of the Nook. But he’s never been inside our apartment. I think she’d be cool with it.
Lucky in our apartment. Whoa. I’m a little fluttery just thinking about it. Another first for us. It’s one thing for us to be on our own private boat together, but in public, around other people … that’s new territory. Good territory. It’s just new. And exciting.
“I’ll double-check to make sure it’s all okay,” I tell him. “But I’m pretty sure it is. Just text me when you’re done?”
He checks to make sure no one’s watching and quickly kisses my forehead, holding oil-stained hands away from my shirt. “Sounds like a plan. Mushrooms and olives on my side, by the way. No cheese.”
“That’s not even pizza anymore,” I say, making a face.
“If they have clams—”
“NO.”
He grins. “See you in an hour.”
I cross back over to the Nook and head around back, up the steps, and into our apartment. Looks clean. Okay. At least I don’t have to freak out about that. I text Mom but when she doesn’t reply right away, I’m not surprised. Hopefully she’ll see it before he comes over.
Heading through the living room past our 1950s pinup girl lamp, I make a beeline to Evie’s room and knock briefly on her door. I know she’s there, because the sounds of grungy 1980s post-punk music rattle the walls. She’s probably studying for class and can’t hear me, so I knock louder and then crack open the door and stick my head through.
“Hey,” I shout over the music.
Then I freeze.
Evie’s there, all right. She’s not alone.
A dark head of hair rises from the covers like a mermaid from the water, and for a moment, there’s a jumble of limbs, and I’m seeing way more of my cousin’s skin than I want to see. But when I blink, most of that skin is quickly covered up with a quilt, and a face I never wanted to see again is staring back at me.
Adrian Summers.
He looks at me.
I look at him.
Evie looks at me.
What do I do now? I know I shouldn’t be here, but it’s too late. They’re both staring at me in horror. And I’m staring back. It’s all super uncomfortable, and the music’s still blasting like it doesn’t realize that it’s underscoring a really awkward moment for all of us.
Oh, Evie. Cuz.
Whyyyyyyy?
She blinks at me with big eyes that say: I couldn’t help it. ’Twas the Saint-Martin curse!
And I glare back at her with narrowed eyes that say: All the disappointment.
Adrian’s crutches are propped up against her bed. Some dark part of me would like to race over to them, snatch them up, and beat him over the head with them until he’s got a concussion. But of course, I can’t do that.
Too late to pretend I haven’t seen this. What do I do here?
WHAT DO I DO? My thoughts race and tumble. It’s Adrian.
Adrian.
Anger builds the longer I look at his stupid face. “Thought you were at your aunt’s.”
“I was,” he says, one shoulder shrugging as he props himself up on Evie’s pillows while she tugs the quilt up higher. “Now I’m here.”
“You should be in jail. You could have killed an animal. Did you know that? Their pet was inside the offices when you threw that crowbar.”
He looks momentarily taken aback. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t throw anything.”
“I should call the cops right now.”
“Josie!” my cousin pleads.
“You have no proof,” Adrian says. “Who’s to say it wasn’t another car? Or maybe it was Jam or Crandall?”
I have no idea who those people are, but I’m guessing they’re his Golden buddies who were in the car with him.
“Besides,” he says. “What if there were actual people inside my dad’s store when grease monkey threw the rock into our window? Ever think about that? Not animals, but real people. He could have murdered someone when he threw the rock.”
“It was an accident,” I say. “I don’t how many times I have to keep saying it.”
Adrian looks at me funny. “Why did you say it that way?”
“What way?”
He points in my direction. “That way.”
Oh god. How did I say it? My heart races when I glance at Evie’s face. She shakes her head—almost imperceptible, but a shake. A warning. “I just meant that I was there with Lucky that night,” I explain to Adrian. “I was there when it happened, and it was an accident. He wasn’t trying to hit the window. He was aiming for the sign. It