Page 77 of Evil All Along

She’d curled her hair, and she wore makeup that managed to do amazing things while still, well, leaving her looking like Millie. The flared skirt of her champagne-colored mini hit her at mid-thigh, and the best way I could describe her shoes was sparkly. She looked beautiful. Beyond beautiful. She looked like a princess. And when I saw Keme, how his face slackened and his thoughts dribbled out of his ears and he became one giant, goopy boy who finally got to be with the girl he’d been in love with for years, the pang in my heart was so intense that misty-eyed doesn’t even begin to describe it. Bobby noticed, of course, and he slipped an arm around my waist.

(I wasn’t the only one, by the way. Indira was mopping her eyes, and Fox was suspiciously silent inside their helmet.)

The dopey look on Keme’s face was less cute a few moments later.

“Did he have a stroke?” I murmured.

Bobby gave me a warning squeeze.

“You look beautiful, Millicent,” Indira said. “Keme, go grab her corsage from the refrigerator.”

Keme still hadn’t moved.

“Maybe someone should stick him with a pin,” Fox said in their least helpful voice.

Bobby took Keme by the shoulder and steered him toward the kitchen, and I moved over to join Millie and Indira, adding my own compliments. Millie answered in murmurs and broken fragments—I still hadn’t heard a complete sentence out of her, let alone an ear-shattering burst of excitement. Then Keme came back, and it turned out Millie had a boutonniere for him, and the two of them fumbled through the process of helping each other with the flowers.

“You look nice,” Keme finally managed to say.

“Nice?” Fox said.

Color rushed into Keme’s face. “You look beautiful.”

“And did anybody notice,” I said, “that Keme looks like a total wiener?”

Keme flashed me a look that promised a quick, savage murder as soon as he was back from the dance. Millie laughed. Indira had the air of a woman who was wondering if she should wash my mouth out now or after Keme and Millie left. Fox muttered a despairing, “Dust bunny,” under their breath and shook their head.

And then—after I had handed over all the money I had in the world, plus Bobby’s spare keys—it was time for Keme and Millie to leave. We all exchanged hugs. As I hugged Millie, I said, “You’re gorgeous,” and then, loud enough for Keme to hear, “You can do better.”

Keme scowled.

Millie laughed, but it sounded like she might cry.

When I found myself hugging Keme goodbye, I was surprised when his arms tightened around me, pulling me close. And I was even more surprised when he whispered, “Thank you.” And then, in a broken little voice, “I love you.” I waslesssurprised when I felt something sharp jab me under the ribs, and he added, “If you ever tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you.”

If you’ve never dispatched a budding teenage psychopath to a high school dance, let me tell you: it’s a real mixed bag.

The old folks watched from the door as Keme helped Millie into the Pilot, and then he walked around and got in the SUV. They went down the drive, their headlights floating in the dark. And then they were gone.

“I hope they have a good time,” Indira said.

“I hope they bring some of my money back,” I said.

“They’ll have a great time,” Bobby said. He ignored my comment about the money, but he added, “I hope they make good choices.”

“I hope they don’t wreck your car,” I said.

The expression on his face suggested he wasn’t grateful for me opening my trap.

“I hope someone spikes the punch,” Fox said. “And they all get detention and decide to play pranks on the dean. Oh! And that there’s a werewolf that dances on top of a van.”

“That’s a lot of different movies,” I said.

And in an unbelievably haughty voice, Fox said, “I am aware.”

A bit later, the doorbell rang, and it was time for more trick-or-treaters. Supplies were running low, so Bobby and I went to the kitchen to restock. I had the important responsibility of pre-sorting the candy, to make sure we didn’t miss out on any of the good stuff, and I was diligently weeding out the plain M&M's (and looking for any stray Butterfingers) when I realized Bobby was staring at me.

“They’re plain chocolate,” I said, “and I know they melt in your mouth, not in your hand, but we have to prioritize, Bobby: nougat, caramel, heck, even crisped rice—”

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