Wink Poppy Midnight - April Genevieve Tucholke Page 0,48

you have to tell us?” Buttercup asked. “She said you had things to tell us, in the letter.”

Poppy wanted me to tell them about the Roman Luck house. About what me and Wink did to her there. I knew she did.

But instead I just shrugged, quick, like Wink. “Poppy wrote notes on black paper to Thomas and Briggs too . . . maybe this is what she wanted you to know. Thomas thinks they’re clues to finding out where she’s gone. I haven’t made up my mind, though. I’m still thinking.”

Buttercup gave me a small smile then, no red lipstick. “We’ve decided that we’re sorry we were mean to you in the past, Midnight.”

I stared at her for a second. She seemed sincere. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” Zoe. The thick stubs of her brown curly hair rubbed against her cheekbones. She was looking down at her black boots, toes touching, ankles out. “Poppy was a bad influence on us. We can see that now.”

Buttercup nodded.

I thought of Poppy, in the Roman Luck house, her arms above her head, dried blood on her face, whispering you didn’t come back, you left me here and didn’t come back. . . .

If Poppy was a bad influence, then so was I.

Everything went hazy at the edges suddenly, blurry, blurrrrrr . . .

I blinked. And breathed in deep. Again, and again.

“I’ll walk you girls home,” I said.

WE FOUND BRIGGS and Thomas on our way back into town. They were half a mile from the Roman Luck place. Briggs was standing in the middle of three small mounds of dirt, a shovel nearby on the ground. He looked up at us and wiped his hand across his forehead. His fingernails were dirty, and black creases stretched across the skin of his palms.

Thomas stood next to him, close, like they’d just been talking.

“What are you two doing?” Buttercup had her arms crossed over her chest, and her elbows were moving up and down with her breath.

Briggs whispered something, cleared his throat, spoke louder. “I’m looking for a marble.” Pause. “It’s stupid, I know. I’ll never find it. Still . . . I had to try. You’re supposed to be helping me look, by the way.” Briggs glanced at me out the corner of his eyes.

I looked right back at him. “I saw your letter. Wink showed me.”

Thomas reached into the zippered pocket on his designer jeans and took out his own black piece of Poppy paper. “I was just telling Briggs that I think the letters are clues.”

“Clues to finding Poppy,” Buttercup added.

“Why the hell would she run off in the first place?” Briggs groaned, deep and kind of sad. He yanked off his sweaty T-shirt and threw it on the ground. “What happened to spark all this?”

I picked up the shovel and put it behind my back.

I had to tell them. I had to suck it up and be the hero and tell the Yellows what happened to their fearless leader.

“Wink and I tricked her. We tied her to the grand piano in the Roman Luck house and left her there all night.”

All four Yellows went still.

“You did what?” Briggs. His head cocked to the side.

My palms were sweaty on the wooden handle, sweaty and slick. “We tied her to the grand piano and left her in the music room until dawn. When we got back she was . . . she was dimmed, if that makes sense. I never thought . . . I never thought it would crush her, not like that. And I haven’t seen her since that morning.”

Which was a lie, because I had seen her, on the top of the hayloft, just for a split second.

And I’d smelled her perfume in my room every night too.

But the Yellows didn’t need to know this. I might have imagined it all anyway.

I focused on Briggs, since he was the one I was the most worried about. His face was flushed, down his cheekbones, across his neck.

This was it. The Yellows were going to beat the hell out of me. And I had it coming.

Briggs grabbed for the shovel and it slid right out of my sweaty palms. I didn’t even resist. He put his arm back and . . .

And threw it. Right past me. It hit one of the trees, hard, and fell to the ground, a quiet, gentle thud.

After that Briggs just stood there, staring at me.

He didn’t look angry anymore. He just looked tired.

“We don’t blame you, for tricking