Page 32 of Death is My Ride or Die

“Aren’t they delish?” She bit into hers. “I used a different recipe this time. Super moist.”

“Please, never say that word again.”

The Yankees didn’t hit that grand slam, but they won the game. Mom and I made two pizzas with pepperoni, mushrooms, peppers, onions, and (gasp) sliced pineapple for Marcy. Skittles jumped on the stool beside me as I washed my hands in the kitchen sink, her tail swishing back and forth. She looked up at me with her big doe eyes, and I discreetly snuck her a piece of pepperoni before Mom saw. She ran away with it like a bandit.

Things felt so normal. For the first time in a long time, I was happy.

“’Sup,” I said, taking Marcy’s bag as she entered our home a little while later.

“Nuttin’.” She bumped my fist with hers. Skittles pranced over to greet her, weaving between her legs.

“Well, howdy, little baby!” Marcy bent down to pick my cat up and held her like an infant. “Oh, that’s a little baby . . . ”

“She is, in fact, just a little baby,” I agreed.

“Hey, Marcy!” Dad called from the living room.

“Hi, Mr. Henry!” Marcy shouted back. She insisted on calling both of my parents by their first names that way. They thought it was hysterical. “Heard the Yankees had an awesome game!”

“That they did, that they did.” Dad kissed Marcy on the cheek before plopping back down on the couch. “Did your dad catch it? Or is he out fighting crime as usual?”

“Dad’s out fighting crime as usual, but I’m sure he caught snippets of it on the radio. He never misses a game.”

“My man,” Dad said approvingly.

“Something smells yummy,” Marcy said, still holding Skittles as we meandered into the kitchen. “What are you guys cooking in there?”

“Pizza.” I beamed. “With added pineapple, since you’re a literal sadist.”

Marcy adjusted Skittles to one arm to hold out her hand toward me. “Hater energy, begone.”

“Hello, my other beautiful girl!” Mom took off her oven mitts and shuffled over to give Marcy a hug. “Hungry? I made pizza, blondies, and banana muffins.”

“Oh my gosh, that sounds like so much work!”

“You know I love baking for my girls. How’s life? How’s your father doing?”

“Same old, same old. We have a big volleyball tournament next weekend, so I’m excited about that.”

“That’s amazing! Your father must be so proud. Will he be going?”

Marcy’s upbeat expression saddened ever so slightly. “Um, I think so, yeah. It doesn’t matter, it’s an away game. Those can be harder for him with his job. I’m sure he’ll show up to a few this season, though.”

Skittles wiggled in her arms, breaking the brief tension as Marcy set her down and returned to her bubbly self. “Anyway, how was your trip to Hawaii, Mrs. Lisa? You got tan, lady!”

“The food, the scenery, everything was so beautiful,” Mom gushed with a sigh. “I wish we could have stayed there forever.” She looped an arm around my shoulders. “We missed our baby girl way too much, though!” She proceeded to theatrically kiss my head until I wiggled away from her with a laugh.

Mom, Marcy, and I talked for a while longer while we all nibbled on pizza. Dad chimed in with his usual funny jokes to try to distract from the fact that he’d snuck into the kitchen to make his ice cream sundae with a blondiebeforedinner. The failed heist ended in my mom smacking him jokingly with her oven mitt as he ran out of the room with the whipped cream. Looked like Skittles wasn’t the only bandit in the house.

Mom and Dad always went out of their way to make Marcy feel like part of the family, and I could tell she appreciated it, especially with her mom being gone. Even though we were best friends, Marcy had been busier with her volleyball friends the last two years. It felt like old times again.

“So, I got some more info,” Marcy said later once we’d relocated to my bedroom. “About the whole Thomas sitch . . . ”

I was eating my third piece of pizza at my vanity and froze. I chewed slower, hoping my face in the reflection in the mirror in front of me didn’t give away my inner panic. The last thing I wanted to talk about was Thomas and the corn maze, because then I thought about Malphas, and Death, and his missing scythe, and theBook of the Dead, andno—no more!

“Do you remember Tommy’s uncle Ben?” Marcy continued, mixing face masks in the little tie-dye ceramic bowl I’d made in art class. “The one we met at his house aloooongtime ago?

“The guy who collected old-fashioned yo-yos and smelled like cooked mushrooms?”

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