Page 67 of Death is My BFF

“Really? Her car looks fine to me.”

I sat up straighter. “Wait, my car is in the driveway?”

“Should it not be?” Dad asked. “You left your interior lights on, by the way.”

Blood rushed to my ears. I hadn’t seen my car since the accident with Devin Star a week ago, and now it was in the driveway? I got up and hurried to the window, parting the blinds. Sure enough, my car was there. But it wasn’t in my habitual parking spot and faced away from the house, which brought me a little relief, because that meant someone else had parked it. Maybe I wasn’t as crazy as I thought.

“I’m confused,” Mom said.

“So am I,” Dad agreed.

“I can explain.” I tried to make up another lie and hide the hysteria in my voice. “It was Marcy’s car, not mine.”

Mom cupped a hand over her mouth. “Is Marcy okay? Is she hurt?” She patted the pockets of her jeans, frantically searching for her cell. “I should call her father. Where’s my dang phone . . . ?”

“No, please, you really don’t have to do that.” Marcy hadn’t told her father about the accident or the party we attended that night.

The last thing I needed was for Marcy to be grounded for a month again without her grandpa’s gold card to go shopping. Marcy was scary without her gold card.

“Marcy is perfectly fine. We’re both fine. Just a few bumps and scratches. With all my honor’s work for school and,”supernaturalevents and/or possible nightmares involving a murderous yet sexy Grim

Reaper and venomous demons,“other minor stressors,” I decided to say instead, “I totally forgot to text you about it. I’m so sorry.”

Mom looked visibly relieved. “Okay, I’m glad both of you girls are all right . . . ”

“I’m not surprised Marcy got in an accident,” Dad said. “That girl has never been good at steering things. Remember her infamous scooter accident a few years back? Cost us an arm and a leg to get the garage door fixed.”

“Henry,” Mom scolded. “Marcy got a terrible concussion from that.”

“Hey, I never said she deserved it. She didn’t, but neither did my door. Why don’t we unpack and show Faith all the presents we brought her?”

“You guys didn’t need to get me anything,” I muttered.

Mom rubbed my shoulder. “Of course, we did, sweetie. Next time we go to Hawaii, you’re coming with us. We missed you way too much!” She tucked her hair behind one ear with a coy smile.

“Now, don’t you have something to tell me? Something that maybe happened while we were away?”

“Nope.” I looked to the side. “Nothing at all.”

“We heard you went on a date,” she cooed. “WithDavid Star.”

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Right before my eyes, a teenage fangirl possessed my mother. “Remember when your father waited in line for eight hours to get Devin Star to sign his modeling calendar for my birthday?”

Dad stared into the oblivion, as if reliving the traumatic experience.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d do this,” I said, gesturing at her giddy self with my hand for emphasis.

“And impulsively buy Skittles another Devin Star catnip mouse toy,” Dad chimed in.

Mom narrowed her eyes at Dad. “That cat toy was high-quality material, Henry.”

“It was polyester.”

“Entertainingis what it was. Skittles loves that toy!”

“Skittles would love a paperclip if you attached it to a piece of string and snaked it around the carpet,” Dad argued.

---