Chapter Nine

On Saturday morning, I gathered Olivia and Josh to return to the hospital. The once colorful orange and yellow barrage of fall leaves had fled prematurely, the gloomy start of winter settling in early. Skeletal tree fingers reached up from the graves of yards and scratched at the coffin cover of sky. The dull, overcast atmosphere matched our moods perfectly.

“How’d you guys sleep?” I felt them out, hoping they hadn’t found their protection bottles.

Josh said, “Okay, I guess.” But it looked as if he didn’t get much sleep at all. Olivia just stared blankly through the dirty windshield, looking like an adult after New Year’s Eve.

We drove by the emergency room, having a slow day compared to last night, and parked. As we walked through the lot, I hung my arm around Olivia’s shoulders. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet.

“What’s going on, O’?”

She sighed. “I’m just sick of these assholes at school. We didn’t do anything to them. We didn’t start anything. And now one of us is badly jacked up.” The return of the ire in her voice encouraged me. “And, now, you should see the crap they’re posting online.”

Frankly, I’d fully expected this, surprised it took this long. I warned my friends it would happen and to just ignore it. I also knew Olivia would blow off my plea to let it lie.

“What have they done now?”

“Some of the usual suspects are saying some bad shit about us.” She waved her hands exaggeratedly. “They’re calling you guys a bunch of ‘fags’ and me your ‘fag-hag.’” At this, she almost cracked a smile. “I don’t care what they call me, but they better leave my boys alone.”

“Just don’t let it get to you. Don’t even look. They’re so damn obvious.”

“Oh, no, O’, don’t back down from nothin’. They’ve also put up some crappy-ass photo-shopped pictures of us.”

Morbid curiosity got the better of me. “What photos?”

“They must’ve taken your freshmen yearbook photos and put your faces on this photo…of three naked dudes hugging each other. I mean, it doesn’t even look real. These morons can’t do anything right.”

Surely, Bellman’s Neanderthal tendencies kept him off-line, so he must’ve put his football pals up to it. Or maybe Johnny Malinowski. “Olivia, you aren’t getting on there, are you? You’re not fighting back, right?”

“Hellz, yeah, I am!”

I knew Josh had enough common sense to not look at their web pages. Or at least, enough good sense to not respond to their senseless viral taunts. But I could tell his interest had been stoked. Olivia, on the other hand, insisted on carrying on in battle, even against overwhelming odds.

“Olivia, you know, you’re just going to make matters worse. Way worse than they already are.” A sudden cold wind whipped up around our legs, blowing parking lot trash around us. I couldn’t help but notice the irony: us being “trash magnets.”

“Don’t worry about it, Tex. These dumb-asses can’t hold a candle to me when it comes to a battle of the wits.” Olivia did have a nasty talent for turning things back on people and insulting them with her sharp tongue.

“Look, just because you feel safe behind a computer screen, doesn’t mean that’ll carry over once you leave your house.” Exasperation claimed me, near ready to throw in the towel. “We’ve seen how dangerous they can be. I don’t want to be visiting you guys in the hospital, too.”

“What’re you saying to them, O’?” Josh appeared nervous, his natural state most of the time.

“Oh, I brought out the big guns, and said if they’re so threatened by, and interested in, homosexuality, then they’re obviously closeted gays themselves.” Olivia guffawed, the wind carrying it far. “Then I told them that football was the gayest thing in the world. A bunch of dudes patting each others’ butts, hanging out and showering together, and playing with balls!”

Even I had to laugh at Olivia’s defense. “God…you’re really gonna rattle the monkey cage.” Josh managed to muster a small smile as well.

The wind died down along with our amusement. “But…” said Olivia, suddenly solemn. “There’s more…” She hesitated.

“What?”

“Someone anonymously posted that…you killed your mother.” She turned around to look at me while walking backward. “I couldn’t let that go…”

I hung my head. “Bastards…”

“And…that led into another tangent. All these other jackasses jumped on the bandwagon, the shit hit the fan, and they started saying how they thought that one of us—probably you, Tex—killed Matt Rimmer.” Olivia’s visible eye glistened, a hint of a tear forming. “I’m sorry…”

I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. For them to bring my mother into this felt unspeakable. And now murder accusations? Much too surreal to comprehend. I know how things start online, quickly ballooning out of control, which is why I rarely go onto the usual social media hang-outs. Every idiot with access to the Internet feels braver by hiding behind the comfort of a computer screen, saying any harmful thing that pops into his head, and the devil take the hindmost. Most of these bullies are what you’d expect—the so-called popular elite at school. But some of these people are among the downtrodden—just like us, unpopular faces in the crowd, trying to survive. Yet given an opportunity to elevate their self-worth, they’ll pile on and try their hand at viral bullying. I suppose some of them think it’s their in to being accepted as popular. Whatever their reason, it’s not right…and I think they’re even worse than the popular kids.

