Her father was supposed to be here; she had heard her parents arranging it. She had been sure he would see her face and find a reason to kick them all out. She had been counting on him.
When Marlow turned and padded back to the kitchen, the boys had the fridge door wide open, its otherworldly light and cold leaking into the room as they got out her father’s starchy beers and pored over the labels.
“Buncha old-man IPAs,” one of the boys muttered, green eyes rolling high. Taylor, his name was. A jock. They both were. The other—Angel, who wore his hair in a boxy flattop—closed the fridge and handed the bottle in his hand to Honey. He hadn’t even taken a beer for himself, Marlow realized. Pathetic. She had entertained a crush on Angel earlier that year, and now she had an urge to call up her diary in her head, to swipe away all the passages concerning his smooth biceps and nut-colored eyes. She was forever editing her diary.
Marlow looked over at Grace. She was doing what she always did when she first got to Marlow’s house: perching forward on a stool at the kitchen island, rearranging the fruit in the shallow wooden bowl. She would not meet Marlow’s eye.
Honey rested the lip of her beer’s ridged cap against the island. She angled the bottom of the bottle toward herself and brought the heel of her palm down hard on the cap. It popped off the bottle and fell to the floor. Powdery chips of the countertop rained down after it.
“So,” Honey said, over the trickle of steam. “Is Eva meeting us, or?”
Marlow pulled herself up to sit on the counter. “I texted her and she can’t,” Marlow said curtly. “She’s stuck at home. She has to watch her little brother. Billy,” she added, almost giggling at her own recklessness. Where the fuck was her dad?
“No big deal,” said Honey. She kept her eyes locked on Marlow as she raised the butt of the bottle and started to chug from it. Ten seconds went by, then nearly twenty, and still she didn’t stop. The beer trickled out both corners of Honey’s mouth and tunneled down her neck to her cleavage. Taylor’s eyes tracked the drip hungrily, but Marlow saw that Angel was frowning now, looking away. It was silent in the room but for a series of muffled yelps, like something tiny dying in a bag. It took Marlow a moment to place the sound: Honey’s rhythmic swallowing.
Finally, the bottle was empty. Honey lowered it. She burped with a force that rattled her face. Taylor laughed like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.
“So let’s go to her house,” Honey said.
“Who?” asked Grace. It was like they couldn’t remember life before Honey chugged the beer.
“Eva,” Honey said impatiently. She tossed the bottle into the sink and walked across the kitchen. She didn’t have to ask which door led to the garage. She grabbed the knob right away, like she had been there many times. She must have been a longtime follower, Marlow thought. She must have been a loyal fan.
* * *
The car Honey chose was one of Aston’s favorites, because of-fucking-course it was: a silver vintage Land Rover, retrofitted with autonomous everything.
Honey was in what was still called the driver’s seat. Grace went for shotgun, but Honey tilted the world she had built by waving Grace off and summoning Marlow. So Grace was in the back seat, wedged between Angel and Taylor, who set their hands on the upholstery in just such a way that their pinkies grazed her thighs.
“On,” Honey said to the car. To Marlow, she said, “What’s Eva’s address?”
Marlow started to panic. She kept her eyes on the closed garage door.
“Marlow.” Marlow felt Grace’s fingertips on her shoulder. “Just tell her the truth,” she said quietly. “Tell her Eva isn’t real.”
“What’s she talking about, Marlow?” Honey pressed her palms into the wheel so that her arms went straight. She waited.
Marlow tugged at her seat belt. “I don’t know the exact address.”
Grace sighed.
“Can’t you look her up on your map?” Honey said.
“She—” Marlow straightened her spine. She had gone this far, and she rather liked the sound of the fib that came to her next. “Eva doesn’t use mapping,” she said. “It’s a French thing.”
In the back seat, Taylor laughed again.
“That’s okay.” Honey eased the car forward. Marlow’s heart began to pound. The garage door sensed the vehicle coming and slid up to