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I stare out at the silhouettes of people who walk by. No wonder they are all scared; there is a killer among them. “Do you think Remy did it?”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t know Remy anymore. Or what he’s capable of.”

I stare at the ground and panic hits me as I think about my encounter with the masked man. I don’t tell Tommy what I saw in the library, even though I should.

Because, for whatever reason, it feels sacred.

“Do you still have my number?” he asks as if sensing the fear bubbling inside. No wonder he is so worried about me living out in the sticks.

“Yeah, but Tommy I don’t have a phone. I’d have to go to FreshMart.”

“Do you have a key?”

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“Promise me you’ll do that?”

I wrap my hands around myself as a stiff wind pushes through me, goosebumps pebbling my flesh. “Should I be worried?”

Tommy crawls closer to me, running his hands over my bare skin. “You never have to be worried, Didi. I’ll take care of you.” He’s so close I can feel his breath on my neck. “Is this okay?”

My body relaxes into him, and this time, I don’t pull back. I lay on him, enjoying it. No one’s ever touched me so softly.

I pull my head up and look at him. “Tommy, what is Shadowface?”

A shadow crosses his features. “Who told you about him?”

“I heard girls talking about him in the bathroom. And Marty, the bus driver, mentioned him, too.”

His lips find my forehead, and he murmurs, “It’s just a stupid urban legend.”

Yeah, but are they connected? There is so much I don’t understand, and somehow, it’s like I’m the center of it all.

Tommy and I sit for a moment, and I’m acutely aware of the belt Mama has on me. Tommy’s hands begin to roam down my arms and around my belly.

My body tenses up, but he doesn’t loosen his hold.

“Tommy—please,” I breathe.

He doesn’t let up. “Why are you so skittish, firefly?”

My jaw ticks at how helpless I really am beneath him. He sighs, then relents as I slide out from under him. “Alright,” he says carefully, leaning his head back, his eyes flickering. “I won’t touch you, even though I really want to. Can I at least look at you?”

He’s not a bad one, and I want him to hug and touch me. “You are looking at me,” I remind him.

I’m drawn to his lips as he bites them, looking at me with an unfamiliar intensity.

“You know what I mean,” he whispers, and his breath tickles my cheek. My heart races and he moves his hands to my braids that are falling loose on each side of my head.

My hair is long, and the braids help keep it contained. Mama says having long hair is the only holy thing about me and cutting it would be sinful.

My breath lengthens as Tommy moves in again, his spicy, sweaty scent making me blush as he gently runs his fingers down my braid and pulls out the elastic at the bottom. Then he slowly starts to unravel it with his fingers.

Expertly, might I add, like he’s braided hair before.

“Tommy, what are you doing?” My chest rises and falls when he says he wanted to see me. This is not what I thought he meant.

“I want to see your hair.”