“Okay…” I said. “Radio silence.” I had to regroup, shut my eyes, and concentrate, a move I picked up from Dad. “Now that our names are being tossed around as murder suspects, it’s more important than ever to keep quiet. We do not want the cops talking to us anymore, especially at school. That’ll just give the gossips more crap to talk about.”

Olivia grasped the sense in that. “It’s hard, Tex…to see them talking about us like that. I’ll try and stay off…but you’d better talk to Ian, too.”

****

“Hey, guys,” said Ian. Hoisted up in bed, his wrapped arm pointed skyward like a waving mummy. “’Bout damn time you got here.” His voice sounded like he’d suddenly developed a three-pack-a-day smoking habit.

“Hey, you.” Olivia placed her arms carefully around his neck and kissed his forehead. “We were worried about you.”

“Takes more than a speeding psycho to take me down.” He grinned then cringed as if stubbing a toe. “Ow! Everything hurts.”

“Hey, you’re going to be missing some school.” I smiled, trying to keep emotion at bay. “Lucky guy…”

“That’s what you called me last night,” croaked Ian. Uh-oh. As far as Olivia and Josh knew, I hadn’t come back here last night. Redirection time needed.

“Ah, that’s the drugs talking,” I countered. “Hey, I hear you’ve been chatting online to the bad guys… What’s up with that?”

He grinned. “What the hell else am I supposed to do in here?”

“You can’t have a computer in here, can you?” Josh’s eyes widened as if considering maybe the hospital didn’t seem like such a bad place to stay, after all.

“No, but I’ve got this.” He grabbed his cell phone from underneath the sheets with his good hand. “Don’t tell them I’ve got it. Wait! Maybe you should. Then they’ll send in ‘Nurse Goodbody’ to do a full body search.”

Olivia groaned. “God, always such a pig.” She smiled, though, and backed down quickly from staging a searing women’s rights lecture.

“Dammit, Ian, we’ve been through this,” I said. “Leave these baboons alone, or you’re just asking for more trouble.”

“You’re kidding me, right? After what that asshole did to me, I ain’t backing down from him or his idiot entourage. Besides…have you seen what they’ve been saying about us?” Ian struggled to sit up, then collapsed back into the pillow.

“Yeah. Olivia told me. What’ve you been saying back to them?” I knew it would be bad. Whereas Olivia reveled in the art of making these buffoons trip up in their own stupidity, pure rage fueled Ian’s Internet counterpoints.

“They were calling us ‘killers’. You believe that crap? Us? So, I wrote that Bellman was the murderer. I mean, he tried to kill me!” Drops of sweat formed on Ian’s forehead, a physical manifestation of his rising ire.

“You need to stop it right now. Please?” I thought maybe the softer approach might work better. It couldn’t hurt.

“Oh, whatever, Tex. It’s hard as hell to text one-handed anyway.” He looked at his wired-up hand. A momentary flash of inspiration gob-smacked me. Maybe I would let Nurse Goodbody know about his cell phone.

“I heard Bellman’s sitting in jail,” said Josh. “And he’s going to most definitely, probably, maybe, be expelled.”

“Way to commit, Josh,” said Ian, laughing. Sometimes it scared me how Ian could suddenly switch mood-swings. Like father, like son, I guess. “You should see what my dad’s planning on doing.”

“Yeah, we kinda’ got a taste of that last night,” said Olivia. “He’s going all Five-O on Bellman’s ass!”

“But, Mr. Jensen said he probably wouldn’t do any time since he’s a minor,” I added.

“Hey, buzz-kill,” said Olivia, “let us have our golden moment.” I couldn’t deny what she said. But as the resident buzz-kill of the group, I’d learned false hope ended up much worse than no hope in certain situations.

