Call Me Grim by Elizabeth Holloway Page B

school,” I say.
    “Max says he’s your boyfriend.” Ta-tap, ta-tap, ta-tap against his thigh. “Is that true?”
    “He’s not my boyfriend. It’s not like that at all.” Blood rushes to my face and I hope Kyle doesn’t read it the wrong way, like I wish Aaron were my boyfriend. Because I don’t wish that. And even if I did, it doesn’t matter, since I’m about to die. “Even if he was my boyfriend, which he’s not, why do you care who I date?”
    “I don’t care,” Kyle says quickly. “I don’t. I just never thought you’d ditch me for a guy you just met. That’s all.”
    “I didn’t ditch you. I fell asleep. I swear.”
    He slips his drumsticks back into his pocket. For a full, uncomfortable minute, his burnt-wood eyes study me. The tar-filled crack weaves an uneven trail down the middle of his face. “I have to go, Libbi.”
    He turns to leave, but I can’t let him go. He doesn’t believe me and he hasn’t forgiven me, and I need things to be good between us before my completely non-romantic date with Death.
    “Wait.” My hand darts out and grasps his upper arm. “Will you and Haley be in town this afternoon, around two thirty? I’d really like to go to Foster’s for ice cream, like when we were kids. My treat.”
    He hesitates for a moment. The mark hasn’t disappeared, but at least the black sludge inside it has settled down a bit. “Yeah, I guess. But I don’t know about Haley. She’s really mad at you.”
    “I know. Winkler’s a douche. But you know how to sweet-talk her. Can’t you make sure she comes? Say whatever you have to, just get her there. Please? I need to see her today, Kyle. I need both of you.”
    I give him the most pathetic set of puppy-dog eyes I can muster and pray he isn’t too mad for them to work.
    He stares at me for a long time and then sighs in defeat.
    “All right,” he says. “I’ll try.” He turns and walks away.
    “Thanks, Kyle,” I call to his back, but he doesn’t even lift his hand this time. He strides to the end of the block and is gone.
    The treetops sway against the bruised sky as I walk up the sidewalk and back to my car. A gust of wind yanks the car door out of my hand and plasters my shirt against my body. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and the air grows thick with the scent of ozone. It won’t be long before fat drops polka-dot the sidewalk.
    I check my phone as I duck into the car—11:40—and chuck it onto the passenger’s seat.
    My keychain jingles as I stuff my key in the ignition, but I don’t start it up. I just sit and stare out the windshield.
    The tufts of purple flowers on the lilac bushes lining the driveway sway in the wind. Any other day, I’d try to figure out how to replicate that color on a canvas. Today, I don’t really see the flowers at all. Instead, I see Kyle. I see the angry set of his jaw and his hard eyes.
    Lightning splits the sky, followed by the low growl of thunder, but instead I see the black gash across his face. The first drop of rain plops on the windshield and begins a slow trail down the glass, but instead I see the swirling, boiling sludge bubbling inside Kyle’s mark.
    Aaron said the crack in Mrs. Lutz’s soul means she’s broken. Is Kyle broken too?
    Did I break him?
    I need to talk to Aaron. Jumpers’ Bridge is only a few minutes away, and it’s practically on the way to Camp Constance. If I stop at the bridge first, I should have plenty of time to drive out to see Max and back before I meet Kyle and Haley for ice cream.
    If I hurry.

12
     
    Raindrops pelt my cheeks. My feet slap the hard-packed dirt of the bike trail and splash muddy water over the toes of my tennis shoes. Wet branches whip my face, but I don’t care. I don’t have time to waste. I’ll run as fast as my feet can move, because once I reach the railroad tracks, the uneven ties and gravel will force me to walk.
    Aaron might not be there.
    The thought scatters my focus. What will I do if he’s not there? He said he