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“And then this much,” she narrowed her thumb and pointer finger to a sliver, “of vodka or rum. It’s in the tall glass bottles.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take care of my parents.”

“Is Abby home?”

“No, she’s at Jess Wilkson’s party. Ready?”

“Yes.”

They opened the door to muted sounds of Love Boat from the television and Blondie from an upstairs record player. “Pretend you’re getting something to eat,” Linnea said. She and Ulla walked into the haze of smoke.

“Hey! It’s Princess Leia,” Nose-man said and Glasses-man laughed.

“Just getting something to eat,” said Linnea. “She can fill your drinks.”

“Barmaids!” Glasses said, slapping down a card. “I love it!” He peered at Ulla. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

Ulla lifted his glass, examining it. “Need a refill?”

“Rum and Coke, sweetheart,” he said.

Linnea grabbed the two-liter of pop and a tall amber glass. She handed Ulla the pop and whispered, “Shield me.”

Ulla slowly poured the cola while Linnea dumped half the rum down the sink and then whisked it back to Ulla’s hands to top it off.

They repeated this with Nose’s drink.

Ulla followed Linnea into the living room. They found more bottles to repeat their strategy. Ulla paused, recognizing someone on the couch. A skinny man who towed for Curlers’ wrecking yard. She never liked the way he handed over metal scraps and made comments like, What’s a cute little girl doing playing with such big cars?

“Meet me in my bedroom,” Linnea said.

Ulla gladly and swiftly did so. She closed the door behind her. She hadn’t been in Linnea’s room since third grade, always obeying Ronja’s demand not to step foot inside the Larsson house. But what did she care now about her lying mother’s rules?

She looked at herself in Linnea’s dresser mirror and wiped off the excess red lipstick smudged around her mouth. She handled a Rubik’s cube that Linnea had bought earlier at Kmart and solved in five minutes. Ulla twisted the colors up again. She arranged the Cover Girl eye shadows and hot pink tubes of lipstick. She picked up the small scissors Linnea used to trim her bangs.

The door opened. “That was fast,” Ulla said and turned to see Skinny-man close the door.

Ulla’s throat soured, and her heart plunged into her gut. She slid her eyes to the scissors that rested in her palm. She tightened her hand around them.

An hour later, even though time felt suspended, Ulla and Linnea clutched one another, hidden under blankets on the floor of Ulla’s bedroom. The door squeaked open, hesitant. Her mother’s shadow cut across Ulla, and her hand gently stroked her daughter’s damp hair. She sighed. “Get some rest.” Her mother pressed her lips onto each of their heads and then left.

Ulla didn’t rest. Neither did Linnea. They lay awake next to one another, their fingers entwined. Though Ulla’s body had finally stopped shaking, her insides had coalesced into a heavy lump. Shared images from that night, though invisible, flashed above them on the white ceiling. Ulla closed her eyes to blot them out, but they were still there. Blood spurting. A violent scream. Running. Red drops on Linnea’s white costume. Shoving their clothes into the garbage can underneath a greasy pizza box and other refuse. Scrubbing her skin in the scalding shower while her mother pounded on it, demanding to know where the girls had been when she went to pick them up at Wiley’s.

Out for a walk, they’d lied.

They both startled at the sharp rapping on the front door. Ulla’s heart exploded in her ears. She gripped Linnea’s hand. The front door opened.

Hushed voices exchanged words.

The bedroom door creaked. “Linney,” Ronja’s voice splintered. “Linney, I’m so sorry, but someone is here⁠—”

Ulla sat up. “Mamma, no.”

“It’s the police, Ulla. They⁠—”

“No!”