Disappointment crushes the tendrils of hope Rainie’s appearance planted. “Oh. Yeah, of course. Sorry for knocking over your basket.” I wrap my arms around myself, turning to the cart. I don’t want her to see me tear up. I understand her position, I really do. They’d tried to talk to me at the theater, and I caused such a catastrophic scene that the staff had to pause the movie until I confirmed I hadn’t hit my head when I fell into the pond, and no, I have no “litigious intent,” whatever that means.
Understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less. Rainie was the first real friend I made in Ward. I’ve known her since we were in the third grade, when she nut-punched a boy for asking if my parents rode to America on a camel. She’s the person who comes over when I’m sullen and weepy on Mother’s Day and rips the family album out of my hands so we can binge cheesy action movies.
Watching her hate me for the last three weeks broke my heart. I don’t think I can watch her walk away again.
“Don’t cry, Mina,” Rainie says, sighing.
I whirl around. Rainie hasn’t moved from her spot. She aims a lopsided smile at me. “Remember our deal. I get to pick the music every time you cry. I’m probably up by like sixteen car rides.”
I cover my sniffle with a cough. “I’m not crying.”
Rainie rolls her eyes. “Sure, and I don’t have a tattoo of a scarecrow on my thigh.” After weeks of pointed glares, her exasperation warms me to the core. Exasperation means she cares. It means she hasn’t written me off.
No earthly force could stop me from throwing my arms around her in a crushing hug.
She goes back on her heel, gruffly patting my shoulder. “Okay, alright. C’mon.” She pries me away. “Get it together, Eenie Meenie Mina.”
I groan. “Please do not revive that horrible nickname. I have enough of those going around.”
“Oh?” She raises a pierced brow. “Do tell.”
“Absolutely not. You don’t need any more fodder.”
“Okay, I’ll guess. Minatour, Mina-ty Fresh—”
I grin, shaking my head as she recites an increasingly ridiculous list of nickname options. We meander around the store, and I keep piling items into my cart to avoid the inevitable checkout line departure. Rainie regales me with the latest drama at school, and I soak it up eagerly. Life exists outside this curse. Life didn’t stop when I fell off track; it’s still moving, still marching forward, and if I stay tuned to the beat, I might have a chance of catching up if this curse breaks.
When.When this curse breaks.
At the checkout line, Rainie browses the gum selections. The girl hates chewing gum nearly as much as she hates fruit-scented perfumes.
She’s lingering. Could she be as reluctant to leave as I am?
I pay a staggering amount at the register and load my cart with the bagged groceries. I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say that doesn’t sound as desperately pathetic asDoes this mean you like me again?
At the exit doors, I stall, pretending to peruse a barrel of persimmons, but this time it’s out of caution. Rainie might follow me to the car if we walk out together. Fewer people in the parking lot means a higher chance of winding up alone.
“We’re going dress shopping tomorrow,” Rainie blurts, eyeing the persimmons like they’re about to grow teeth and jump her. “Come with us.”
I blink. “For prom?”
“Ugh. Yes. Lucia insisted. We’re driving up to Klamath Falls.”
My brows hit my hairline. “You’re leaving the state to go dress shopping? Whoareyou?” Much like Ward, Klamath Falls straddles the border between Oregon and California, except Klamath sits on the opposite side of the line. Most folks in Ward just drive down to Redding for their big shopping sprees.
She kicks my shin. “I’m buying my outfit from a thrift store. Lucia’s the one terrified of repeating the red dress incident. A couple of girls wear the same dress at MORP one time, and she loses her crap.”
I ache to accept her invitation. A day away from journals and curses and haunted houses, worrying about the neckline of overpriced dresses and arguing over where to eat dinner … the wanting hollows me out. “I don’t think I can. Klamath is kind of far.”
“It’s less than two hours.” Rainie crosses her arms over her chest, scuffing her shoe against the linoleum. At this rate, Aida’s gonna have to repaint the boots within the month. “Are you gonna make me say please? Fine. Please, Mina. Come with us to buy stupid dresses for stupid prom.” Rainie picks at her lower lip, a nervous habit I haven’t seen her whip out since the sixth grade. “Lucia would love it. Probably spend half the ride crying on your shoulder. She misses you.”
I know what Jesse would want. He’d tell me to square my shoulders and let her down gently. Remind me not to follow my heart when my head knows better.
“We all miss you,” Rainie confesses on an exhale, and my heart calls the game.
“What time are we heading out?”
At eight the next morning, I trudge out of the house to a street shrouded in fog and a stoic Jesse leaning in front of my car. Half obscured beneath the fog, his boots crossed at the ankle and his hands jammed in his jacket pockets, he seems more suited for roaming the marshes. A character conjured from the pages of a tragic gothic tale.