“Don’t worry,” said Josh, nearly under his breath. “He’ll get his.” I’d forgotten Josh said this in our mad race to the hospital yesterday, a creepy, reoccurring mantra that worried me.

“Well, I hope so.” But the realist in me didn’t believe it. “Ian, I’m really, really sorry about all this…this crap. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be all wired up like a cyborg…”

“I don’t blame you. You didn’t run me down. This psycho was just looking for somebody to run down, I guess, and I happened to be the one.” Ian’s heartfelt reasoning hit home, making me glad I remained his friend throughout our golden school days. “Guys, seriously. Thanks for getting me to the hospital. And, Josh…thanks for the ice. I heard it may’ve saved me some nerves or something.”

“No prob, bro.” Josh pretended he was going to fist-bump Ian’s bad hand and then pulled back.

“No fist bumps,” yelled Olivia as we all shared a much-needed chuckle.

****

Sooner than later, I knew I had to talk to Ian about the protection spell. And I had to do it alone because the rules of witchcraft have thus spoketh! The best method would be just to level with him. If anybody’d believe anything so outlandish, it would be him, since he knew me the longest.

Ready to send Olivia and Josh down to the cafeteria ahead of me, a voice suddenly called out “Richard? Richard McKenna?” I whipped around, fists half-raised in defense, until I saw the fluorescent light beaming off Detective Ryan Cowlings’ bald head. At least I thought it might be Detective Cowlings of the Clearwell Police Department, but all bald middle-aged men tend to look alike to me. And these days, I wanted positive proof about everyone.

“Um…yeah?”

“I’m Detective Cowlings.” Okay, check. “I believe we spoke last week at your high school? About Matt Rimmer?” Apparently, all shaggy-haired teenage boys looked alike to Detective Cowlings as well, since he split his gaze between Josh and me.

“That’s right,” I said. Josh shrunk back against the wall, his fear of authority figures in full force.

Detective Cowlings rubbed his bald pate as if polishing a bowling trophy. “I was hoping I could talk to you for a few minutes? Alone?”

“Okay, sure.” I turned to my friends. “I’ll meet you down in the cafeteria…stick with the chips. I remember them as safe.” Olivia squinted at Cowlings suspiciously, grabbed Josh’s arm, and led him down the hallway.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” called Cowlings after my friends, holding his hand to his mouth for unnecessary amplification. A nurse, who I assumed to be Nurse Goodbody, shot Cowlings a disapproving scowl.

“Let’s go to the chapel.” Cowlings sped by me, headed for the elevator. “That girl. She your girlfriend?” Impatiently, he punched the down button twice.

“No. Yes…I don’t know,” I stammered.

He shot a quick, intense glance at me. “I see.” I didn’t really think he did see, but obviously, I didn’t either. A Muzak version of Neil Diamond’s “Cracklin’ Rosie” played in the elevator. Cowlings hummed along. “What’s her name?” he asked while fidgeting with a button on his suit jacket.

“Olivia. Olivia Furman.” Another whip-snap of his head as he glared at me as if he’d just solved the Matt Rimmer murder case. Surely, those incriminatory head-snap stares would end in whiplash. Good thing we were in a hospital.

Silence reigned during the rest of our long, uncomfortable elevator journey. More nervous than a squirrel with a nut allergy, I started whistling “Going To The Chapel” when he fired off round three of his potent stares.

We sat in a back pew of the small, empty chapel. He stared at me and sighed. I didn’t know what to say, surely the onus started with him.

Finally, he said, “Richard, I wanted to talk to you away from your Vice Principal Hastings.” He smiled a large toothy grin. “He thought it was his investigation last time we spoke.”

“Yeah, he can be like that.” Okay, maybe Cowlings didn’t seem so bad after all.

“Tell me what happened to you and your friends yesterday.” His demeanor suddenly became one of a kindly priest at confession. He leaned toward me with a concerned look. Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew a pocket notebook and began jotting down words.

I wondered if I should tell him about the fire extinguisher incident or leave it out. I didn’t want to see Olivia get dragged into this. But I realized my story didn’t make a whole lot of sense without it. So before I spilled all, I asked, “Detective Cowlings, would it be possible for you to keep one person’s name out of this? I mean, from school, Hastings, and the rest of the powers that be?”

“I can’t make any promises until I hear your whole story, but unless it has a direct bearing on my murder investigation…if it’s high school hijinks…well, that’s not really what I’m after. Relax, Richard, I’m just looking for some facts. I just want to talk a little bit.”

