I turn, watching the trees pass by in a blur. Booker Bay is beautiful, with water that shimmers under the sun and sea spray that hits your face. But what would the world give me? What do I have to be excited about?
‘I meant it, you know. About Lucifer’s Dream …’ Ryker speaks slowly, breaking me from my reverie. ‘If you’re not busy tomorrow night, we should go.’
I chew on the side of my mouth while I play with the rings on my right hand. The moonstone ring Monique bought me for Christmas last year has a sliver of blue shining through the middle of it.Would it be awkward? Would Jace be mad? What about Monique?
‘I know you usually go with Monique,’ he offers, sneaking into my mind. ‘She can come too. Renny, Tyler and Jace could come along. We can all go together.’
‘Don’t you have The Prank on tomorrow night?’
‘Yeah, but we can head to the carnival afterward.’ His eyes glimmer like the opalescent blue in my ring.
I bite down my doubts. ‘Yeah, okay. It’ll be fun, but we all have to dress up.Allof us,’ I warn. ‘Monique would be mortified if she was the only one in costume.’
He smiles. ‘She’s a good friend, Monz.’
‘The best,’ I say, because words will never cut it. Words will never explain how many times she’s picked me up after finding me crying on my bedroom floor. When we lost Pa, she brought over trays of food and bags of snacks and just sat with me all night long. It didn’t matter what time it was – if I called, she answered, and she wouldn’t hang up until I fell asleep. She’s there for the lows just as much as she is the highs. She believes in me, not just my art, but anything I want to do. There’s never any judgement or doubt. Just unconditional love and support. She’s my best friend, ever since she plopped down next to me in kindergarten and said she liked my hair. ‘Which is why we can’t disappoint her,’ I continue. ‘We all need costumes.’
‘Hmm, costumes,’ he muses. ‘You’re the artist, think you could help?’
My chest swells. ‘Absolutely.’
There’s something about Lucifer’s Dream that makes it more exciting than any other holiday. Maybe it’s because you can be anything. For one night, you can put on a mask and do anything you want.
Masks … I could make masks …
I get so lost in thought that I don’t take notice of where we’re going until we’re on the outskirts of town, heading toward the old speedway. It’s a dirt track that hasn’t been used in years, not since import cars became the rage and The Lost Tropics became a thing.
Ryker pulls over on the south side of the administration building, behind a few trees. The speedway has a chain-link fence around it, but the gate is open with one vehicle in the huge car park. The painted sign at the entrance, though faded, still displays the wordsBooker Bay Speedway. Next to the sign is a rusting Hudson Hornet with grass and weeds growing through the wheel spokes, giving the car a creepy, apocalyptic vibe.
A bittersweet smile tugs at my lips. There must be at least fifty empty car bays with tufts of grass breaking through the cracks, and it makes me sad that a place that brought so much laughter has been abandoned and left to decay.
My eyes drift over to the more recentPermanently Closedsign attached to the fence.Definitely apocalyptic.
‘Ryker, the speedway is shut down.’
‘Is it?’ He waggles his brows. ‘C’mon, Little Suspect.’
He whips his door open and, before I’m even unbuckled, he’s by the passenger door, holding it open for me. Stepping out, I glare at him, placing my hands on my hips.
‘Is that seriously my name now?’ I scrunch my nose.
‘It’s either Little Suspect or Rocks. Pick.’
‘Rocks?’
‘Yeah. You’ve always got those tiny rocks with you.’ He pinches his thumb and forefinger together, forming a circle.
‘They’re crystals, Ryker!’ I correct. ‘They help with the flow of energy.’
‘Oh yeah, so they’re magic?’ He leans against the car’s doorframe, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. ‘What does the purple one you had earlier help with? The flow of sneaking into art rooms?’
‘Ha, ha.’ I mock. ‘It’s amethyst. It helps with creativity.’
‘You don’t need a rock for that. You’re already amazingly creative.’ He shakes his head before pinning me with a look that demands an answer. ‘So, which nickname is it?’
‘They’re both awful,’ I say, hoping he’ll drop it. He doesn’t. His brows rise, pressing me for an answer.
‘Ugh,’ I groan. ‘Suspect, I guess.’
