I’m supposed to stay in all day in case Jay shows up, but I also need to talk to Jack. I give Gracie a pointed look. “I need to be back here at six.”
She nods. “I know.I’ll make sure of that.”
“Here,” Aster says, pulling something out of her backpack and handing it to me. “Put this on. It’s a voice recorder. Ontario only requires single-party consent for voice recording, so you can record any conversation you’re participating in—just in case he says anything useful.”
It’s a silver chain with a large black crystal pendant. I put it around my neck. “Why do you have this?”
“I bought all sorts of spy gadgets when we started.” Aster’s grinning like a kid telling me what she got for her birthday. “I’m excited we’re finally using something. I have a burner phone, too, if you need it.”
After she shows me how to turn the pendant on, we head out of the building. It’s a fifteen-minute walk to the bar. Thankfully, it’s not very cold out, so I’m okay with just my bulky sweater. I really hope winter is finally over. When we get to the Laundromat, I realize Ihaveseen this place many times before, but since I do my laundry in the residence, I never thought twice about it. I had no idea it was really a rich students’ hangout.
Inside, the Laundromat looks like ... a Laundromat. And smells like one too. A wall of stainless-steel heavy-duty washers and dryers runs along one side, and a counter lines the other. There’s even a person loading clothes into a dryer, and someone else folding. Aster guides usto the back, where a pink plastic beaded curtain covers a doorway. After passing through the beads, we head down a flight of stairs and through another hallway. Eventually we reach a door that looks like an old-timey saloon door from cowboy movies.
The space beyond it looks exactly like Mia’s grandmother’s basement. Fake wood paneling. A makeshift bar on one side. Old video game systems. And a pool table. All in all, not the kind of place I thought I’d end up in on a Sunday afternoon. There are about fifteen people down here, all around our age, and it smells like fabric softener and weed.
“Seriously?” I ask. “This is where the other half hangs out?”
“Not me,” Aster says. “I don’t believe in enjoying things ironically.” She looks around, frowning. “Weirdly empty today.”
It’s a Sunday afternoon. How many people are normally in a bar? Again, I’m reminded of how enormously I don’t fit in with this crowd.
“There,” Aster says, pointing to the back of the room. Jack is alone in a booth, a bottle of beer next to him. It’s strange—I thought he was extremely good-looking the first time I saw him. But now? He looks ... deflated. Defeated too. His hair isn’t gelled back, and he has circles under his eyes. He’s in a suit again, this one pale gray, with a paisley shirt underneath. He looks up and sees us coming toward him. I can’t tell if his expression is full of disappointment or if he was expecting us. I wonder how much of his drug use is guilt because of what he did to Jay. At least he’s feeling remorse, I guess. I discreetly turn on the voice recorder before we approach him.
“Aster, you brought these two to the Laundromat? Seriously? Youmustfind a hobby other than corrupting young minds.”
“I’m surprised you remember us,” Gracie says. “You were pretty out of it at your party.”
He looks up at me. “I would never forgetyou. My little octopus girl. Apologies if I was inappropriate at my party.”
“Can we talk for a second?” I ask. “About something you said to me that night.”
He sighs. Loudly. “I knew this was coming. Yeah, sit.” He looks at Gracie and Aster. “Do you mind if I talk to her alone? I’d rather not have an unnecessary audience for my potential downfall.”
I frown. Gracie looks like she doesn’t want to leave me, but with others around, I’m not sure Jack will be honest. At his party he was way more open when it was just the two of us. This is why I’m the one wearing the voice recorder.
“C’mon,” Aster says, pulling Gracie by the arm. “They have an old Super Nintendo here. Let me smoke your ass atSuper Mario Bros.”
I slide into the seat opposite Jack. “Why did you know this was coming?”
He shrugs. “Gut instinct. I talked to you a lot that night—I’m sure I said something I shouldn’t have.”
I frown. “Do you often havegut instincts?”
“All the time. They can be eerily accurate. My mom calls me a fortune teller.” He runs his hand over his hair.
My eyebrows raise. I remember back to the cryptic things he said that night. Was Jack seeing the future?
“I don’t know how you remember your party so well,” I say. “You were drunk. And stoned.”
“I usually am.”
“Are you now?”
“Am I what?”
“Under the influence of anything?”
He holds up the dark-brown bottle of beer. “No, it’s taken me almost an hour to drink about a quarter of this. I doubt I’ll finish it.”
