She rolled down her window, letting out the car stink, and splayed her fingers to the wind. A picture of Shaun’s impossibly long golden hair wrapped around the headrest of the Buick, wind whipping it wildly around the cabin. Réal swatting it out of the way—“Get a frickin’ haircut, hippie!” Shaun just grinning, sliding his fingers down behind the passenger seat and taking Evie’s hand.
“Do you love Alex?” Evie asked.
“What?” Sunny’s eyes flashed wide. “Where did that come from?”
“I’m just curious,” Evie said, leaning back against the seat. “I just don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like.”
“Oh.” Sunny maneuvered the car onto the county highway, and soon they were flying past orchards and green cornfields. “I guess so,” she said. “I mean, he’s hilarious. And sweet. And a babe, even if he is a total mess.”
“Does he love you?” Evie turned to look at her friend.
“Yeah, he does.” A little smile played on Sunny’s lips. “He’s such a puppy. He totally worships Shaun, you know.”
Evie laughed. “You think?”
Alex was like a thinner, sharper version of Shaun, with feathery reddish-brown hair to his shoulders and the same stretched-out T-shirts. He’d perfected all of Shaun’s facial expressions, though on his angular bones they looked somehow meaner and more defensive.
“He’s like Satan’s Own royalty, you know.” Sunny’s smile had gone dark and sly. “His great-grandfather was an original member, way back.”
Evie gaped at her. “Whoa. I knew his dad had a motorbike, but…”
Sunny cackled. “Yeah, it’s a little more than just having a motorbike. His dad is full-patch. So are, like, a hundred of his cousins. But don’t tell anyone I told you that.”
“Who would I tell?”
“True. Ré already knows, obviously. And Shaun. I guess you’re the last of us. But it goes no further, okay?”
Evie shrugged. She literally had no one else to tell. “Why is it such a big deal?”
“Just…reasons,” Sunny said, laughing again.
“Does it bother you?” she asked. “That he’s a biker?”
“Hells no!” Sunny cried. “It’s, like, the only thing that’s even cool about him.”
“Seriously? But you guys have been together for a million years.”
“Not quite three,” Sunny corrected. “But yeah, long enough. And anyway, I’m kidding. There’s other cool stuff. He’s just so frickin’ bombed all the time, it’s hard to tell anymore.”
Evie laughed. She pictured Alex, red slits in his face for eyes. He was the most stoned guy she’d ever met. And he never seemed to be without weed, though he didn’t have a job of any kind. The others dabbled, but it was truly Alex who earned them all the “burnout” label that followed them at school.
The warm air whirling around the cabin of the Buick almost felt like summer—damp and heavy. Like right before she’d met Shaun the year before. Heat that promised sleepless nights. She pictured her stuffy attic bedroom, Shaun’s ghost all over it still. Suddenly the thought of another night alone there seemed unbearable. “Do you want to go to the lake tonight?” she asked Sunny. “With the guys, I mean?”
Sunny pushed herself back against the cheap vinyl seat, contemplating. “That could be fun. I couldn’t get there till later though. I have a thing tonight.”
“A Korean Mafia thing?” Evie teased. Sunny was always disappearing to do secret stuff she never talked about.
“Don’t mock me, jjin dda!” She swatted a long arm across the seat at Evie, laughing. “I’ll sic my godfather on you! He’s, like, ninety years old, but he’s very fierce! Very fierce.” She spoke these last words in the warbling old voice of her godfather and then cackled insanely.
Evie laughed and shook her head. She rolled her gaze back out the open window, across the empty fields, lifting her fingers to the wind again.
R
Réal slapped the empty pockets of his jean jacket and thought, I am going to murder that girl. The leather clasp that normally clipped his keys to the inside pocket was missing, and when he ducked out to check the parking lot, sure enough, the Buick was gone.
He stood at the top of the stairs, jacket clenched in his fist, the crash of metal doors hitting their stops full force echoing across the pavement. No one drove the Buick. No one.
He flared his nostrils for one second more, neck tight, jaw tight, then turned, yanking the door open again.
Réal froze.
At the end of the first floor hallway stood two dark-blue uniforms.
They hovered outside the main office, talking to the principal, who was nodding a lot, looking serious.
Réal swallowed and opened his hand. As the door swung from his grip, the sun cast a white glare across the glass, and all he could see was his own reflection staring back at him, wide-eyed. His heart knocked against his ribs.
Ciboire! he swore. His books were still inside.
Behind him, the sound of a familiar engine rose up, and he turned to see the Buick bouncing back into the parking lot, Sunny smiling coolly from the driver’s seat.
“Fuck, Sunny,” he muttered, more relieved than he wanted to be at seeing her behind the wheel. He dove down the steps and yanked open the car door, getting in practically on top of her. “Move over, for Christ’s sake,” he ordered, tossing his jacket at the girls.
Sunny slid across the front seat, long legs and leather boots piling all over Evie. Réal swung around and pulled right back out of the lot again, the Buick roaring like a bull, Sunny whooping gloriously over the sound.
“Ça va, Réal?” she singsonged, leaning against him, her body warm and cool at the same time.
“Don’t even talk to me,” he said, eyes flicking at the rear-view mirror.
“Aw, are you mad at me?”
“You stole my car! Yeah, I’m mad at you, dumbass.”
Sunny shrugged. “I had to. Evie was having a meltdown. I had to take her home.”
“Yeah, good work,” he muttered. “She’s still here.”
“Well, I had to bring the car back. It was almost out of gas!”
Réal glanced at the gauge on the dash. “Fuck, Sunny!”
Sunny just laughed and leaned
