The crux of it is who the favor is actually for. Clover Kerington. The bane of my existence since I was ten years old. She and Brynn both had their sixth birthdays on the same day at the same kids’ arcade, and they immediately got attached at the hip. From there, our moms also became best friends, and that’s what led to me dealing with Clover for every holiday, everyspecial occasion, and every vacation until I was old enough to move out. Even then, she was still there for those things; I was just able to escape more easily. She moved away when they turned 19 for her big job opportunity, leaving ol’ Ashstone Ridge in the dust, and I thought I had seen the last of her.
Here I am, thirteen years later, rolling up to Brynn’s to save the day.
My windshield wipers are going full blast. It’s suddenly started pouring rain, but I’m not in a huge hurry to get there. Sadistic of me?
Maybe.
When I turn into the driveway, the high beams of my truck land on a girl lying in the middle of the sidewalk. Cackling. The combination of my truck lights, Brynn’s outside lights, and the rain makes it hard to really make out her details, but I know it’s her. No one else would be in the rain laughing like an idiot in this temperature.
I keep the truck on when I slide out, heat blasting. It’s barely into spring, so it’s still pretty fucking cold out, especially at night. I pull my hoodie up over my head and jog towards her.
“Clover?” I shout over the rain, getting her attention.
“Hey, Beck,” she says. “I’m so sorry, I know this isn’t what you had plan-”
I cut her off. “No. It’s not what I had planned, but I’m here.” I continue to walk past her, heading towards my sister’s front door. She might want to stay in the rain, but I sure as hell ain’t going to.
I get up to the porch and pull my hood back down. I wipe the rain off my face with my sleeve before I dig around in my pocket for the keys.
“Why didn’t you use the hide-a-key?” I say loudly, hoping she can hear the irritation over the rain.
“I tried,” a voice says behind me, and I jump.
“Jesus Christ, Clover,” I exhale. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” she says meekly. She points to the upside-down fake rock that Brynn’s key hides in. I use the term hides very, very loosely. “It didn’t work.”
“Sounds like user error,” I say, grumbling. Of course, Clover would fuck up using a key. Right in her area of expertise: being a goddamn mess. I slide my key in. “Watch carefully, maybe you can learn something,” I say confidently. I pause for dramatic effect and turn the key.
It does nothing. “What the fuck,” I say, looking at the lock.
“Oooh, ahhh,” Clover says dramatically. “I absolutely learned something, Bucket. How to look like an asshole 101. Thanks, teach.”
I bristle when she calls me Bucket. She hasn’t called me that since we were kids, and she would always do it to piss me off. It’s like I had a secret panel of buttons all labeled with ways to aggravate the shit out of me, and she was the only one with the manual to it. I try to relax my jaw and let go of my tension. I’ve been doing really well at letting things roll over me, practicing patience and empathy.
She’s about to ruin that streak.
“That key looks old,” she says, peeking over my arm at it. I’m not sure why I move in front of her view, like I don’t want her to see it. Why am I being so defensive?
“Yeah, I’ve had it for like ten years, Clover.”
“Do you wanna try the new one?” She looks up at me. It’s crazy how she was almost as tall as me at one point, and now she barely comes up to my shoulder. Brynn towers over her now, too, and Brynn’s only 5’5.
“The new one?” I ask, coming back to the conversation.
“Yeah. The one for the locks she put on after Gaslighting Grayson.”
I scrub my hand over my face. Brynn told me a couple of months ago that she did that, but I never remembered to get the key from her. Fuck.
“Did you know he stole her slow cooker?” She stares at me with a solemn expression.
“I actually didn’t know that,” I say. “Huh. Why would you want someone else’s slow cooker?”
I walk to Brynn’s living room window, trying to think of ways to get into her house.
“Honestly, no idea. If it’s the one I think it was, it’s been a fire hazard for like seventeen years,” Clover rambles on as I wedge my fingers under the window and pull, hoping for once in my life that she was irresponsible enough to leave it unlocked.
She wasn’t.
