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By the epic stink-eye coming from Amelia, I’m pretty positive I have not been offered a silent invitation. More like a stay-away postcard.
“Zoey—” October starts, and I feel like this is the beginning of a pity letdown.
“Don’t worry about it, Kenobi,” I say quickly, uncomfortable heat baking me. No way can I wear her coat right now. “I’ll meet up with you after the ceremony.”
Her thick, beautiful brows furrow together. “I told you, you’re not leaving my side.”
“You already left mine,” I mention how we literally just split up.
I swear pain cinches her face.
“For recon,” I add fast.
She swallows hard. “If it were up to me, I’d just be protecting you here, not trying to play Clue. But you love Colt, and I promised I’d help you.”
I smile. “I appreciate it, Kenobi. I really do.” She could’ve said no, but she knows how much my brother means to me.
“You’ll come with me then,” October says like an order. A demand. A come-on.
I’ll come with you then. “Yeah, yes…” I’m nodding, then I realize, “Wait—we’re going to Miss Mistpoint’s blanket?”
She nods. “Amelia doesn’t bite. She’s all bark.”
Before I have a chance to reply, October heads towards her best friend. She expects me to follow. And against better judgment, my feet carry me forward.
The closer I come to Amelia, the more her back arches like some territorial cat ready to spring and claw an enemy.
The only thing keeping her talons at bay is my protector—who shields my body before saying, “There’s room for Zoey.” October doesn’t phrase it like a question.
With pursed lips, Amelia makes a show of fixing her shell crown. Red carnations are woven throughout. I’ve attended enough Lock Ceremonies to know the flowers are a status symbol. One she’s unmistakably boasting.
Carnations signify those who’ve won the title of Miss or Mister Mistpoint in history. Like I give a shit that Amelia is flexing her Nancy Drew status. She even wears a wool trench coat and messenger bag. Packed, I’m sure, with “essentials”.
“Amelia,” I greet flatly.
She ignores me and looks up at October. “There’s really no room for her.”
“Then I’ll sit on the sand,” October says.
Amelia sucks in a breath. “Then I have to sit beside her.”
October arches her brows. “Your choice.”
Blowing out a resigned puff of air, Amelia scoots to the far edge of the blanket to make room for October and me.
Amelia only relaxes when October wedges between us. Blocking Amelia and me from sharing breath.
I balance the paper bowl on my lap and dip my crostini into the broth. “What’s your damage, Amelia?” I ask her. “We’re all adults now. Can’t you get over petty high school drama?”
October steals a couple of my stolen crostini while Amelia leans forward. I can clearly see the contempt on her face.
“Your family leaves bodies in its wake, Zoey. This goes beyond high school.” She turns to October. “I don’t know why you’re dragging her around town like one of your lap dogs. She hasn’t been cursed yet, which means Zoey could explode and kill us all.”
October replies icily, “She’s not a bomb, Amelia.”
That we know of.
“Metaphorically,” Amelia combats. “She is a ticking bomb.”
“She won’t hurt you.”
Is that it? Is Amelia just afraid of me? I stare through her, and patchy red marks creep up her neck.
“Of course she won’t.” Amelia straightens up, dusting imaginary particles off her pants. “I’m already cursed. She can’t hurt me.” She snaps a warning look to October, who snaps one back—reminding me that I’m very much six years out of the loop and forever out of their friendship circle.
Something eats at me.
Not jealousy exactly. I don’t just want to be October’s BFF. Amelia can be that if she has to claim the spot.
I’ve always wanted more.
What I feel…is unease. Like I’m missing pieces of the picture I need to see, and I’m scared I’ve been gone for so long that I’ll never have time to scramble to find them.
I strain my ears to hear their whispered words.
“She could hurt you too, October. She’s not the safest person to be around. Not here, not now.”
“I’m not deserting her, and I don’t want to desert you. But either you’re with us or you’re against us, Amelia. Again, your choice.”
She’s not deserting me.
I turn my head. Hiding my giddy smile. One I had every time I uncovered the pastries October left in my high school locker.
Amelia huffs. But her choice surprises me. She doesn’t move.
Music suddenly cuts off. Our attention veers to the shoreline where Antler Queen Anna has silenced the band.
Microphone in her clutch, she presides over the beach. “Thank you all for coming to the 124th Annual Lock Ceremony. As the head of the Historical Committee and a member of the town council, it’s a pleasure to see your lovely faces on this beautiful afternoon.”
I peek over at Amelia. She’s more tensed. Maybe because of my close presence. But she’s appraising her mom, not me anymore.
