Page 59 of She’s a Doll

I sank deeper into the backpack.

My car was beneath me, the hard plastic of its wheel rim scraping against my porcelain leg. Also in the bag were a couple of cans of spray paint, a face mask for Nicola, and some printed copies of a missing-person poster with my old face on them. Our Plan B go bag.

Is that why we’re here? I asked. To discuss the nature of humanity? I’m going to be real with you, Nic. I never was much on philosophy. The dark continued to dance as Nicola strode across the lot. Also, if it’s a deep and meaningful conversation you’re after, I think we can do that on your sofa.

“This is more fun.”

Is it?

“We’re not here to chat,” she said. “We’re here to commit crimes.”

But not a drug deal?

“Not a drug deal.” She pointed up at the billboard promising luxury. It was big, really big, the sort of big that belonged in cities but felt out of place in our small, rural town. I had no idea how many eyeballs saw it a day. A marketing professional in a suit somewhere probably knew. I bet it was a lot.

“What do you think?” she asked, sounding proud of herself. “Come on. You’ve got to give it to me. It’s better than a bathroom mirror.”

Nic. You’re a genius.

She grinned at me over her shoulder. “Either that or I’ve become addicted to vandalism. The high of paint fumes. The adrenaline of maybe getting caught.”

If you want adrenaline, we could always go back to Plan A. Stop messing about and just kill the arsehole.

Her grin grew sharper, drier. “Maybe you’re the devil after all. Maybe I’m slowly being corrupted by your weird, creepy little voice.”

What did Batman say? You either die a hero or live to become the villain.

“Two things. (A) That wasn’t Batman, and (B) that sounds an awful lot like you’re framing yourself as the hero.”

Naturally.

“Maybe I’m overdue a villain era,” she muttered, more to herself. “Team up with the devil. Do some damage.”

Damage some doers, I suggested.

She laughed. “You are a devil. But, hell, hanging out with your spooky ass beats sitting around wondering if it would be neater just to kill myself anyway.”

I probably should’ve said something then, the sort of thing a friend is meant to say to another friend when they admit something dark and messed up. Before I could find the words, the moment slipped away and an awkward silence shuffled in, broken only by the rumble of the nearby highway and the barking of distant dogs.

I watched the hungry shadows and tried not to let the thoughts inside me manifest into words.

Nicola was the only person I had in the world. I needed her, more than I’d ever needed anyone. But strangely, I still didn’t know if we were friends. We were partners, accomplices, coconspirators . . . but friends? We hadn’t been friends in school. I hadn’t even known her name. We stayed up and watched The Walking Dead together, but I was pretty sure that if she could watch TV with anyone in the world, my name wouldn’t be on the top of that list.

I owed her everything. She’d rescued me. She was helping me. She’d bought me a car. She was a good person. But that didn’t mean she wanted me to attempt to comfort her. It sounded like an excuse, even in my own mind.

“Are you awake, Lu?”

Yeah, I responded. Yeah. I’m sorry that you . . . um. Yeah. I’m sorry.

Nicola kept walking, the light from her phone illuminating piles of dirt, concrete walls, scaffolds, and holes sprouting with rebar. Eventually, she came to the base of the billboard and shone her light at the metal legs. The first was unremarkable. The second had a ladder crudely welded onto the side. In my admittedly unprofessional opinion, it looked flimsy as fuck.

“Shit,” Nicola whispered.

What are you doing?

“Hold my phone.” She held it over her shoulder, light shining forward. I wrapped my arms awkwardly around it, hugging the massive touch screen to my chest and twisting to direct the beam toward the ladder.

Are you sure about this? I asked.