Page 31 of Death is My Ride or Die

Me:Sorry, got home safe!! My phone died.

Marcy:Dude, you need to charge your phone! I was so worried about you and Thomas, and everything is just so weird right now. What the hell happened last night at the corn maze?

Me:No clue. I hope Thomas is okay.

Marcy:Me too. His eyes looked so strange. I swear they were like black . . .

Marcy:Do you think it’s drugs like his big bro?

Me:IDK. All I know is Thomas is not our problem anymore. We can care without getting involved.

Marcy:Harsh. True tho. Thomas messed with me, and I shouldn’t get involved. But I hate how he dumped all that on you about telling his mom he loved her?? WTF was that???

I felt wracked by guilt at the thought of not delivering that message to Thomas’s mom yet. Malphas’s underling had infected Thomas with his venom, and his body had accepted it. Now he was one of the raven demons. His life was ruined, and it was all my fault.

Me:I just hope he gets the help he needs.

Marcy:Me too. Also, WHY AREN’T YOU AT SCHOOL RN?

Me:Woke up with a bad stomachache. That time of the month. :(

Marcy:Awww. I feel u. Need me to drop off anything later to help?

Me:Nope.

Marcy:Ok, love u cutie, get some zzz’s & feel better!!!!

Me:Love u!

Aching everywhere from the stress of last night, I forced myself to take a hot shower to loosen my muscles and changed into clean pajamas. Face-planting into my bed, I slept another four hours, which left me surprisingly well-rested, but I still felt a little shaky. Despite my lack of appetite lately, I worked down two pieces of toast with butter and strawberry preserves and a big, cold glass of oat milk. Slowly, I started to feel like myself again.

My parents wouldn’t get home from work until around six. With only a handful of hours to myself, and with all the reasons to distract my thoughts, I went back to my roots. Pulling out my paint-splattered stool, I sat in front of my canvas and started to paint.

And for the first time in a long time, I found peace.

It was finally Friday, and I’d survived three days since walking out of Hell.

Word of Thomas Gregory’s disappearance had spread like wildfire throughout Pleasant Valley High School, the story shifting from person to person like a bad game of telephone.

Thomas had overdosed on drugs, just like his older brother. Thomas had run away. Thomas was dead.

I felt devastated, wracked by anxiety and guilt.

Thank God Marcy was coming over that night for a much-needed sleepover.

The smell of freshly baked muffins wafted into our living room from the kitchen. Mom slaved away in the kitchen baking blondies, Marcy’s favorite dessert. Before we had guests over, she always made baked goods like muffins, cookies, or cupcakes. According to her, the scent of baked goods made everyone feel right at home. I couldn’t help but think about when David Star had come to my house, and she had just made cupcakes. How David had stopped my softball bat from connecting with his skull. The bat with strawberry icing on it, which he’d licked off with unflinching eye contact. Warmth flooded my body as I replayed the kiss at the end of the night, and how he—

No, no,no. Why was I thinking about that maniac?

I pushed all thoughts ofhimaside and tried to focus on the baseball game. One of the Yankees hit a hard line drive. The outfielder on the other team dove for it and missed, and we leapt up from the sofa and cheered.

“What happened?” Mom asked as she walked into the room with a plate of banana-nut muffins. We all took one, and Mom sat on the other side of me with her legs curled in.

“Bases are loaded now. I smell a grand slam!” My dad hurried into the hallway and returned with his jersey inside out.

Mom rolled her eyes. “Here we go again with the game superstitions . . . ”

Laughing, I bit into my muffin. “Mmm, wow!”

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