I told Cowlings the entire story, beginning with Josh’s shower incident late last year. He nodded—sometimes in empathy, sometimes as if trying to piece together a puzzle—and kept scratching away and flipping pages madly in his notebook.

“So…do you like Bellman?” I asked. “I mean for the murder of Rimmer?”

He snapped his head at me, then tempered it with amusement. “Richard, have you been watching CSI lately?” Well, yes, yes, actually I had. Dad’s favorite show, after all.

“Sorry. I’ll keep my TV cop lingo out of it and leave it to you.”

“Since you asked…I don’t ‘like’ anyone at this point for the boy’s death. Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you, you know that.”

“Right.”

“You’ll be glad to know the Bellman boy is still cooling his heels in our jail cell. His dad wanted him to stay in overnight to learn his lesson.” He stretched his thin legs out in front of him underneath the pew. “That’s the good news…the bad news is his father is already looking to lawyer him up as we speak.”

“That figures,” I muttered.

“You’re aware he’ll probably just get probation on this, aren’t you? I know it’s not fair, but his age is helping him here.”

“Yeah, I was already warned about it. What’s his story on the incident anyway?” I probably could’ve guessed, but I wanted to know what we were dealing with.

“At first, he denied having done it,” said Cowlings. “But after we told them there were numerous witnesses, he changed his story to say it was an accident, and he lost control of the car. He claims he panicked and left because he was afraid.”

“That’s total bullshit!” I remembered where we were and whispered “Sorry” to the empty chapel.

“Richard, do you think Bob Bellman would have any reason to have killed Matt Rimmer? As far as you could guess? Or know?”

“It’s like I told you and Hastings. I didn’t really know Rimmer, and my only encounters with Bellman have been acts of terror. As far as I know, they were teammates and friends…although the thought of Bellman even having any friends blows my mind. If you’re asking me if Bellman is capable of murder…the answer lies in the hospital bed in room 411.”

“His father gave him an alibi of being home the night Rimmer was murdered. I have to assume it’s the truth…for now.”

“You don’t say.” Unable to hide my disappointment, I rolled my eyes.

“Richard, there’s something I did want to let you know.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Around the police station, people are assuming that whoever killed Rimmer must’ve been a large, athletic man to have been able to overpower this young football kid.” He whipped off his glasses for dramatic effect. “I’m not so sure this is the case…”

And here we go, I thought. I nervously swallowed, which I’m sure looked suspicious to Cowlings.

“Rimmer was smashed on the back of his skull with an iron bar several times…and then the killer continued to beat Rimmer while he would have been unconscious. The perpetrator finished the job by choking the life out of him with plastic or rubber gloves.” Cowlings held me captive in his crossfire stare, no expression whatsoever. “So…I believe that it could have been anyone…of any size…maybe even a female.”

“Oh.” I already knew where this would head.

“You say…this…” he quickly flipped back a few pages in his notebook, “Olivia Furman…she’s the one who was upstairs with you?”

“That’s right.”

“She’s the same one who took out Bob Bellman earlier this week with a fire extinguisher?” Cowlings nonchalantly flipped through the pages of his notebook, while looking for connecting incidents.

“Yeah…but Olivia would never do something like kill Matt Rimmer, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I couldn’t believe he suspected Olivia, even though the news would bring great personal joy to her.

“Well, it certainly doesn’t look like it,” he said, chuckling. The many mood swings of Detective Cowlings proved unpredictable. “My point is…it could be anybody. Where were you the night Matt Rimmer was murdered, Richard?”

Boom. He finally got around to asking me what I’d been dreading. “I don’t even know when he was murdered! If it was a school night, I’m sure I was at home eating dinner with my dad.”

“Settle down, Richard. I’ve got to ask these questions of everyone connected to Matt Rimmer.”

“But I’m not connected!” Hello, world, would you please quit spinning out of control for a couple of minutes? Two weeks ago, I considered myself just a typical bullied high school student, looking to survive algebra and Bullying 101. Now, I’ve narrowly escaped a murder attempt and find myself under suspicion as a murder suspect. All because Matt Rimmer had called me “fag” a handful of times.

A long pause settled over Cowlings as he stared at me, almost. “Okay,” he finally said, “I’ll look into it. What about your friends? Did they hate the Rimmer boy as well?”

