night.”
I flicked on my blinker to pass a car in the right lane. “They’re not the same,” I insisted, in spite of my own similar thoughts. “Heidi Anderson was drunk. She probably died of alcohol poisoning.”
“Nuh-uh.” Emma shook her head, blond hair bouncing in the corner of my vision. “The news said they tested her blood. She was drunk, but not that drunk.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. “So she passed out and hit her head when she fell.”
“If she did, don’t you think the cops would have figured that out by now?” When I didn’t answer, Emma continued, shielding her eyes from the glare of a passing highway light. “I don’t think they know what killed her. I bet that’s why they haven’t scheduled her funeral yet.”
My hands tightened on the wheel, and I glanced at her in surprise. “What are you, spying on the dead girl?”
She shrugged. “Just watching the news. I’m grounded—what else is there to do? Besides, this is the weirdest thing that ever happened around here. And the fact that you predicted one of them is beyond bizarre.”
I flicked on my blinker again and swerved off the highway at our exit, forcing my hand to relax around the wheel. I didn’t even want to think about my premonition anymore, much less talk about it. “You don’t know the deaths are connected. It’s not like they were murdered. At least not the girl in Arlington. Mike saw her die.”
“She could have been poisoned….” Emma insisted, but I continued, ignoring her as I slowed to make the turn onto her street.
“And even if they are connected, they have nothing to do with us.”
“You knew the first one was going to die.”
“Yeah, and I hope it never happens again.”
Emma frowned but let the subject go. After I dropped her off, I pulled into an empty lot down the street from her house and called Nash.
“Hello?” In the background, I heard gunfire and shouting, until he turned down the volume on his TV.
“Hey, it’s Kaylee. Are you busy?”
“Just avoiding homework. What’s up?”
I stared out the windshield at the dark parking lot, and my heart seemed to stumble over the next few beats while I worked up my nerve.
“Kaylee? You there?”
“Yeah.” I closed my eyes and forced the next words out before my throat froze up. “Can I use your computer? I need to look something up, but I can’t do it at home without Sophie snooping.” And I did not want my aunt to bring me laundry without knocking—as was her habit—and see what I was looking up online.
“No problem.”
But second thoughts came fast and hard. I should not be alone with Nash in his house—that whole willpower thing again.
He laughed as if he knew what I was thinking. Or heard it in my nervous silence. “Don’t worry. My mom’s here.”
Relief and disappointment came in equal parts, and I fought to let neither leak into my voice. “That’s fine.” I started the engine, my headlights carving arcs of light across the dark gravel lot. “You hungry?”
“I was about to nuke a pizza.”
“Interested in a burger?”
“Always.”
Twenty minutes later, I parked on the street in front of hishouse and got out of the car, a fast-food bag in one hand, drink tray in the other. Again, his mother’s Saab was in the driveway, but this time the door was closed.
I crossed the small, neat yard and stepped onto the porch, but Nash opened the front door before I could knock. “Hey, come on in.” He took the drinks and held the door open, and I stepped past him into a clean, sparsely decorated living room.
Nash set the cups on an end table and stuffed his hands in his pockets while I looked around. His mother’s furniture wasn’t new or as upscale as Aunt Val’s, but it looked much more comfortable. The hardwood floor was worn but spotless, and the entire house smelled like chocolate-chip cookies.
At first I assumed the scent was from a candle like the ones Aunt Val lit at
I flicked on my blinker to pass a car in the right lane. “They’re not the same,” I insisted, in spite of my own similar thoughts. “Heidi Anderson was drunk. She probably died of alcohol poisoning.”
“Nuh-uh.” Emma shook her head, blond hair bouncing in the corner of my vision. “The news said they tested her blood. She was drunk, but not that drunk.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. “So she passed out and hit her head when she fell.”
“If she did, don’t you think the cops would have figured that out by now?” When I didn’t answer, Emma continued, shielding her eyes from the glare of a passing highway light. “I don’t think they know what killed her. I bet that’s why they haven’t scheduled her funeral yet.”
My hands tightened on the wheel, and I glanced at her in surprise. “What are you, spying on the dead girl?”
She shrugged. “Just watching the news. I’m grounded—what else is there to do? Besides, this is the weirdest thing that ever happened around here. And the fact that you predicted one of them is beyond bizarre.”
I flicked on my blinker again and swerved off the highway at our exit, forcing my hand to relax around the wheel. I didn’t even want to think about my premonition anymore, much less talk about it. “You don’t know the deaths are connected. It’s not like they were murdered. At least not the girl in Arlington. Mike saw her die.”
“She could have been poisoned….” Emma insisted, but I continued, ignoring her as I slowed to make the turn onto her street.
“And even if they are connected, they have nothing to do with us.”
“You knew the first one was going to die.”
“Yeah, and I hope it never happens again.”
Emma frowned but let the subject go. After I dropped her off, I pulled into an empty lot down the street from her house and called Nash.
“Hello?” In the background, I heard gunfire and shouting, until he turned down the volume on his TV.
“Hey, it’s Kaylee. Are you busy?”
“Just avoiding homework. What’s up?”
I stared out the windshield at the dark parking lot, and my heart seemed to stumble over the next few beats while I worked up my nerve.
“Kaylee? You there?”
“Yeah.” I closed my eyes and forced the next words out before my throat froze up. “Can I use your computer? I need to look something up, but I can’t do it at home without Sophie snooping.” And I did not want my aunt to bring me laundry without knocking—as was her habit—and see what I was looking up online.
“No problem.”
But second thoughts came fast and hard. I should not be alone with Nash in his house—that whole willpower thing again.
He laughed as if he knew what I was thinking. Or heard it in my nervous silence. “Don’t worry. My mom’s here.”
Relief and disappointment came in equal parts, and I fought to let neither leak into my voice. “That’s fine.” I started the engine, my headlights carving arcs of light across the dark gravel lot. “You hungry?”
“I was about to nuke a pizza.”
“Interested in a burger?”
“Always.”
Twenty minutes later, I parked on the street in front of hishouse and got out of the car, a fast-food bag in one hand, drink tray in the other. Again, his mother’s Saab was in the driveway, but this time the door was closed.
I crossed the small, neat yard and stepped onto the porch, but Nash opened the front door before I could knock. “Hey, come on in.” He took the drinks and held the door open, and I stepped past him into a clean, sparsely decorated living room.
Nash set the cups on an end table and stuffed his hands in his pockets while I looked around. His mother’s furniture wasn’t new or as upscale as Aunt Val’s, but it looked much more comfortable. The hardwood floor was worn but spotless, and the entire house smelled like chocolate-chip cookies.
At first I assumed the scent was from a candle like the ones Aunt Val lit at
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