Beth squared her shoulders. “Let’s go, then. If Alice is out there, we’ll find her.”
Carol slung her bag over her shoulder and aimed for the door. “I call shotgun.”
“Fine, but you have to DJ,” Deva tossed over her shoulder, pushing past her.
I just shook my head, overwhelmed in the best possible way. “You guys really are the best,” I muttered, grabbing my keys and notebook.
Outside, sunlight glared off the hood of Beth’s still-new-to-her Pontiac Catalina, the paint so red it looked like a maraschino cherry in the heat. We piled into Beth’s big car, arguing over music and snacks, and for the first time since Alice disappeared, I had hope that we might actually get somewhere.
We had a plan. We had muffins. And we weren’t alone.
It wasn’t much, but for now, it was enough.
THREE
Emma
I’d never seen anyone as happy to parallel park as Beth Ari. The Catalina, her “land boat,” as the rest of us had nicknamed it, was about three feet longer than any other sedan on the block and at least twice as flamboyant. Beth wore its flamboyance like a sequined leotard, drawing stares as she coasted up the curb on Main and let the engine idle with a throaty rumble. She rested both hands on the wheel and looked back at us, beaming.
“I want it on record that I got her into this spot in one try.” Beth grinned, looking more pleased with herself than anyone who had to check her mirrors as many times as she did could possibly justify.
Deva rolled her eyes. “You’ve had enough practice with this beast.”
Beth popped her door open, and the rest of us followed. It was a gorgeous day, late enough in autumn that most of the trees had shed their leaves in spirals across the sidewalk, but warm enough for cardigans over t-shirts and nothing more. The Catalina’s finish looked even redder in the slanted morninglight, the chrome so blinding I squinted every time I caught a glint in the corner of my eye.
We lingered there for a minute, all four of us outside the car, until Beth locked it and then started toward Button Mashers with the purposeful stride of a detective on a stakeout. Carol jogged to catch up. Deva drifted behind, pausing to admire the Halloween window painting on the Italian bakery. I brought up the rear, feeling a little like an overgrown duckling following a line of other ducklings.
Button Mashers was in the back corner of a strip of converted bungalows, wedged between an antique shop and the best donut place in three counties. I didn’t know much about the gaming world, but I’d heard enough from my brother Henry to recognize the shop’s logo. A cartoon joystick bent into the shape of a heart, with “Button Mashers” spelled out in pixelated block letters. The inside looked exactly like the kind of place my brother would lose an entire weekend to. There was a faint, ever-present hum of electronic music and the smell of Doritos dust layered over the musk of generations of Mountain Dew. Shelves on either side overflowed with boxed board games, card decks, pop-culture figurines, and neon-green dice that seemed to glow in the dark corners. A glass display case at the front boasted limited-run retro consoles, plushies, and a binder labeled “RARE YUGIOH TRADES—ASK BEFORE TOUCHING.”
And in the middle of the aisle, with his back turned and all six-foot-something of him hunched over a bargain bin, was Dr. Marquis Ball.
For a half-beat, we all stopped. Maybe because you never expect to see your small-town doctor in a gaming shop before noon on a weekday. Or maybe because Deva was standing there, and the way her face changed when she saw him made the wholemoment feel staged for maximum drama. Deva’s expression flickered from confusion to amusement to a kind of shy, involuntary happiness I’d never seen on her before. In that one second, she seemed younger, softer, less haunted.
Marquis, oblivious to the audience, straightened up and tucked a newly released PS5 game under his arm, his green eyes fixed on the wall of boxed collectibles.
Beth, unable to resist the urge, cleared her throat. “Doctor Ball, is there a medical emergency in the Magic: The Gathering section?”
Marquis started, turning toward us, and it was almost comical how fast he tried to mask his surprise. “You caught me,” he said, and his voice was more bashful than baritone, like he’d been caught eating cookie dough out of the tub at three a.m. “It’s, uh, research.”
Deva stifled a laugh and crossed the carpet to him. “Research,” she repeated, her tone as dry as the Mojave. “Are you planning to study the effects of digital violence on middle-aged men, or is this to help a sickly teen patient?”
“Not exactly,” he said softly.
She lifted a brow and acceptance washed over his face.
Marquis leaned down and kissed her, on the cheek, because he was polite, but it was still enough to bring a pink flush to Deva’s face. “It’s for me.”
She smiled. “Dr. Marquis, are you secretly a nerd?”
He grinned, looking more confident. “You know, it’s okay to like games, Deva. It’s 2025. We don’t have to hide our nerd lives anymore.”
She swatted his chest, and he pretended to stagger backward, hands in the air like she’d actually hit him. The game under his arm threatened to slip, and he caught it at the last second.
Deva stuck out her tongue. “Says the guy who made fun of me for playing Animal Crossing last week.”
“I didn’tmake fun,” he objected, still holding her hand. “I said I was impressed that you’d managed to grow turnips that fast.”
Beth and Carol, sensing the romance was likely to get more embarrassing, made a big show of browsing the trading cards. I lingered by the glass display and tried to look as though I was reading the back of a collectible Banjo-Kazooie lunchbox.
