to self, Stevie thought, you could say balls to teachers here.)
“It’s summer,” Pix replied, coming into the common room. “Hey, Stevie. I left your parents out on the tour. They’ll be back soon. And Ellie, the heat won’t last long, and then you’ll be freezing. So you can look forward to that.”
“Why don’t they get air-conditioning?” Ellie said, dropping heavily into the hammock chair. She spun around and turned herself upside down, letting her head hang off the bottom, dusting the floor with her hair bunches.
“Because this is an old building with old wiring,” Pix replied. “Because fire. How was Paris?”
“Hot,” Ellie said. “We went to Nice for a while. My mom has a new boyfriend and he has a place there.”
Paris. Ellie had been in Paris. Obviously, Stevie knew that Paris was a real place that real people went to. Her school sponsored a French Club trip the last summer, and she knew three people who had gone on it. It was only a week long and the biggest story out of it was that Toby Davidson got hit by a bike and almost lost a finger. (Almost Lost a Finger: The Toby Davidson Story. Not a compelling read.)
There were shuffling noises by the door, and Stevie turned to see another person there. Though it was blazingly sunny, he had the look of someone caught in a rainstorm with a heavy backpack on. He wore a T-shirt that said IF YOU CAN READ THIS SHIRT, YOU ARE TOO CLOSE. His eyes were a strange pale gray. He had a shock of red-blond hair that had been cut by someone with more enthusiasm than skill.
“Nate!” she said. Out with the hand. Meet his eye. “I’m Stevie.”
Nate looked at her outstretched hand, and then at Stevie’s face, seemingly to check if this was a serious gesture. With a sigh that probably (probably?) wasn’t supposed to be audible, he shook it once and let it go quickly.
Stevie decided to drop the handshake move.
Pix greeted Nate and got out his key, while Ellie examined him from her upside-down position.
“Nate’s a writer,” Stevie offered. “He wrote a book. The Moonbright Chronicles.”
“Never read it,” Ellie replied. “But that’s cool. What about you?”
“I read it,” Stevie said.
“No,” Ellie said. “You. What do you do?”
“Oh, right,” Stevie said, brushing away her mistake. She borrowed her technique from one of her current favorite TV detectives—Sam Weatherfeld of Stormy Weather. Sam never got stuck on moments like that; she always moved with the flow of conversation and didn’t try to walk against the current. It was time to declare herself for what she was. She had considered many terms. It was too presumptuous and silly to say detective; she wasn’t any kind of law officer or private investigator, and she had never really solved a case. Crime buff just sounded like a weird hobbyist with a high gloss. Crime historian wasn’t quite right and was definitely too dull. Her solution was not to give herself a title, but to state an activity.
“I study crime,” she said.
“To do it or stop it?” Ellie said.
“To stop it,” Stevie said, “but it probably works either way.”
“So you came here because of the crimes?” Ellie said. “The murders?”
“Kind of,” Stevie said.
“That’s cool. Someone should. They’re good murders, right?”
She did half a backward somersault out of the chair. Her skirt stuck up in the back, revealing her butt.
Ellie had simply accepted her, just like that. For a moment it was all endorphins and rainbows in Stevie’s head. That was all it had taken—one nice, accepting word from another student and she realized it would all be okay.
And yes, they were good murders.
Then she caught something in her peripheral vision—her parents were coming down the path with another pair of parents, mostly likely Nate’s. Nate’s parents were very angular people, crisply dressed in near-matching polo shirts and long shorts. The colors were different, but the effect was the same. Stevie’s dad was talking and gesticulating, and her mom was nodding. Nate’s father was listening, and his mother was scanning the house and the middle distance.
The endorphins fled the scene and were replaced by cold sweat. What were her parents saying? Were they talking about their views on the media? That the government was trying to control the lives of decent Americans? The myth of climate change? Or was it something more fun, like the price of bulk toilet paper? These were all favorite topics and all equal possibilities.
Stevie looked to Nate, who was staring at