one inch from his ear.
“Sorry I left you hanging,” Scott said. “Looks like you found your own ride home?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said testily, not going to the trouble of hiding my annoyance. “It just taught me never to go out with you again.”
“I’ll make it up to you. Got time for a quick bite?” He hitched his thumb toward a touristy restaurant down the boardwalk. Alfeo’s. I’d eaten there years ago with my dad and remembered the menu as pricey. The only thing I was going to get for under five dollars was water. A Coke if I was lucky. Taking into consideration the exorbitant prices and the company—after all, my last memory of Scott was of him trying to tease my shirt up with a pool stick—I wanted nothing more than to go finish my doughnut.
“Can’t. I’m here with Vee,” I told Scott. “What happened at the Z last night? After I left.”
“I got my money back.” Something about the way he said it left me thinking it hadn’t been quite that simple.
“Our money,” I corrected.
“I’ve got your half at home,” he said vaguely. “I’ll drop it by tonight.”
Yeah, right. I had a feeling he’d already blown all the money, and then some.
“And the guy in the red shirt?” I asked.
“He got away.”
“He seemed really strong. Did he seem that way to you? Something about him was … different.”
I was testing him, trying to figure out how much he knew, but his only comment was a distracted, “Yeah, I guess. So, my mom keeps harping on me to get out there and make new friends. No offense, Grey, but you’re not one of the guys. Sooner or later I’m going to have to branch out. Aw, don’t cry. Just remember all the happy moments we’ve shared together, and I’m sure you’ll be comforted.”
“You dragged me out here to break off our friendship? How did I get so lucky?”
Scott laughed. “I thought I’d start with your boyfriend. He got a name? I’m beginning to think he’s your imaginary friend. I mean, I never see the two of you together.”
“We broke up.”
Something that resembled a twisted smile crept over his face. “Yeah, that’s what I heard, but I wanted to see if you’d cop to it.”
“You heard about me and Patch?”
“Some hot chick named Marcie told me. I ran into her at the gas station, and she made sure to come over and introduce herself. By the way, she said you’re a loser.”
“Marcie told you about me and Patch?” My spine stiffened.
“Want some advice? Some genuine guy-to-girl advice? Forget Patch. Move on. Find some guy who’s into the same stuff you are. Studying, chess, collecting and classifying dead bugs … and give some serious thought to dying your hair.”
“Excuse me?”
Scott coughed into his fist, but I didn’t miss that it was to cover up a smile. “Let’s be honest. Redheads are a liability.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t have red hair.”
He was full-on grinning. “Could be worse. Could be orange. Wicked-witch orange.”
“Are you this big of a jerk to everyone? Because this is why you don’t have friends.”
“A little rough around the edges is all.”
I pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head and made direct eye contact. “For the record, I don’t play chess and I don’t collect insects.”
“But you study. I know you do. I
My mouth fell open. “Okay, so maybe I study a little. But I’m not boring—not
“Riiiiight.”
“Fine,” I said defensively. “What’s something you’re interested in that you think I’d never go for? Stop laughing. I’m serious. Name one thing.”
Scott scratched his ear. “Ever gone to battle of the bands? Loud, unrehearsed music. Loud, unruly crowds. Lots of scandalous sex in the bathrooms. Ten times more adrenaline than the Z.”
“No,” I said a little hesitantly.
“I’ll pick you up Sunday night. Bring fake ID.” His eyebrows arched, and he graced me with an egotistical, mocking smile.
“No problem,” I said, trying to keep my expression ho-hum. Technically, I’d be eating my words if I went out with Scott again, but I wasn’t going to stand here and let him call me boring. And I definitely wasn’t going to let him call me a redhead. “What should I wear?”
“As little as legally allowable.”
I nearly choked. “I didn’t know you were big into bands,” I said, once I’d recovered my breath.
“I played bass back in Portland for a band called Geezer. I’m hoping to get picked up by someone local. The plan is to scout talent Sunday night.”
“Sounds like fun,” I lied. “Count me in.” I could always back out later. A quick text would take care of it. All I cared about currently was not allowing Scott to call me an anal-retentive wimp to my face.
Scott and I parted ways, and I found Vee waiting at our table, half my doughnut eaten.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, watching my eyes travel to my doughnut. “What did Scotty want?”
“He invited me to battle of the bands.”
“Oh boy.”
“For the last time, I’m not on the rebound.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Nora Grey?”
Vee and I looked up to find one of the bakery employees standing over our table. Her work uniform consisted of a lavender polo and a matching lavender name tag that read MADELINE. “Excuse me, are you Nora Grey?” she asked me a second time.
“Yes,” I said, trying to figure out how she knew my name.
She was clutching a manila envelope to her chest, and now she held it out to me. “This is for you.”
“What is it?” I asked, accepting the envelope.
She shrugged. “A guy just came in and asked me to give it to you.”
“What guy?” Vee asked, craning her neck around the bakery.
“He already left. He said it was important that Nora get the envelope. I thought maybe he was your boyfriend. One time a guy had flowers delivered here and told us to give them to his girlfriend. She was at the table in the back corner.” She pointed and smiled. “I still remember.”
I slid my finger under the seal and glanced inside. There was a sheet of paper, along with a large ring. Nothing else.
I looked up at Madeline, who had a dusting of flour smeared across her cheek. “Are you sure this is for me?”
“The guy pointed right at you and said, ‘Give this to Nora Grey.’ You’re Nora Grey, aren’t you?”
I started to reach inside the envelope, but Vee put her hand on mine. “No offense,” she told Madeline, “but we’d like a little privacy.”
“Who do you think it’s from?” I asked Vee, once Madeline was out of earshot.
“I don’t know, but I got goose bumps when she gave it to you.”
At Vee’s words, cold fingers walked down my spine too. “Do you think it was Scott?”
“I don’t know. What’s inside the envelope?” She slid into the chair directly beside mine for a closer look.
I pulled the ring out, and we inspected it in silence. I could tell just by looking at it that it would be loose on my thumb—definitely a man’s ring. It was made of iron, and the crown of the ring, where the stone typically sat, had a raised stamp of a hand. The hand was squeezed into a tight, menacing fist. The crown of the ring was
