Chapter Four
Jules coughs in the fog of hairspray enveloping her.
When the mist evaporates, she examines herself in the bedroom mirror.
She wears a tight white tank under a plaid flannel shirt.
She looks good. Her mind flits to Quinn and her crack about him wearing flannel.
She hopes he doesn’t see her in this getup at the concert.
Then she remembers he’s not going, so no risk of that.
No risk of Quinn thinking she’s a poser, even though she is.
For a fleeting moment, though, she’s disappointed Quinn Riley won’t be there.
He’d appreciate the show more than she ever will.
And maybe she wouldn’t mind running into him.
Her bedroom phone rings. She races for it, trying to beat her little sister from answering. Clare always sprints for the phone for the pure sport of annoying Jules. But Jules is too late. Clare is already on the line.
“I’ve got it,” Jules bellows into the receiver. When she doesn’t hear the click, she says, “Dang it, Clare, hang up!”
“It’s me,” Miranda says. “My brother couldn’t get the stuff.” By “stuff” she means the alcohol for the concert.
“Why not?”
“Todd says, ‘I’m a police officer now.’” Miranda always uses an uptight robot voice to imitate her brother, and it fits.
Todd recently became a Barton County cop, which is comical, if not troubling, since he’d been the biggest partier and bully in high school.
He was a senior when Jules and Miranda were freshmen, and they watched the star football player terrorize the nerds, the skaters, the goths, the metalheads, and the endless other groups on the lower end of the social hierarchy.
For her part, she’s never liked the way Todd looks at her.
“I’ll just run over to Hagers,” Jules says. It’s a dumpy liquor store that doesn’t usually card. Or she can bat her eyes and one of the creeps who frequent the place will buy for her.
“Okay, pick me up and I’ll go with you.”
“We don’t have time. I told Brad we’d meet at his place at seven thirty.”
“But we’re supposed to be using the buddy system.”
Miranda’s so damn dramatic. Jules gets it, though.
The school had an assembly about the May Day Killer after some reporter found a connection between women abducted on May 1st. Three of the victims were found dead in roadside ditches, two actually survived.
Ever since the story ran, all the grown-ups have been losing their minds.
“I’ll meet you at Brad’s,” Jules says, and hangs up.
On her way out, Jules’s sister steps in front of her, hand on hips.
“I’m telling,” Clare says, as Jules plucks her car keys from the foyer table.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re buying booze.”
“No, I’m not. What are you—” Jules stops. “You little shit. You didn’t hang up the line, you listened to my call.”
Clare offers a wicked smile. Jules fights a smile of her own. Clare drives her absolutely crazy, but she loves the little clown. “What do you want?” Jules says.
“Rides. For me and my friends. To the roller rink. The mall. Rides all month.”
When Jules doesn’t agree, Clare calls out, “Moooom.”
“All right, all right,” Jules hushes her.
“And you’ll get me some wine coolers at Hagers,” Clare adds.
“Don’t push your luck,” Jules says as she heads out.
On the drive, Jules bobs her head to Kris Kross’s “Jump” on the radio, then imagines Quinn Riley rolling his eyes at her. She remembers the mixtape he gave her. He denied making it for her, but she thinks he did. His face turned pretty red when she teased him.
The parking lot at Hagers is full. Everyone getting ready for Friday night in this three-stoplight town. Though Omaha is less than a half hour away, it’s like they live in Mayberry.
Inside, there’s a long line at the register.
She pretends not to notice the men in the potato chip factory uniforms leering; ignores the other girls in flannel giving her the stink-eye, knowing she’s playing dress-up and they always wear this grunge crap.
She checks her list: peppermint schnapps for her, Zima for Miranda, something called After Shock for Brad and the boys.
Strolling through the store, she tries to look older than seventeen.
In the aisle, she spots a familiar face and has a spike of panic.
It’s Mr. Vanderman, her school counselor.
Shit, he sees her. Six feet tall, she can never hide.
Mr. Vanderman shakes his head. He whispers something to a woman next to him.
She looks at Jules and does a tsk tsk with her finger, and they disappear.
Mr. Vanderman is pretending he didn’t see her. Yes!
She mills about until she sees Vanderman and the woman leave the store, the bells on the door jangling. So the rumors are true, he does have a girlfriend. And she is indeed a ten.
Her arms filled with bottles, Jules makes it to the front of the line. She hopes twenty-two bucks will cover it. Hopes the guy with the greasy hair working the register doesn’t decide to follow the rules for once in his life and card her.
She drops the bottles on the counter, smiles. She’s learned that her smile goes a long way.
He doesn’t smile back, but also doesn’t ask for ID.
“Going to the concert?” he asks, giving her the once-over as he puts the bottles in a brown sack.
She nods, smiles again.
“Be careful…” He grins and Jules tries not to shudder at the tobacco flecks in his teeth. “The May Day Killer is hunting.” He chuckles and it makes Jules’s skin crawl.
She says nothing and hoists the bag in her arm. What an asshole.
Inside the car, she shakes off the image of the guy’s gross teeth.
That’s when she hears the voice from the back seat of the car.
“Take off your clothes.”
Jules nearly wets herself at the voice, the feel of hands clasping her shoulders.
She hears her own scream before she even processes. Before she hears the familiar laugh.
“Goddammit, Brad!” she bellows, catching her breath. She finally releases a laugh of her own, even though she’s pissed.
He climbs over the front seat and sits next to her.
“Asshole!” she says, her pulse leveling. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Bill was driving me home and I saw your car and … Don’t be mad.”
She laughs more, opens the schnapps, takes a swig. “Asshole!”
Her heart trips again at the hard tap on the window, at the sight of the turd brown police uniform. She rolls down the window while tucking the bottle at her feet.
“Step out of the car, ma’am,” the voice says. “I’m with the FBI.”
Jules shakes her head. “Cut the crap, Todd,” she says to Miranda’s dipshit brother. “And you’re not in the FBI.”
“Yes I am, ma’am,” he continues in an exaggerated cop voice. “Female Body Inspector.”
Brad laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, reaches over, and does one of those stupid elaborate handshakes the boys do. They know each other because Todd’s a volunteer assistant coach for the football team, already trying to recapture his glory days.
“You goin’ to the concert?” Brad asks.
Todd, who is swinging his giant flashlight now, says, “Nah, night shift bullshit.”
Jules starts the car. “We’ve gotta bounce.”
“Slow down, sugar tits. You know I can arrest you, don’t you?” Todd says, eyeing the bag of booze.
Jules rolls up the window, juts the car from the spot, and flips Todd the bird as she drives off.