“They’re from Wyatt’s mom,” I say because surely, that will help. “She heard that Madeline was in the ER, so, cookies.”
“There’re cookies?” says Madeline’s voice, and I turn. She’s coming down the stairs in flannel pajama pants and a bluehoodie, with a bandage on her forehead and another on her right hand. She looks like she just woke up.
“It’s really chivalrous that you’re defending her cookies,” Bastien mutters, just loud enough that no one but me can hear it.
“Shutup,” I hiss.
“Javier told me to shut up!” he calls over his shoulder, and my mom turns toward us.
“You’re grown men!” she says, exasperated. “Work it out!”
“Am I interrupting something?” Madeline asks, coming up to stand catty-corner from me at the kitchen island.
“Not atall.” Bastien smiles dickishly. “Here, Javi saved these for you.”
“Wyatt’s mom heard you got injured, so she came by my work and gave me cookies to give to you,” I explain while I also try to kill Bastien with my mind. “They’re chocolate chip.”
“Wow, news travels fast,” she says, taking one. She stands ramrod straight and considers the cookie for a moment before taking a bite.
“It’s a small town,” I say, shrugging. Now doesn’t seem like the time to mention that, actually,the blue-haired girl who followed GPS instructions instead of common sense drove into a ditch and had to get stitchesis the biggest story in Sprucevale at the moment.
“So everyone knows I’m the dumbass who drove off a road?” She covers her face with her hands. “Sorry. I’m just…”
Bastien reaches out and claps her on the shoulder. “We’ve got, like, two more days here,” he says. “Buck up.”
“You can say that because you don’t look like a horror icon.”
“You’re moreBride of FrankensteinthanFrankenstein’s Monster, though, and Javi used to think she was a total smokeshow.”
“When have Ieversaid that?” I ask, and Bastien grins, probably because I’m blushing now. I redouble my attempts at mind-murder.
“Every time it came on TV at Halloween? I think you were especially into her unusual hair.”
Madeline is no longer making eye contact with anyone but the kitchen counter, and I would personally love to fall through a trapdoor and into the basement, ideally taking my brother with me.
“How are they?” I ask Madeline instead, because I’ll make any kind of boring conversation to make Bastien stop acting like I’m a high school kid with a crush.
“They’re good,” she answers and gives us both an attempted smile. One hand is resting on the counter, bandaged, where I guess she scraped it on the gravel when she also hit her head.
“Great.” I nearly sayThey’re from Wyatt’s momagain, because I’m very good at conversations. She finishes it off.
“I’m gonna go attempt a shower so I can finally get the blood out of my hair and be one percent less horrifying.” She tries to make it sound like a joke but doesn’t quite succeed. “I’ll be back in, like, two hours.”
“Take a cookie with you!” Bastien shoves the plate at her. Madeline grabs another one, holds it up, attempts another smile, and leaves.
As soon as she’s gone, I turn to Bastien, both hands flat on the countertop, and lean in as aggressively as I can.
“What the fuck?” I hiss, and my asshole brother just snorts.
“Your thing for her is cute.”
“There is nothing,” I lie, and he has the nerve to burst out laughing.
“You can’t think I believe that!” he crows. “What the hell, dude. I haveeyes?—”
“Would you just shut the fuck up about it?” I say, hoping my mom can’t hear. “It’s not a big deal, okay—juststop.”
We stare at each other for a minute, which is just long enough for my mom to come over and grab a cookie.
