Charlotte:No. It was truly an awful interview. Cynthia hated me.
Satan:Nah. No one hates you.
I stare at that text, unsure where to go from here.
Charlotte:Well...you do.
Satan:When have I ever told you I hated you? I don’t hate anyone.
Charlotte:You hate me...just a tiny bit.
Satan:You can be very difficult.
Charlotte:It’s part of my charm.
Satan:I’d say. And let’s be clear. You’re the one who would rather die than marry me in an apocalypse.
Charlotte:Is it too late to change my mind?
Satan:Really?
Charlotte:I mean...if it’s life or death, I can’t be too picky.
Satan:Lol well thanks. You’re a real sweetheart.
Charlotte:I meant to ask, did you take care of the chaperones for tonight?
Satan:Lmao I was waiting for you to ask about that. It’s done.
THIRTY
Do you think bangs would screw up my face?” Nori asks when I slide into her mom’s Volvo, tossing my sleeping bag in the back seat. She’s giving me a ride to the Senior Sleepover since Mom had a breakthrough on her book tonight.
“What did you say?”
“Bangs. Do you think they’d look good on me?” She fiddles with her hair, pulling a thick section over her forehead to mimic blunt bangs. “Sometimes I think my forehead is too rectangular for them. Maybe I should just cut it real short, like one of those spiky pixie cuts. Thoughts?”
A coldness expands in my core as she reverses out of my driveway. I make a concerted effort to right my face, mind reeling back to Adult Nori.Tell my younger self not to get bangs,she’d requested. “Where did that come from?”
She eyes me with suspicion. “Is it really that random? Why are you looking at me like I’ve sprouted an extra boob?”
“No ... It’s just ...”
“You’re super pale. Is it your concussion?”
I shift toward her, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay, Nori. I’m about to tell you something bizarre. Something that’s going to make you think I’ve lost my mind.” I’ve been itching to tell her since I woke up in the gym yesterday morning. But this is the first time we’ve actually been alone.
She pulls her focus from the road and shoots me the stink eye. “Weirder than having three boobs?”
“Quite possibly. At least, on a similar level.”
“Okay. I need to pull over for this one,” she says. We’re in front of Old Lady Brown’s house with the creepy doll in the window. The giant oak tree is still standing, very much alive.
I tell her about falling off that ladder, about waking up next to Renner, about being thirty. How we were getting married the following week.
A moment passes as she takes it all in, slowly nodding. I can’t read her expression. It’s hard to say whether she’s about to burst out laughing, suggest I see a doctor again, or launch into a black site–style interrogation. Finally, she drums her fingers together and narrows her gaze. “So you’re saying I had blue hair?”
“Nori!” I give her a light smack on the shoulder. “That’s your one takeaway?!”
