the wind crashes in from out of nowhere and picks up whatever isn’t tied down—bang, clank, crack, whomp, whoosh, whack. It’s scary. Especially when big branches from the dying oak beside the shed clatter on the roof.
I can’t even believe, with the trail of blood I left in the hills, that coyotes aren’t circling this shed. I heard a pack howling on the ridge earlier, but they’ve gone silent. I hope they’ve moved on. The coyote population is way out of control, and with all the attacks on humans lately I’m also pretty scared to go outside with my sloughing endometrium. I wonder if the police tracker dogs will pick up on that too? I think we threw them off our scent when we crossed the creek behind the school, but who knows? And the black pit bull next door? It’s only a matter of time until we are sniffed out by one canine or another.
Look at me. This bloody white Mishka. I loved this gown so much. Eggshell satin, fitted at the bodice, with tulle underlay. Sherman had gone silent on the phone after I told him how much it was gonna cost. He choked on the ridiculous expense of the whole American Virtue Ball experience—thousands and thousands of dollars—but couldn’t say no without looking bad in front of the Oakwood Circle dads. He hadn’t been worried about the rift with me, or Shell, but if he couldn’t go to poker night at Big Mike Leon’s once a month, I guessed he’d have to curl up and die. I was delighted that my participation in the AVB caused a ton of conflict between Sherman and Sugar Tits too. I heard her over speakerphone telling my father that he was nothing but a credit card to me. Ain’t a lie.
When I tried on my gown, I made a promise to myself that it was the only wedding dress I’d ever wear, because I’m never getting married. I mean it. I’m not ever getting married. But I definitely wanna fall in love. And I’m gonna have sex. We girls talk about it a fair bit. We’ve all chosen our cherry busters. Even Zara said she’d lose it to that half-blazed Nickelodeon kid if she met him for real. For Brooky, it’s Drake. He’s old, but I get it. Delaney said she’d do our piano teacher’s son, who is caliente, but also spectrum-y. Fee’s gone back and forth from the inked-up dude at the iPhone Fix kiosk to the valet with the tight fade at Sushi Raku.
I’ve been thinking about losing my virginity to Chase Mason since eighth grade. He was a frosh then, and new in town. UnCalabasas without being antiCalabasas. With all the girls who came into the library to hook up with him in the empty media room, it was clear from the start he was a total joystick, which made my crush safe—if he could basically choose any girl, he’d never choose me.
Chase used to shred me about being a prim little Catholic schoolgirl until finally, like, this year, I told him I was sorta Jewish, but actually atheist, and that my Christian school isn’t Catholic. He didn’t seem to know there was a difference. I tried to explain that all Catholics are Christians but all Christians aren’t Catholic, the main differences being confession and Virgin Mary and Holy Communion.
My glutes contracted when Chase reached out to touch the gold crucifix hanging on a thread-thin chain around my neck. “So why do you wear this?”
I have the necklace on right now. Sherman bought it for me when I was four and a half, and asked if I could have a “t necklace” like the other girls. I tell myself I wear it to be ironic. I don’t like to think I wear it because I’m sentimental about my father.
Chase goes, “So this is just a disguise?”
I’d shuddered because, as he handled the little gold cross, the back of his hand touched a sliver of my boob, but also because he’d just nailed me. I was in disguise. I was not who I am.
I tried to think of something flirty to say back. “That’s right. I’m in disguise. Witness protection. And now that you know? Your life’s in danger, Chase Mason.”
“I’m no stranger to danger, Rory Miller.”
I snorted at his corny line. “So if I get in trouble, I should come to you?”
He reached into his pocket and gave me his card. All it said was Lark’s Head—along with