And then I understood.
All the upcoming sophomore, junior, and senior girls had already jumped at least once. Some had only gone once, ever. But they’d all done it.
Out of the rising freshmen, Morgan was the only one who’d jumped so far.
I looked at Syd.
The manifesto was supposed to include everyone. Gather them all in. Bring us together as a team.
But Syd was making it all about the jump.
74.
now
The Verity smell hits me the minute I walk inside. That delicious, cold, ice cream scent.
I always swore it soaked into Sam’s clothes. That his shirt smelled like vanilla, and that I could taste blackberries on his lips and smell butter pecan in his hair.
Everything is pin-neat, shipshape. The ice cream tubs are full and pristine, waiting for someone to dig into them, and the scoops are lined up neatly, one next to each tub. The glass case shimmers. The red-and-white paper napkins are neatly stacked, as if someone has used a ruler’s edge to get themexactly so.The red vinyl–padded chairs are tucked in under the round chrome tables. Four chairs to each table.
Yolo is going crazy over by the ice cream, so I scoop him a dish of vanilla, set it on the floor, tie his leash to a chair, and leave him to gorge himself. The back rooms are shiny equipment and tile floors. I hold my breath when I go into the restrooms and check for anything. No messages scrawled on the inside of the stalls. Nothing out of place that I can see.
If I really can get in anywhere,I think,I should make the most of this. I should go to stores and take whatever I want. I should go to rich people’s houses and drink their booze.
I’ve never had a drink in my life. Before, I didn’t want to mess up my running. After, I didn’t want to mess up me.
Any more than I already was, anyway.
Out in the main area again, Yolo is licking his bowl clean. I take a couple of steps back and let my eyes run over the list of flavors. In a movie, this might be where I see the clue. Maybe certain letters would be underlined or shaded, and if I put them all together, it would explain something. Or I’d stare at the flavors and somehow they’d rearrange themselves in front of my eyes.
“I guess we can go,” I start to say to Yolo, and that’s when it happens.
Again.
That out-of-the-corner-of-my-eye flash. This time near the side door, the one I can’t fully see. The bells jingle. The air in the room shifts slightly as a door opens, closes.
Someone just left.
75.
now
“How are they doing this?” I ask Yolo. I’m furious and sweaty and panting because I have been running around a parking lot and up and down the alleys and side streets near Verity carrying a heavy, furry, pissed-off cat in my arms. “I’ve never heard a car. So they’ve got to be on foot, right?”
Whoever it is has escaped us again. They always stay just out of view, flickering like a candle, like stars behind clouds.
76.
now
“So where to next?” I ask Yolo, setting him down by my car.
He’s straining on his leash back toward Verity’s front door. He wants more ice cream.
“We’re not going back in,” I tell him. They’re gone, whoever it was. I might have caught them if I hadn’t had to untie Yolo’s leash before I could start chasing.
I’d be faster without him.
