Caroline freezes in place, looking confused. Then she turns to me, raising one eyebrow.
“It’s true,” I say, shrugging apologetically. “Sorry. But I’m supposed to meet someone I’ve never met, and I want Aiden to come as backup. Safety in numbers and all that.”
If anything, this new information seems to get Caroline even more fired up. “Aiden,” she says. She wags her finger at him as she speaks, something that makes her seem much older than him. “Are you just going to let your roommate go by herself? What if something happened to her? How guilty would you feel?” Then, turning to me, she adds kindly, “I’m sure nothing will happen, of course. Still, though.” She gives Aiden a disapproving frown. “I’m going to have a word with Mom about how she raised you?—”
“Don’t you dare,” Aiden says for the second time in the last ten minutes. This time, though, his face pales. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Well, she should know that she raised a coward.”
I bite my lip. “That’s not it,” I say. It’s stupid to pretend I know Aiden better than his own sister, but whatever. “I’m sure he just doesn’t want to mess with it?—”
“Fine,” Aiden cuts me off. He’s rubbinghis temples again; is he getting a headache? “Fine. Look. Here’s the deal.” He turns to me. “I will go with you to the statue after the dance. We will stay for ten minutes.Ten minutes. That’s it. Got it? After that, I’m leaving. You can stay if you want?—”
“No,” I say quickly. “Ten minutes is perfect. It’s just fine. We can leave after that. In return—” I cast around, thinking of a way I can repay him. “In return, I will provide seasonal decor for the house. I will also cook meals for both of us for the next week. Does that sound fair?”
“That’s fair,” he says stiffly, and he does look a little more placated now that I’ve made this offer. “I don’t care about decorations, though.”
“I figured,” I say, smiling slightly. “That’s why I added the meals part.” I love cooking; it won’t be a problem for me to make a little extra.
“Well, that worked out wonderfully,” Caroline says. Then she smiles at me. “Do you have a dress?”
“Oh, I don’t think I need to wear a dress,” I say. “I’m not planning on actually dancing or anything?—”
“Nonsense,” she says, and again I’m taken aback by how much older she seems now that she’s shaking that finger at me. “If you’re going to the dance, you need to wear a dress. Aiden’s dressing up, aren’t you, Aiden?”
“Only because they’re making me,” he says. “I’m getting out of here before I get wrangled into any more nonsense. Caroline, feel free to leave any time.”
“Where are you going?” she says, watching him blankly as he moves in long strides to the front door, where he grabs his keys from the little hook on the wall.
“Food bank,” he says without looking back. “I have a shift. I’ll be back in time to leave at six, Juniper. If you’re not here, I’m going without you. You, on the other hand”—he jabs onefinger in his sister’s direction—“I would greatly prefer that you werenothere when I return home.”
“I’ll be here,” I say, watching him go.
“I’ll leave,” Caroline says, looking grouchy, which only serves to highlight how similar she and her brother are in appearance. I give her a polite goodbye, and then she goes, leaving me alone in the house.
“I didn’t realize he works there,” I murmur to myself as I trail back to the stairs. I’m not surprised, I guess; Aiden has been feeding the hungry since we first encountered each other. It’s strange, though, imagining him working someplace I used to frequent as a teenager. Like two separate parts of my world, colliding without my permission.
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I need to go write a murder mystery—or rather, I need to go researchhowto write a murder mystery, since romance isn’t working out.
But slowly, absently, my hand slides around my torso and to the base of my spine—until I feel the thin, raised scar that’s the only remainder of the first time I met Aiden Milano.
* OF COURSE THERE IS, JUNIPER.
7
TWENTY-ONE YEARS AGO
JUNIPER, 9; AIDEN, 14
I’m hungry.
These days it feels like I’m always hungry. It feels like I’m always hungry, and also like there’s never enough food. Mama says I’m a black hole, guzzling down everything we have on account of the growth spurt I’m going through. Except I think she might be wrong about the growth spurt, because I’m still short and scrawny like I’ve always been.
Maybe I just need to eat more.
I ease out of my bedroom door, listening with my ears wide open so I’ll be able to hear if Mama wakes. The sun’s well past up, but Mama works nights and sleeps a lot during the day. She doesn’t like it when I wake her up, so I try to be sneaky quiet as I tiptoe down the hall. I stick my head around the corner and peek into the TV room; sure enough, there she is, asleep on the couch with a couple bottles next to her. She says that’s her medicine, but I’ve never noticed it making her any better.
Mostly it just makes her fall asleep.
