“Your vote,” Mikey went on, “should I ever run for office.”
“No,” Cary said. They were at Mikey’s house. Cary pulled into the driveway.
“All right,” Mikey relented. “We just agree to have each other’s back, in every circumstance.”
Shiloh studied Mikey for a second. He could be a real goof sometimes. And he didn’t know when enough was enough. But if he told her that he’d found a dead body in the woods, she’d keep it a secret for him. “Yeah,” she said, “okay.”
“Cary?” Mikey pushed.
Cary sighed and put the car in park. “Yeah. I have your back.”
“You swear it?”
“I swear.”
“And Shiloh’s, too?” Mikey waggled his hand between them. “Are you guys good with each other?”
“You don’t have to make me a blood brother just because I happen to be here,” Shiloh said.
“Oh my god,” Mikey said. “Shut up. You’re baked into this, Shiloh.”
Shiloh turned to Cary.
He was looking at her. “You’ve already got my sword, Shiloh. And my shoulder.”
Shiloh’s face felt hot. “Thanks, Cary. You, too—you know, already.”
“Yes!” Mikey said. “Now we’ve got to shake on it or something. Are you sure we can’t use blood? I just think the actual risk is very low, and then we’ll have hairline scars to mark the occasion.”
Shiloh could be talked into it...
“No,” Cary said.
“Spit, then,” Mikey said.
“Why spit?”
“They do it in movies—I don’t know, I feel like it’s a good compromise.”
Cary shrugged. “Yeah, fine.”
“Really?” Shiloh shuddered. “You’re compromising onspit? I’d rather do blood than spit.”
Mikey spat—excessively—in his palm and held it out.
Cary spat in his own hand, then clasped Mikey’s. Mikey rubbed the spit into their grip. Cary rolled his eyes.
Shiloh was shuddering with every muscle in her body and making a gurgling sound.
“Come on, Shiloh,” Mikey said, holding out his hand to her. “Let’s do this.”
“Noooo.” This had all taken a very bad turn.
“Wow,” Mikey said. “You’re just going to leave a lifelong bond sitting on the table.”
“I can’t do it,” she said.
“Do it!” Mikey ordered. “Before our spit dries.”
