bristle again because the love child of Spider-man and Goliath sidles up beside me the second the street obtains a brief reprieve from children. Tense, I turn myself toward Mr. Anders.
Spider-man looks at me, and I gulp. It’s not cheap spandex he’s wearing. It’s Hollywood-grade, quality costuming. The only hint I have that Tom Holland does not lay beyond the red-and-blue suit is that I don’t believe Tom Holland is twenty-seven feet tall.
“Are you cold?” Mr. Anders asks, as though I’m not at risk of overheating in front of my favorite superhero.
I shake my head. “Are you?”
He looks down at his full suit, not an inch of skin revealed. “Bit warm, actually.”
Oh. Great. Fabulous. That makes two of us.
Snuggling up with the bowl of candy I’m holding, I hope I don’t melt the chocolate as I look down my skirt at the pavement. “Thank you for getting me a dress with long sleeves.”
“I checked the weather forecast before I rush ordered it.”
A cool breeze touches my neckline, and Mr. Anders moves from my one side to the other in order to block it, which…kinda makes me need it more if I’m being honest. So it’s a good thingI’mnot the one obligated to be honest.
“Do you get the feeling,” Mr. Anders begins, voice low beneath the whistle of wind and distant laughter of children, “that the people behind us are in need of popcorn?”
I glance back atthe people behind us. Breaths bated, all four of them stare.
Facing forward again, I mutter, “I think the people behind us need lives.”
A sound I’m coming to recognize as a laugh leaves Mr. Anders before his covered hand weasels mine away from my bowl of candy to lace our fingers. He turns. With some amount of great skill, he steals my entire bowl of candy and dumps it in Fawn’s arms before he tugs me along after him, toward the side of Lynn’s house.
Gathering my skirt and tripping to keep up, I say, “Mr. Anders? Where are we going?”
He stops us once we’re far enough away from the street that I can no longer hear my former friends plotting against me. Then he locks my hand in his grasp and pulls, flattening my back against the siding.
