“Come on,” she says. “We’ll find him after. You don’t want to miss this.” There’s something in her voice, the willow-green flash of her eyes, that makes dread pool in my stomach, rising like a flood as she pulls me toward the door. Once we’re a few steps away, she lets go. “Go ahead,” she says. Her smile is small and demure, a porcelain-doll smile, like she’s suddenly embarrassed or worried I won’t like whatever’s waiting inside. She adds, at a whisper: “This part’s just for you.”
OH SHE KNOWSSSS SHE SLEPT WITH HER BOYFRIEND