Once again, my inner censor malfunctioned. “First of all, Detective, I didn’t hate Matt Rimmer. I didn’t like him…but I didn’t hate him. He was just a…I don’t know…casual bully in my life at the worst. Really, I never even gave him much thought. So do you mind stopping with all of the ‘hate’ talk?” I didn’t know if I helped or hurt my case.

“When we talked earlier…you said he called you ‘fag’ several times. How did that make you feel toward him?”

“Look, it’s just something we learn to live with. I’m sure you never had to deal with such things when you went to school, so you couldn’t possibly understand…but as unfair as it is, my friends and I pretty much accept it as a fact of life.”

Cowlings glared at me and sighed. “Richard, you’d be surprised. I do understand. I was taunted and teased at my school for being gay. And sadly, it doesn’t stop there. I’m the only gay law enforcement officer in Clearwell, Kansas.”

Whoa, true confession time. I did not see this coming. Maybe the heavenly atmosphere of the chapel had worked wonders on him.

“But, I persevered, and I knew I was going to graduate at the top of my class and police academy, no matter what obstacles were placed in my way,” he said. “And I never once even thought about killing the bullies…the assholes…the people who wanted to beat me down for being different.”

“Exactly,” I yelled. The echoes in the chapel prompted me to bring my voice down. “That’s what I’ve been telling you. I wouldn’t—neither would my friends—ever resort to their level, especially not murder, for God’s sake. We’re just trying to get through, hoping the next level of life is better.”

Another long awkward silence followed as Cowlings peered into my soul. “Okay, Richard…I believe you. Do not let me down,” he said, smiling warmly now. “I’m going to want to talk to your friends. They’re in the cafeteria, right? And I’ll want to speak to Ian as well.”

“Go easy on them, copper.” I managed a quiet laugh.

“I will.” He stood up to leave then turned around. “Richard…is there anything else you want to tell me? Anything you’ve noticed that’s not…quite ordinary?”

“Actually, yes…there’s this weird ice cream truck.” And I told him most everything I could remember about it (excluding the house protection spells, of course). His head buried in his notebook, his bald scalp nodded frequently during my tale.

“We’re familiar with this ice cream driver. I’ve already spoken with him, and he seems harmless enough. He has an alibi. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Huh, really? The truck seems pretty damn creepy to me.

“Okay, policing awaits. I gave you a card last time we talked, right?”

“Um, yeah, but I think I threw it away.” At the time, I didn’t think I’d need it. “Could I get another one?”

“All right. But keep this one. I have to pay for them out of my own pocket.” He held his hand out to me. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

“Okay.” I squeezed his hand hard as Dad always taught me to do. “Detective Cowlings?”

“Yes?”

“Call me Tex, okay?” As one of us, I felt he earned the right to do so. He gave me hope. Not only because he seemed like a savvy cop who had our best interests at heart, but he’d also been one of the downtrodden. He withstood the hells of high school and made something out of his life. I wanted him on our team.

“You got it, Tex. Be careful.”

A lot of adults had been telling me that lately. Maybe it’s time to heed their advice.

****

I poked my head into Ian’s room. Still sawing wood, I bypassed the mystery-sleeper roommate. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” One-handed, he fiddled with his cell phone before quickly stashing it under his sheet.

“Busted! Tell me you’re not back on the social media hangouts.” Dumb thing to say as I’m sure I fueled his fire instead of tamping him down.

He laughed and waved me off. “Tex, what the hell is this all about?” He pulled out the spell bottle from underneath his pillow.

“Okay, are you sitting down?”

He giggled and then coughed. “Don’t make me laugh, you dumbass.”

“Do you remember what I said last night?” I braced for the upcoming encounter. Even though we’d been lifelong friends, the truth would admittedly be hard to accept.

“Barely. I thought it was a dream, until Nurse Goodbody found it and asked me what the hell it was. I remembered then what you said and told her it was a good luck charm.”

“Good.”

“What are you doing, Tex?” he asked seriously. “You’re not dealing or something stupid, right?” He rolled the bottle around nimbly in his good hand.

“No, of course not. Now, who’s being the dumbass?” I sat at the end of his bed. “Hey, by the way, a cop’s gonna want to talk to you soon. About what Bellman did to you.”

“About damn time. It’s payback time, bitches.”

“But, before he gets in here, I’ve got to talk to you myself. What I’m about to tell you, stays here, right?”

“Sure, buddy…like in Vegas!”

“All right. This is hard, so I’m going to jump right in.” I took in a deep breath for show, to let Ian gauge my seriousness. “You remember my mom, right?”

“Yeah…uh, sure.” Never one for displays of emotion, Ian generally tried to steer clear of any topic that called for it.

“I recently found out she…was a practitioner…of witchcraft.” I waited for Ian to laugh, but to his credit, he just stared calmly and waited for me to continue. “She was born into it and apparently had…I dunno…special powers.”

“Okay,” said Ian slowly.

“And she passed those powers onto me.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Tex?” His words expressed doubt, but the way his eyes lit up showed excitement to learn more.

“It’s true, according to my dad. And I’ve been learning some minor spells and things. This bottle’s supposed to protect you from harm.”

“Why couldn’t you’ve gotten it to me a day earlier?” Amazingly, he smiled. “Wow, Tex…I don’t know what to say…”

“Well, please don’t say anything right now. Just keep quiet, but more importantly, keep the protection spell with you as much as possible, okay?”

He stared at the bottle in his hand. “So…you’re a…witch? Why not a warlock?” I suppose our many years of watching horror movies together had prepared Ian better for this revelation than most people.

“I really don’t know.” Constantly, I’ve wondered the same thing. “It’s just the word that’s been used by my dad and my…mentor.”

“You have a mentor? How friggin’ cool is that?” His roommate rolled over with a loud snurk.

“Ian, shhhh. It’s important we keep this between the two of us.” It actually felt good to have someone know my secret, particularly a close friend. Both Ian and I grinned ear to ear.

“I want to meet your mentor,” he said, quieting down. “Is she an old witch with a black pointy hat and all that crap?”

“Something like that.” The image of Mickey in a black witch’s hat seemed kinda scary.

“So…does this stuff work? Can you put a hex on Bellman or something?”

“It’s complicated. I’m not supposed to do anything potentially harmful to people—or do good things for myself—because it may turn bad.”

Ian nodded as if this made total sense to him. “Do Olivia and Josh know? Omigod, you’ve gotta tell ’em!”

“No, they don’t. And no, they can’t know. Not right now, at least. It’s for their own good because the spells won’t work if they end up not believing. So, please, don’t tell them.”

“Well…why’d you tell me?”

“Because…because, first of all, I knew you’d believe. Because we totally believe in one another. Also, because I didn’t think there was any way around it, since your so-called Nurse Goodbody—or somebody—was sure to find the bottle eventually. I had to make sure you’d keep it with you.”

“Cool. I won’t tell them. But you’ve got to promise me something in return.” Ian stared at me with wild-eyed anticipation.

“What’s that?”

“Tell me everything…I mean, everything…about what you’ve learned about witchcraft.”

I obliged Ian gladly because I hadn’t seen him this giddy about anything for some time. So I settled in and told him about my witchy induction week.

****

Feeling fairly good for the first time in days, I bypassed the elevator and ran down the stairs to the hospital lobby. I found the cafeteria, where I remember Dad and I’d shared many somber, bad meals, and saw Olivia and Josh cutting up at a corner table. Coffee cups and chip bags littered their holding area.

“Hey, guys,” I said.

“Omigod,” said Olivia. “Guess who’s a murder suspect and has two thumbs?” She hitched her thumbs toward herself.

“O’, that’s not quite true,” said Josh, attempting to calm her down. Her outburst of murder talk attracted quite a bevy of interested onlookers. “He just was asking us some questions…”

“Yeah, but he wanted me to give him a freakin’ alibi! How cool is that? He wanted my alibi!” She stood up and squealed with delight.

“Olivia, shhh, be quiet. Everyone here’s going to think you’re a crazed ax murderer.” Even though her glee felt glorious, I fought the urge to not join in. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

I grabbed Olivia by the arm. With Josh tugging her other arm, we practically dragged her out of there. We’d almost made it to the cafeteria exit, when Olivia turned and yelled, “That’s right. Alibi! Alibi! I ain’t got no alibi! Uh-huh!” She hooted, twirled, and kicked up a leg like a demented cheerleader.

No way recovering from that, we lifted her between us and ran like hell to the parking lot, laughing the entire way.